When my brother was little, he went through a massive dinosaur phase. He obsessively read books about them, and watch "The Land Before Time" movies and "The Dinosaur Train." (Sara, the sassy little triceratops was my favorite character.) As his big sister, I unwillingly went along with this obsessive phase, just grateful he was out of his Thomas the Train phase. I watched all the dinosaur related shows and movies with him and would listen to him nerd out and tell me exactly what species of dinosaur was on the screen. Years after the beginning of this phase, he was finally old enough to watch Jurassic Park with me and my parents. Prior to this I had no interest in watching the movies myself, as I secretly feared they'd be too scary, (I was and am a bit of a wimp), I couldn't let my brother one up, and I watched them for the first time with him.) I remember one of the early scenes, when the first full-bodied dinosaur came on screen: a Brachiosaurus. Something about that massive, gentle giant emerging into view, and the reactions of the characters will always give me goosebumps. Ever since then, the brachiosaurus has been my favorite dinosaur, while my brother favored the velociraptor. Our choices really reflect our personalities: Me, the big sister that oversaw everything and looked down on my siblings, and him, the cunning little brother that was just flat out unpredictable and slightly terrifying at times. Of course, by now, I have to look up at him, which is unfortunate for my pride and ability to keep him in line. Using watercolor and ink, I attempted to do justice to these regal creatures, that I've come to appreciate over the years. I think of my brother's innocent and genuine awe of these majestic beings that seem almost mythical. It's easy to overlook something as magnificent as the past existence of dinosaurs, but i remember his childlike wonder and eager pursuit of knowledge of these slightly alien animals. I found it slightly annoying then, as a sister would, but as I think back to those moments of the pure joy and passion emanating from his little body, I can't help but say I love dinosaurs too.

Like most kids, I was entranced by the images in my kid picture books long before the words had any meaning to me. Even now, the whimsy and detail of children’s books appeal to me and reveal their influence through my art. When developing my AP Art portfolio last year, I knew I wanted to fully embrace the style and storytelling of my favorite illustrators, like Jan Brett and Garth Williams. I spent months developing a story of a girl guided through life’s trials by a lighted path and her lion friend. When creating this story, I was worried about how it would be received during critique, especially since I included nods to my religion and personal walk with God. My art teacher had all of her AP Students leave their artwork up for a day, so that all of her other classes could leave anonymous comments and critiques on every piece. I accumulated nearly 150 sticky notes, and I’ve kept all of them. Students of different backgrounds, ages, and artistic interests all thoughtfully engaged with my work. They talked of being transported into my fantasy world, and of understanding the personal struggle with faith. When this piece was taken to the state art competition, I must confess I was under the prideful assumption that it would win a medal. (I had pieces years previous that had done very well, and but they had nowhere near as much time and vulnerability put into them.) Even though I was humbled and upset that my piece didn't get the recognition I had so desperately valued and worked toward, what I overheard completely changed my perspective. Two people were looking at my piece, and one said, “I just keep coming back to this one. It makes me feel safe.” That’s when it hit me: If my art and stories stay true to me, they can make people feel safe and seen. Stories, (whether that be art in a magazine, radio music, novels, or an anecdote told to you by your mom), are the crux of the human experience. They allow people to connect, to feel understood. That is why I decided that being a storyteller (via illustration and writing), is my dream career. My art teacher keeps on pushing to develop the story and turn it into a book so she can read it to her kids. That was when the idea of becoming an illustrator first came to mind. Creating this story and seeing how people received it was the most rewarding achievement of my life, and something I want to keep doing, but at a larger scale. As the daughter of two teachers, who is an Art Education major, who also secretly wants to be a full-time illustrator, financial support is hard to come by. I’m aware that neither my realistic career path of teaching nor my dream job of painting pictures for books aren’t the most financially generous lifestyles. Maybe all of my favorite fairy tale stories finally got to my head, and I now have the audacity to full heartedly pursue my dreams, regardless of the risks and inevitable debt. (However, I still would like to alleviate the amount of said debt.)

