Although there is an innumerable amount of anime as well as subject genre that encapsulates them, the one anime that never fails to disinterest me would have to be the Disastrous Life of Saiki K. Understandably from an outsider perspective, it would appear as though Saiki has been bestowed with an immense gift, including clairvoyance, x-ray vision, astral projection, telekinesis, and far much more. However, having possessed these qualities from a young age and therefore having experience with prior misfortunes, Saiki views these abilities as a hindrance. Just as the famous phrase reads "with great power comes great responsibility," Saiki understands this far too well and tries within all of his power to keep things under-wraps by rigorously shielding the truth from his classmates. Along with this, Saiki has to balance his high-school life as well as home-life with his parents, who as much as they care deeply for him, are not on the same educational level as him. Due to having more social awareness, intelligence, and obviously abilities then his parents, Saiki tends to rely on himself, for the most part, and showcases a strong sense of independence. This specifically sits very close to home for me as I live with a parent with an intellectual disability who oftentimes requires extra assistance or who can't assist me with certain things such as homework and traversing through adulthood. Obviously, Saiki's parents do not possess what my mother has, but the ways in which Saiki aids his parents and his strong sense of self-reliance really strike a chord. I've been quite accustomed to bottling up emotions without allowing them to reach the ears of others. I'm definitely not remotely close to the wavelength Saiki is on, but I tend to possess more knowledge on topics then my mother has so it's been normalized for me to figure frustrations or queries out on my own. I am thankful for the independence, yet at the same time, I desire to have someone to fall back on who can guide me down the right path. Throughout the show, it's evident that Saiki is quite the introvert, growing tired of too much human interaction and wanting to keep his bubble as small as possible. It's truly difficult to have so much weight on his shoulders but every so often, he breaks out of his shell ever so slightly and finds that it's alright to have a trusting group of friends that simply accept him as he is. Now despite how serious I've been along with the deep familiarity I feel with the show, this show is quite the opposite of a dramatic soap-opera. It's a hilarious, episodic comedy, whose contents are shed in a positive and humor-filled light. There's so much chaos that occurs within each episode as well as wonderful voice-acting that never fails to keep me enthralled. The Disastrous Life of Saiki K allows me to realize that despite how stressful life can be, you can still find a chance to open your personal doors to others who will show you how hilarious and enjoyable the world can be.

There is a wondrous thrill and euphoria that individuals experience as they obtain new items to define as their own. Perhaps it’s something of exorbitant luxurious status, including jewelry embedded in diamonds, sapphires, and rubies. Maybe it’s something seen as utterly mundane like books, coins, the list extends further. However, when that thirst grows more and more difficult to quench, the immeasurable intake of pleasantries no longer suffices, as the possessor now becomes the possession due to the grasp those items now hold. Joseph Conrad’s novel, Heart of Darkness, stumbles upon numerous themes, however, the omnipotence of greed is one that truly sticks with me, as it can become so vast to the point of corroding one’s being, resulting in the abandonment of past principles. Not only that, but attempting to continuously take from Nature’s grasp and its people will inevitably emerge as futile. Although, Heart of Darkness, is an abysmally dark novel, hence the title, it truly exudes the importance of finding a sense of purpose and form of restraint in order to remain level-headed in an environment that exposes the inner darkness that resides in us all. An in-depth exploration of the novel can not only allow readers to grow reflective on their own self-identity, but also gain an understanding of the importance of recognizing the level of morality one has when pursuing a certain ideal. When one’s actions are solely committed for the purpose of self-interest, dismissing other beings entirely, hubris will begin to eat away at their sanity, and ultimately unleash a monster destined for demise. I greatly encourage a thorough reading of this novel for mature readers. At an initial glance, one may grow appalled, which is completely understandable, however, the insight that can be gained about the flaws of human nature is a life-changing experience that I hope others can apprehend.