I’ve never forgotten my first artistic love: telling stories with my art. I want to paint worlds, characters, and scenes that enrapture children and adults alike, similar to some of my favorite childhood picture books, of which I’m still fond. It has been my lifelong dream to illustrate books. I’d spend hours on my kitchen floor drawing pictures of stories I would make up in my head. Over the years, I’ve refined my artistic skills and have taken art class after art class. Although it is a little less common, I would also love to illustrate chapter books. Some of those more complex novels can be difficult to envision and lack the imaginative color and depictions that children’s books are known for. I believe that everyone, not just children, should be able to enjoy story art. I’m currently working on a picture book alongside a partner that tells the story of a young bighorn sheep that longs to grow up and go on adventures. This is my first attempt to enter the illustration industry, and although it may not be the most successful, I refuse to give up on this dream. In addition to illustration, I’m also pursuing a career in art education. They have been so supportive of my art journey and have always given me the necessary push. I credit much of my success to their influence, and I hope to one day be able to also inspire young artists. I’ve seen how rewarding their job is, and how I would love to continue to teach future generations the power that self-expression holds, whether they have a passion for art or not. It is my dream to be able to support students in their creative pursuits and also give them that necessary push. Art has helped me express myself and relate to others, and I think having a creative outlet is extremely important, especially for kids, regardless of talent and skill. Art classes are structured unlike any other class, giving students the chance to simply create. I anticipate that through teaching art and witnessing students' self-expression of their ideas and experiences, my relationship with art will be fulfilling in a new way. It will teach me to simply support students’ success, rather than focusing on my self. My first priority will be the future generation of artists, and my own goals will come second. I’m grateful that I have the chance to pursue a job where I can be surrounded by artists and be able to watch their growth and provide them with the opportunities and tools. Although my relationship with art may change as I build my skills and my priorities start to shift, I never want to lose my childlike imagination and acceptance of mistakes. With my goals in mind, I will continue to pursue art, however that might look like.

A few months ago, I finished up my 4th and final cross country, and to be completely honest, that sport taught me more life lessons than school ever did. When I went to my first summer run, I was a shy, meek freshman convinced that the upperclassmen would beat me up in the nearest alley just like the movies. Instead, I was introduced to the upperclassmen girls, who soon took me under their wing and taught me the ropes. I gradually gained confidence in myself and my abilities as I made the varsity team my freshman year, but I was still known as the sweet and quiet one. I let my more extroverted friends (who were all one year older than me) take the lead and the attention, while I drifted to the side. This year, that had to change completely. My upperclassmen friends that I had for the past three years were gone, and suddenly I was supposed to be in charge. Instead of selfishly focusing on the loneliness I would face without my best friends there to laugh with and seek comfort from, I gave myself the task of being the best leader I could be. I would think back to all of the upperclassmen who had looked after me, and try to be like them to the best of my ability. It was strange, being the only senior girl on a team of very spirited and opinionated teammates, that was mainly made up of underclassmen. But I stuck to my goal of leading and supporting them, and gradually it became second nature. They would look to me to lead warmups, figure out the time we had to head to the start line, and answer their many questions. After my races, I would seek out every girl and give them a hug, high five, and occasionally the necessary pep talk to remind them that a race doesn’t define them. Our dynamic was our own and unlike previous relationships between upperclassmen and underclassmen. I would go to the girls to help figure out our timing, or where they thought the best place to warm up was. I was their “Senior Emily”, as they called me, and I loved my title almost as much as I loved those girls. Our small group of girls was overpowered by 20 guys (most of whom were also underclassmen), who all had kind hearts but also had the loudness and immaturity of middle schoolers. Since the varsity team mainly comprised very gifted sophomores, I was often the only upperclassman on the whole team. I was constantly getting on the guys to stop annoying the girls or to shut up when they were being disrespectful. It was strange exerting authority over these athletes who were athletically my superior in every way, but someone had to humble them. I learned how to speak up and step out of that “shy” persona to help maintain order. During this time, I also worked 20 hours a week and had to go straight from practice to work. I’d do my homework late at night to stay on top of my AP classes, while also trying to keep my body in good health for the sport. This was one of the busiest times of my high school career, but it taught me how to balance all these aspects of my life, helped me find my voice and confidence in my leadership capabilities. This season taught me that I don’t have to be loud or mean to gain respect, but I had to be kind, yet fearless in offering my instruction.

While everyone has taken away lessons and experiences from the COVID-19 pandemic, I credit that world-changing time for reintroducing me to art. The boredom and isolation quickly got to my head, and I found myself in need of a mental escape or something to distract me from all of the terrifying world events and the uncertainty of the future. While most kids picked up their Nintendo Switch, I picked up a paintbrush and found some online art tutorials. As someone who desires control in all aspects of life, I ironically found myself painting solely with watercolor, a medium notorious for its unpredictability and difficulty to control. While my early “artwork” wasn’t anything special, the simple painted florals and tutorials on “how to paint a horse” gave me a kind of peace and a necessary reprieve from the overwhelming circumstances I faced. I religiously continued my watercolor practices and was hoping to see improvements in this newfound passion and emotional outlet. In high school, I took every art class possible and refined my skills; I no longer used art to escape reality and inner turmoil, but rather to express the feelings that weighed heavily on my heart. As I struggled with the concept of growing up and leaving childhood behind, I desperately poured my feelings into my art, hoping that others would relate. I use my art to tell stories and illustrate emotions too deep for mere words. The pieces are personal to me; I feel joy when other people can see themselves and their experiences within my pieces. Cesar A. Cruz puts it best: “Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.” While my art gives me closure and peace, it may confuse others and prompt internal questioning. This is my favorite part of people seeing my art; they interpret it differently. Art allows me to play and fall back into a more childlike mindset. Although I deeply appreciate those who are more articulate and careful with their art, I find my style always leaning towards a loose and free-flowing style. Creative expression encourages experimentation and enjoyment in the constant process of trial and error. It is because of the impact art has had on me that I plan on majoring in art education. My art teachers have been so supportive of my art journey and have always given me the necessary push. I credit much of my success to their influence, and I hope to one day be able to also inspire young artists. The ability to creatively express oneself can be life-changing; it challenges how people think and perceive. I would love to continue to teach future generations the power that self-expression holds, whether they have a passion for art or not.

“‘They thought it was dead’, he said. “The robin thought so at first, but It came alive.” This quote is from Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden, one of my favorite books growing up. My piece, "It came alive," tells the story of a girl going through some of her old childhood books, and falling back into her childish mindset built of wonder and happiness. She rediscovers a part of herself that was long forgotten by reading her old books. The vibrancy of this painting is reminiscent of the way children perceive the world around them--they see the beauty and light in everything, which is something people begin to lose as they mature into adulthood. By choosing to intentionally perceive things as a child would, the world seems a whole lot brighter. This piece is very special to me, especially as years ago I put away childish things, thinking it was so much better to be perceived as "mature." Now as I prepare myself for college and entering adulthood, I find myself wishing to go back and live like a kid again. I'm trying to adopt that whimsical, girlish mentality I once had, as I re-meet my younger self through ratty stuffed animals and yellowed book pages.

I joined cross country as an awkward freshman with nothing but a pair of old gym shoes, an extremely low pain tolerance, and a prayer for survival. My family always joked that my athletic genes skipped right over me because I would always self-assign myself the role of sideline cheerleader and goalkeeper (I was horrible at both) as soon as a ball came within one hundred meters of me. My coordination and athletic skills were nonexistent, and people were shocked when they learned that I was the daughter of two college athletes. Nevertheless, my dad insisted I try cross country because it would be “good for me to make some friends and learn true discipline.” The first day I threw up. And the second. And the third. I think one year I went on a streak of throwing up after every single meet. I was a healthy kid, and in decent shape, but I quickly learned that “running shape” was an entirely different concept, and getting there was a painful process. My coach gave me the encouraging words after my fifth time of throwing up my breakfast after morning practice, “It never gets easy, but it gets easier.” I’ve found that when you’re in pain, you will do anything in your power to avoid thinking about said pain. I’ve had some of the most reflective and intimate conversations on runs. It is because of running I found my best friends, and it is my firm belief that we created some kind of trauma bond between the hurt of practice, workouts, and meets. There is no easy way out of running, which can be mentally difficult to accept, as I’ve found that my mind focuses on the immense discomfort my body is about to endure, despite knowing my body has handled it before and can handle it again. The entire team is in the same boat and is familiar with pre-race anxiety, pain anticipation, as well as post-race excitement or disappointment. I never feel so seen or cared for as I do at cross country meets. One minute I’m being serenaded by “Good luck, you got it”, and the next the race has started and I’m pushed by the crowd's deafening roar of cheers. At cross-country meets, there are no angry parents or booing crowds-- everybody cheers for everybody. There is only one winner, so all the athletes are focused on beating themselves-- their records and goals, with the only thing stopping them being their mental barriers. Cross country is a sport of pain, which breeds grit and determination like no other. By learning to accept discomfort and the inescapability of it, I was able to focus on my goals at hand. Discomfort is a reality of life--there is no avoiding it. Cross country taught me that you not only to step out of your comfort zone, you need to jump out of it and embrace it wholeheartedly to find success. Despite being utterly terrified, I joined cross country despite my fears and consequently met my best friends, learned to love running, and gained countless life lessons and memories I will cherish forever. Although my competitive running days are over, I plan on becoming a teacher and would love to do what my coach did for me and push students to put themselves out there. Sometimes people need an extra nudge and some encouragement to let go of that metaphorical security blanket and accept a little bit of discomfort. Oftentimes, it will work out in their favor.