It is understandably frustrating when one is misunderstood for reasons that are beyond their control. I truly believe that the pursuit of artistic expression can provide an ameliorating experience for anyone, especially those who may find it strenuous or cumbersome to express themselves vocally, or perhaps have such intense feelings and passions that surpass what is considered a “normal” level, that it’s hard for professionals to allow their qualities to reach the stars and beyond. There’s so much more to art than meets the eye, as underneath the frame and within the painting itself, there is a therapeutic process. I believe that through my chosen career path of art therapy, I can supply individuals of any background and or condition with the ability to share their stories through means they may deem as comfortable, including the gifted youth. A picture can paint a thousand words. Therefore, it can be easier to express oneself through means of art versus verbal exchanges, like Edward Hopper said, “If I could say it in words there would be no reason to paint.” I want to allow others to find their voice, as there is an unspoken language embedded in pieces that few can translate. Even with the most extravagant vocabulary imaginable, there is a complete and utter difference when that language is transferred over to the language of art. Suddenly, the faintest emotions can become most prominent upon the surface, so prominent in fact that it is as if a man of poor eyesight has finally found his monocle after such a long period; all just becomes crystal clear. A commonly held fear by society is the inability to be properly acknowledged, appreciated, or simply not be accepted for who they are. Although gifted children display wondrous signs of success as they may exceed past expectations, all gifted children are not prodigies in the same subjects. That does not take away from their amazing capabilities, in fact, it’s valuable for them to gain the insight that they are human, made up of numerous imperfections that make them unique, and ultimately the subjects of which they find deep pleasure in, is something worthy of pursuit. Although I have not started my education in art therapy yet, I still have over 10 years of experience as an artist, starting from the age of 8 up until now, being 18. Throughout this timeline, I’ve learned art and life are one and the same. Just as your entire existence is a story in itself, your art can recall a similar pattern. The future is never guaranteed, like in art, you’re never guaranteed to like your piece. However, it’s okay to ride the wave of the process, as you observe the picture transform gradually, evolving from a bland, obscured bud, to the most exquisite, detailed flower the eye may discern. Occasionally mistakes, or as Bob Ross called them, “happy little accidents,” may occur, but that’s okay! Who’s to say that a mishap occurred in the first place when the only person who can detect it is none other than the participant themselves? Gifted children are the writers of their own destiny and therefore should have the ability to be proud of their accomplishments and feats, despite the errors they may make. The endless possibilities that flow through my mind of assisting others in their times of vulnerability are truly what motivates me. I want to utilize my own experiences and what I’ve grasped to bestow any assistance I can manage.

The pure essence exuded from the process of creation can be worth far more than the completed piece. Throughout the entirety of my artistic process of this watercolor cat, not only had I absorbed worthwhile information about myself, but I also emerged triumphant with exorbitant feelings of accomplishment, as the end product reached far beyond my initial expectations. It obscured my preconceived doubts about being unable to finish in time and whether or not I’d be capable of capturing the vividness I sought to achieve. I don’t have a direct answer on what truly inspired the painting. What I was absolutely certain of, however, was that I desperately wanted to utilize watercolor techniques, including the manipulation of meticulous detail and color varieties. This piece was entirely done in a studio setting, although my art teacher did walk around occasionally, she undeniably permitted me the freedom to work independently without restraints, only providing a selective few criticisms and suggestions. I had borrowed an unused and unpublicized picture of hers that I ultimately fell in love with, as it displayed numerous hues of greens, violets, yellows, and beyond. The lighting hit the cat beautifully as it was surrounded by nature’s existence. It was as if all was in perfect harmony within the picture, sweet serenity, as the cat calmly took a sip from an abandoned bird fountain that was nearly encapsulated by nature’s slithering grasp. The cat itself was the radiant gem that pulled me into the image the most, as I am an avid cat lover with my own furry feline and the anticipation of apprehending its fur-like qualities for recreation united with that. My motivation remained above the clouds, however, doubts and worries slowly began to materialize in the form of thunderous storm clouds. I had a time limit to finish the painting, and due to being so absorbed in the finer, smaller details, I began to lose track of the time. I would go weekly to art lessons, for three-hour class sessions, nonetheless, that still wasn’t enough, because or what I considered to be unattainable. My art teacher pushed me to work on certain sections, telling me I only had an hour or less to work on a particular part. Although one might have stressed, it pushed me into autopilot as if I were a machine. I took no breaks or pauses, I just continued to observe and recreate what I saw, greatly diminishing the past doubts and completely building up my confidence and productivity levels. Despite my inability to fully believe in myself, thanks to my art teacher administering the faith she had in me, I was pushed further than I thought I could, soaring past those limits, beyond the clouds and into the enthralling yet captivating atmosphere of the galaxy. Not only had I attained my form of sweet serenity, but I had learned the value of having an avid supporter. Titling my piece, Just a Sip, I felt rejuvenated with the taste of success I indulged in.