While everyone has taken away lessons and experiences from the COVID-19 pandemic, I credit that world-changing time for reintroducing me to art. The boredom and isolation quickly got to my head, and I found myself in need of a mental escape or something to distract myself from all of the terrifying world events and the uncertainty of the future. While most kids picked up their Nintendo Switch, I picked up a paintbrush and found some online art tutorials. As someone who desires control in all aspects of life, I ironically found myself painting solely with watercolor, a medium notorious for its unpredictability and difficulty to control. While my early “artwork” wasn’t anything special, the simply painted florals and tutorials on “how to paint a horse” gave me a kind of peace and a necessary reprieve from the overwhelming circumstances I faced. I religiously continued my watercolor practices and was hoping to see improvements in this newfound passion and emotional outlet. In high school, I took every art class possible and refined my skills; I no longer used art to escape reality and inner turmoil, but rather to express the feelings that weighed heavily on my heart. As I struggled with the concept of growing up and leaving childhood behind, I desperately poured my feelings into my art, hoping that others would relate. I use my art to tell stories and illustrate emotions too deep for mere words. The pieces are personal to me; I feel joy when other people can see themselves and their experiences within my pieces. Cesar A. Cruz puts it best, “Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.” While my art gives me closure and peace, it may confuse others and prompt internal questioning. This is my favorite part of people seeing my art; they interpret it differently. Art allows me to play, and fall back into a more childlike mindset. Although I deeply appreciate those who are more articulate and careful with their art, I find my style always leaning towards loose and free-flowing style. Creative expression encourages experimentation and enjoyment in the constant process of trial and error. It is because of the impact art has had on me that I plan on majoring in art education. My art teachers have been so supportive of my art journey and have always given me the necessary push. I credit much of my success to their influence, and I hope to one day be able to also inspire young artists. The ability to creatively express oneself can be life-changing; it challenges how people think and perceive. I would love to continue to teach future generations the power that self-expression holds, whether they have a passion for art or not. Kitchen Window-Attempts to capture the warmth of my childhood kitchen in the morning I Blinked (Easel Piece)- I'm reaching towards my childhood memories with my foot in the future Exodus 14:14 (Bedroom)- I struggle with going to God with my anxieties and fears, even though He's right behind me (represented through the lion.) Are we a ballerina yet? (Dancers)-As a kid, I did ballet and was a complete rule follower, so my older self is teaching me how to dance freely. I should take out the Garbage (girl in kitchen)- Future me alone in an empty apartment, going through my childhood belongings. These pieces all have helped me heal my inner child, overcome my fears of growing up and leaving my childhood behind, and have also helped me turn to my faith.

As the daughter of two teachers, I’ve gotten an inside look at what it takes to be a teacher. I’ve seen the effort, tedious care, and passion that they put into teaching their students, and it has helped me better understand my teachers from a different perspective. I would love to work in the profession that has given me so much and to play an inspirational role for my future students. I’m very fortunate to say I’ve never had a teacher that I didn’t enjoy, and I’ve taken away something different from each one I’ve had. Mrs. Siebenahler taught me how to write a quality essay. Every morning Doña Lueck helped me practice my Spanish speaking until I felt confident about the AP Exam. Mrs. Smith reintroduced me to my love of reading and showed me books that are now my all-time favorites. Mrs. Leininger took the time to explain long division to me privately because I never understood it in middle school. Mr. Hulstein came up with the wackiest, hands-on labs so that we could see and understand the laws of physics in action. Among all of my teachers, one stands out the most. Mrs. Potter, my art teacher for the past three years, has encouraged me to take risks and put myself out there, both in and out of the classroom. She has enabled me despite any hesitance on my part. Her passion for the subject is evident in how she teaches and interacts with every student. Mrs. Potter has pushed me to my artistic limits and has fostered my passion for creating. Now, I can’t imagine my life without my love for art, or my special relationships with my teachers. Mrs. Potter’s influence has inspired me to pursue a career in art education. Like her, I want to make every student feel like they belong and are truly seen, and instill a passion for art and creative expression within future generations. I’ve had so many teachers at Washington make the learning process a memorable and enjoyable experience, inspiring me to pursue an art education degree. It is my dream to be able to support students in their creative pursuits, and also give them that necessary push. Art has helped me express myself and relate to others, and I think having a creative outlet is extremely important, especially for kids, regardless of talent and skill. My teachers have had such an impact on my high school experience, and have always supported me in the classroom and also in my personal life, and they’ve fostered a lifelong desire to learn and be a part of the educative process. It’s my dream to one day become a teacher at Washington, be a part of its legacy of educators, and give back to the place that gave me so much. I hope to one day have the opportunity to impact other students and provide that outside push toward greatness as Potter did for me. Educators define the lasting impact of education, they determine the effectiveness of learning through the passion they show for teaching and assisting students. I may not remember the formula for velocity, or how to write an email in Spanish, but I will always remember the patience, kindness, and passion my teachers showed in the classroom, which I hope to reflect in my own classroom.