A future aspiration I have for myself is to ultimately remain a symbol of comfort for friends and family as I seek to provide various levels of solace through artistic expression while also displaying attentiveness and the clear desire that I want them to succeed to the same degree they, themselves, want to succeed and flourish, similar to that of a flower bud slowly flowing through the progression of growth to ultimately become the most exquisite flower amongst the rest.

Growing up, despite the fact that my parents were married for the first twelve years of my life, my father never resided with us, referring to my brother, mother, and of course myself. He had always lived with his parents, for reasons I don’t quite know nor desire to find out. Therefore, when news of divorce had arised, I wasn’t affected in the slightest, as I had always relied on my mother as my number one supporter. My dad practically was and still continues to be a stranger to me. Due to me being so accustomed to having an absent father, it didn’t necessarily feel like something was missing. That was until I began comparing my family to the families of others. There was a missing part of me and I can’t deny that I still want to attempt to grasp at something and orchestrate a connection. Although my dad didn’t exactly meet the qualifications to provide me necessary forms of comfort, art became a true companion for me. It all started at the bright young age of eight years old. Apparently, fate had decided that I was worthy of a drastic modification. I was a clueless and naive second grader when I made my “debut” in a small, family owned art studio, on the skirts of Dallas, PA, with jumbo children’s paper and simple crayola pencils clutched at the ready. I was a force to be reckoned with in such a prestigious establishment, all for the wrong reasons. Obviously at such an impressionable age, I longed to get my hands messy with paint, create crafts, and fill in empty pages. However, my grandparents took such traits as an earthly signal to immediately sign me up for art lessons, as if those squiggled little humanoids I jumbled up were the becoming indications of a future Picasso. I didn’t want to create modern art, I wanted to get straight into the colors, the details, not plain and broad sketches. I didn’t want to partake in a long excruciating process and instead wanted my pictures to radiate within seconds of execution. I yearned for results at the get go. Luckily for me, I adapted. I developed the realization that art and life are one in the same. The future is never guaranteed, like in art, you’re never guaranteed to like your piece. However, it’s okay to ride the wave of the process, as you observe the picture transform gradually, evolving from a bland, obscured bud, to the most exquisite, detailed flower the eye may discern. If I truly wanted to reconnect with my dad, I had to take my time and accept the process. I had to accept the fact that my dad’s failure to serve as a proper father figure wasn’t my own doing. If my dad isn’t willing to attempt, then he simply isn’t deserving of me. Despite my father’s inabilities, my grandparents and mother provided me with nothing but endless support as I continued my art journeys, in which they accompanied me to hectic art shows and truly showed interest in my pieces. I want to give others the opportunity to find their voice, as there is an unspoken language embedded in pieces that few can translate. The endless possibilities that flow through my mind of assisting others in their times of vulnerability is truly what motivates me. I want to utilize my own experiences and what I’ve grasped to bestow any assistance I can manage as it is possible to heal because like art, life is a process.

At the mature age of three years old, I was a force to be reckoned with, especially with my independent and inquisitive nature. The time of which I can clearly recall my mature sense of self was on an ordinary shopping trip to Burlington. I was accompanied by my mom, grandma, grandpa, and brother. My brother also happened to be much more reliant on others compared to my advanced abilities. It was a simple day and my grandmother opted to wait in the car while the rest of us headed in, backs poised and prepared for combat. Unlike my brother, who chose to sit in the shopping cart and be wheeled cautiously by my mother, my mind was purely set on using the two legs I had been gifted. I could run miles and miles. Well, it felt like miles, but it was most likely 10 feet or so so. However, as we were shopping, my curiosity got the better of me. Obviously, as any noble individual would do, I hid in the middle of a circular coat rack. It served well as a little igloo while I sat in silence, curled up in a ball. It was very fulfilling if I might add. I was startled when my mom and grandpa called for me, but as I said, I was very well-rounded and evolved as a child, so in turn, I remained silent and muffled my giggles. I had the element of surpise and obscureness on my side. I could easily jump out whenever I pleased and frighten the socks off of any unassuming shopper. I could even stay hidden there until the lights were turned off and everything was fully shut down. Then, I would have free reign and begin the start of my newfound kingdom, as this is just what any sophisticated individual would do. However, because my grandpa and mom were so worried about my location, my brother could care less as he simply drooled in his spot, this quickly escalated to a serious matter. Therefore, security was called and before I knew it, I was lifted out from my humble abode and raised like Simba in all my glory. After such an enlightening moment, my grandpa was so astounded by my incredible feats, that he said, “Send her to the car!” It was in quite a negative tone if I might add, but it was most likely out of jealousy. Anyways, I lounged in the car with my grandmother for the rest of the trip with a pure sense of accomplishment. I didn't exactly get to start the groundwork of my soon-to-be kingdom, but there's no time like the present!

I would have never fathomed that at the bright young age of eight years old, my life would change completely. Apparently, fate had decided that I was worthy of a drastic modification. I was merely a clueless and naive second grader when I made my “debut” in a small, family-owned art studio, on the skirts of Dallas, PA, with jumbo children’s paper and simple Crayola pencils clutched at the ready (definitely not favorable mediums for fine art). I was a force to be reckoned with in such a prestigious establishment, all for the wrong reasons. Obviously, at such an impressionable age, I longed to get my hands messy with paint, create crafts, and fill in empty pages. However, my grandparents took such traits as an earthly signal to immediately sign me up for art lessons, as if those squiggled little humanoids I jumbled up were the becoming indications of a future Picasso. I didn’t want to create modern art, I wanted to get straight into the colors, the details, not plain and broad sketches. I didn’t want to partake in a long excruciating process and instead wanted my pictures to radiate within seconds of execution. I yearned for results at the get-go. Luckily for me, over time, I grew “chip chopped” into shape, helping me to make the realization that art and life are one and the same. The future is never guaranteed, like in art, you’re never guaranteed to like your piece. However, it’s okay to ride the wave of the process, as you observe the picture transform gradually, evolving from a bland, obscured bud, to the most exquisite, detailed flower the eye may discern. Occasionally mistakes, or as Bob Ross called them, “happy little accidents,” may occur, but that’s okay! Who’s to say that I made a mishap in the first place when the only person who can detect it is myself? A picture can paint a thousand words. Therefore, it can be easier to express oneself through means of art versus verbal exchanges, like Edward Hopper said, “If I could say it in words there would be no reason to paint.” I want to give others the opportunity to find their voice, as there is an unspoken language embedded in pieces that few can translate. The endless possibilities that flow through my mind of assisting others in their times of vulnerability are truly what motivates me. I want to utilize my own experiences and what I’ve grasped to bestow any assistance I can manage. It’s been ten years since then and I’ve now had the honor of being accepted into Marywood University for Art Therapy and have received numerous awards for art shows in my area. It’s definitely been a process, but it’s a process I’ve undergone for so long that I could never imagine going back and making any alterations. I’d love nothing more than to aid others in their own progressions of self-discovery and contentment. Overall, I am passionate about the fine arts because of the peace of mind I'm able to achieve from it and because through the long process of creation, I can enjoy and take my time, as it's important to give myself a level of patience and trust my abilities.

I would have never fathomed that at the bright young age of eight years old, my life would change completely. Apparently, fate had decided that I was worthy of a drastic modification. I was merely a clueless and naive second grader when I made my “debut” in a small, family-owned art studio, on the skirts of Dallas, PA, with jumbo children’s paper and simple Crayola pencils clutched at the ready (definitely not favorable mediums for fine art). I was a force to be reckoned with in such a prestigious establishment, all for the wrong reasons. Obviously, at such an impressionable age, I longed to get my hands messy with paint, crate crafts, and fill in empty pages. However, my grandparents took such traits as an earthly signal to immediately sign me up for art lessons, as if those squiggled little humanoids I jumbled up were the becoming indications of a future Picasso. I didn’t want to create modern art, I wanted to get straight into the colors and details, not plain and broad sketches. I didn’t want to partake in a long excruciating process and instead wanted my pictures to radiate within seconds of execution. I yearned for results from the get-go. Luckily for me, over time, I grew “chip-chopped” into shape, helping me to make the realization that art and life are one and the same. The future is never guaranteed, like in art, you’re never guaranteed to like your piece. However, it’s okay to ride the wave of the process, as you observe the picture transform gradually, evolving from a bland, obscured bud, to the most exquisite, detailed flower the eye may discern. Occasionally mistakes, or as Bob Ross called them, “happy little accidents,” may occur, but that’s okay! Who’s to say that I made a mishap in the first place when the only person who can detect it is myself? A picture can paint a thousand words. Therefore, it can be easier to express oneself through means of art versus verbal exchanges, like Edward Hopper said, “If I could say it in words there would be no reason to paint.” I want to give others the opportunity to find their voice, as there is an unspoken language embedded in pieces that few can translate. The endless possibilities that flow through my mind of assisting others in their times of vulnerability are truly what motivates me. I want to utilize my own experiences and what I’ve grasped to bestow any assistance I can manage. It’s been ten years since then and I’ve now had the honor of being accepted into Marywood University for Art Therapy and have received numerous awards for art shows in my area. It’s definitely been a process, but it’s a process I’ve undergone for so long that I could never imagine going back and making any alterations. I’d love nothing more than to aid others in their own progressions of self-discovery and contentment and I believe this scholarship could be a gateway for me to achieve this dream.