As the daughter of two teachers, I’ve gotten an inside look at what it takes to be a teacher. I’ve seen the effort, tedious care, and passion that they put into teaching their students, and it has helped me better understand my teachers from a different perspective. I would love to work in the profession that has given me so much and to play an inspirational role for my future students. I’m very fortunate to say I’ve never had a teacher that I didn’t enjoy, and I’ve taken away something different from each one I’ve had. Mrs. Siebenahler taught me how to write a quality essay. Every morning Doña Lueck helped me practice my Spanish speaking until I felt confident about the AP Exam. Mrs. Smith reintroduced me to my love of reading and showed me books that are now my all-time favorites. Mrs. Leininger took the time to explain long division to me privately because I never understood it in middle school. Mr. Hulstein came up with the wackiest, hands-on labs so that we could see and understand the laws of physics in action. Among all of my teachers, one stands out the most. Mrs. Potter, my art teacher for the past three years, has encouraged me to take risks and put myself out there, both in and out of the classroom. She has enabled me despite any hesitance on my part. Her passion for the subject is evident in how she teaches and interacts with every student. Mrs. Potter has pushed me to my artistic limits and has fostered my passion for creating. Now, I can’t imagine my life without my love for art, or my special relationships with my teachers. Mrs. Potter’s influence has inspired me to pursue a career in art education. Like her, I want to make every student feel like they belong and are truly seen, and instill a passion for art and creative expression within future generations. I’ve had so many teachers at Washington make the learning process a memorable and enjoyable experience, inspiring me to pursue an art education degree. It is my dream to be able to support students in their creative pursuits, and also give them that necessary push. Art has helped me express myself and relate to others, and I think having a creative outlet is extremely important, especially for kids, regardless of talent and skill. My teachers have had such an impact on my high school experience, and have always supported me in the classroom and also in my personal life, and they’ve fostered a lifelong desire to learn and be a part of the educative process. It’s my dream to one day become a teacher at Washington, be a part of its legacy of educators, and give back to the place that gave me so much. I hope to one day have the opportunity to impact other students and provide that outside push toward greatness as Potter did for me. Educators define the lasting impact of education, they determine the effectiveness of learning through the passion they show for teaching and assisting students. I may not remember the formula for velocity, or how to write an email in Spanish, but I will always remember the patience, kindness, and passion my teachers showed in the classroom, which I hope to reflect in my own classroom.

As someone who is a control freak who likes to have a plan, it's a little ironic that my medium of choice is watercolor. I remember taking a middle school art class and hating the loose paint that refused to cooperate with me. However, I wasn't nearly as into art then as I am now, I vowed never to use the medium. Now it's safe to say it's my favorite. When the whole world was turned upside down with Covid pandemic, I found myself floundering due to my lack of control and inability to try and even guess what the future would hold. I found myself picking up a paintbrush and looking up online art classes to give myself something other than wallowing in my loneliness and unpredictable future. I started by just painting leaves and florals, wreaths and bubbles, and then animals. I remember spending hours on a horse painting course, and of being so proud of the result. The process of creating seemed to be healing, and made me happier than anything. This was just the beginning of my art journey. I took every art class I could in high school, and was determined to refine my skill. While I don't think I had any early talent, I had a passion that would see me through. I let myself consider the possibility of being an "artist", whatever that meant. I set to my mission with steel determination and one goal: to improve. I trained as an athlete would. I took every high school art class I possibly could and religiously practiced the skills that would frustrate me the most. I learned to love my loose and messy art style because it makes it recognizably mine. I’ve filled sketchbooks, created portfolios, painted a photobooth for prom, and placed twice at state art. Wherever I go, I'm inevitably known as an artist. It is integrated into who I am, and I can't not make art. I love the challenge of it, and how the process is different every time. I love the relationship I have with every piece I make, periodically wanting to burn it or run it through a paper shredder, but then finally stepping back and looking at the finished piece and never wanting to part with it. I have put a piece of myself into every piece I've made, whether it be a diorama, mixed media, acrylic, or watercolor, you can see me in it. Yet I paint with the goal of other people being able to see themselves in my art too. I remember showing my youth group teacher a picture of a painting that illustrated what it meant to have faith, and she started tearing up. There's nothing more rewarding than someone telling you that they connect to your art. I want people to be seen when they look at my art, because all of my pieces come from a place of honesty and vulnerability, and I want people to feel seen when they look at them