As a young aspiring artist, my passion turned towards a more realistic approach when it came to my art technique. The littlest of details never failed to provide me with fulfillment and purpose, especially because I could become so engrossed in the creation of the piece itself that I never realized how much time had elapsed. It was as if I was in an entire world of my own, caught in a trance and solely focused on recreating the beauty of nature’s surroundings. One of the most common phrases I can recall from my time in art lessons is “snow is not white!” When looking at a fresh blanket of snow, it often appears as a fresh white sheet. However, that’s not the case for me. I see a blank canvas with endless possibilities. Possibilities filled with violet and cyan shadows. Perhaps a yellow gleam from the sun, or red shadows cast by a nearby barn. Colors are ubiquitous, they surround our entire being, even when they may not appear as such at an initial glance. That is what I find so fascinating and exquisite about the world, even when I just so as peer out my window, there are colors hidden in the depths of the most bland-looking buildings and dark, abysmal shadows. Art and life are one and the same. The future is never guaranteed, like in art, you’re never guaranteed to like your piece. However, it’s okay to ride the wave of the process and take your time as you dig deep. Dig deep gradually to recognize what calls out to you. Eventually, you will observe the picture transform, evolving from a bland, obscured bud, to the most exquisite, detailed flower the eye may discern. The pure existence of Nature itself never fails to entice me.

I would have never fathomed that at the bright young age of eight years old, my life would change completely. Apparently, fate had decided that I was worthy of a drastic modification. I was merely a clueless and naive second grader when I made my “debut” in a small, family-owned art studio, on the skirts of Dallas, PA, with jumbo children’s paper and simple Crayola pencils clutched at the ready (definitely not favorable mediums for fine art). I was a force to be reckoned with in such a prestigious establishment, all for the wrong reasons. Obviously, at such an impressionable age, I longed to get my hands messy with paint, create crafts, and fill in empty pages. However, my grandparents took such traits as an earthly signal to immediately sign me up for art lessons, as if those squiggled little humanoids I jumbled up were the becoming indications of a future Picasso. I didn’t want to create modern art, I wanted to get straight into the colors and details, not plain and broad sketches. I didn’t want to partake in a long excruciating process and instead wanted my pictures to radiate within seconds of execution. I yearned for results from the get-go. Luckily for me, over time, I grew “chip chopped” into shape, helping me to make the realization that art and life are one and the same. The future is never guaranteed, like in art, you’re never guaranteed to like your piece. However, it’s okay to ride the wave of the process, as you observe the picture transform gradually, evolving from a bland, obscured bud, to the most exquisite, detailed flower the eye may discern. Occasionally mistakes, or as Bob Ross called them, “happy little accidents,” may occur, but that’s okay! Who’s to say that I made a mishap in the first place when the only person who can detect it is myself? A picture can paint a thousand words. Therefore, it can be easier to express oneself through means of art versus verbal exchanges, like Edward Hopper said, “If I could say it in words there would be no reason to paint.” I want to give others the opportunity to find their voice, as there is an unspoken language embedded in pieces that few can translate. The endless possibilities that flow through my mind of assisting others in their times of vulnerability is truly what motivates me. I want to utilize my own experiences and what I’ve grasped to bestow any assistance I can manage. It’s been ten years since then and I’ve now had the honor of being accepted into Marywood University for Art Therapy and have received numerous art awards from shows I've entered near my residence. It’s definitely been a process, but it’s a process I’ve undergone for so long that I could never imagine going back and making any alterations. I’d love nothing more than to aid others in their own progressions of self-discovery and contentment. Through the career path I've chosen, I am hopeful I can make a difference in the way people view themselves as a whole by allowing them a creative outlet to express themselves in ways they may deem comforting and freeing, ways which freed me as well.