My name is Finley Downum, and the two things that have shaped my life the most are art and dance. I have been an artist for as long as I can remember and a dancer since I was two years old. Both have pushed and helped me grow into someone who cares deeply about people and the spaces they move through. Dance taught me commitment, discipline, and leadership. Art taught me reflection, empathy, and the ability to communicate feelings that are difficult to say out loud. Together, they have shown me the kind of impact I want to make in the world. My high school experience has not been the traditional story most people imagine. I train at an elite level, often spending hours in the studio every day while balancing school, dual enrollment, work, and community service. A difficult situation with a former dance teacher challenged my sense of self and made me question my worth, but it also taught me something important. I learned that kindness and high standards can coexist. I learned that leadership is not about being the loudest voice, but about being the person others feel safe around. That experience changed me. It showed me how deeply young people need environments that are healthy and supportive. This realization is the reason I want to pursue a career in art therapy. I plan to study Studio Art with a concentration in painting and minor in psychology. I hope to earn a master’s degree in art therapy so that I can help children and teens learn to trust themselves, express emotion, and find confidence through creativity. I know what it feels like to feel invisible. I know what it feels like to be torn down by someone who should have been a source of encouragement. I want to be the kind of adult who does the opposite. I want to build safe, expressive spaces where young people feel seen and valued. My leadership and service experiences have prepared me for this path. I founded and serve as President of my town’s National Honor Society for Dance Arts chapter. I led community projects including Soles4Souls shoe drives, food pantry collections, school supply drives, baby blanket making for our state children’s hospital, and a “Call for Art” project with Georgetown University’s Arts and Humanities Program. I mentor younger dancers, serve as co-captain of my elite team, and work hard to help create a studio environment that feels encouraging and joyful. These experiences have shown me that service is not always loud or dramatic. Sometimes it is steady, quiet, and rooted in compassion. In the future, I hope to use my education to build programs that combine art, movement, and emotional support for young people who need it. I want to help them grow confidence the way I rebuilt mine. I want to bring creativity into communities where resources may be limited. Most of all, I want to help others feel seen in the way I once needed someone to see me. I plan to make a positive impact on the world by using art to heal, encourage, and uplift the next generation. Creativity changed my life. I want to use it to change someone else’s.

My name is Finley Downum, and I am a lifelong athlete whose sport happens to be dance. I began dancing when I was two years old, and it has shaped almost every part of who I am today. Dance is often seen as only an art form, but the athletic side of it has taught me the same lessons many athletes learn on a field or court. It has taught me discipline, commitment, teamwork, flexibility, time management, and the importance of showing up for others even when you are tired. Most importantly, it has taught me that the way you treat people matters just as much as how hard you work. I dance at an elite varsity level and serve as a co-captain for my team. I train five days a week, up to 5 hours per day. I perform, compete, and help lead a team of athletes who range widely in age and experience. Being a co-captain has shown me how to motivate younger dancers, how to set the tone in practice, and how to create an environment where everyone feels welcomed and supported. I have also served as a teacher assistant for youth classes, helping dancers build their technique while encouraging them through moments of self-doubt. Coaching in these small ways has shown me the impact a positive role model can have on a young athlete’s confidence and love for their sport. My leadership also extends into community service. I am the Founder and President of my town’s National Honor Society for Dance Arts chapter, where I organize and lead service projects rooted in creativity and compassion. We have completed Soles4Souls shoe drives, food pantry collections, baby blanket projects for our state's children's hospital, school supply drives, and costume donation for underserved communities. Each project has taught me how to mobilize young athletes around a shared purpose and how to use what we know and love to give back. A defining moment in my journey was experiencing a difficult and unhealthy coaching situation. Instead of building me up, this coach tore down my confidence and made me question my value. It took courage, honesty, and the support of trusted adults to understand that leadership built on fear is not real leadership. That experience changed me. It taught me the kind of coach, teammate, and leader I never want to be. It drove me to become someone who leads with empathy, patience, and encouragement. Young athletes deserve coaches who make them feel safe, supported, and capable, and I want to be that person for others. Through my sport, I plan to continue making a positive impact on my community by mentoring younger dancers, creating supportive studio environments, and promoting leadership roles that focus on kindness as much as commitment. I want to help young athletes build confidence, not lose it. In the future, as I pursue a BFA in Studio Art and a minor in psychology, I hope to continue working with youth through dance and movement. I dream of guest choreographing youth dance routines and always having a place within the dance world wherever I end up. Eventually, I want to become an art therapist and work with children and teens, using creativity to help them grow emotionally, mentally, and socially. Dance has shown me how powerful youth sports can be in shaping character. I want to use that power to help young people feel strong, valued, and supported, both in their sport and in their lives. I want to give back to my athletic community with the same love and support I needed.

My name is Finley Downum, and I am a senior in high school who has grown up balancing academics, dance, leadership, and community service. I am someone who works hard not because I feel pressured to, but because I want to grow, support others, and become someone younger students can look up to. Reading about Kalia’s life, I recognized qualities that I strive to live by every day: dedication, kindness, joy, and a desire to make a positive impact on the people around me. Dance has been the center of my life since I was two years old. It has taught me discipline, resilience, and how to push through challenges even when things get hard. I dance at an elite varsity level and serve as a co-captain, mentoring younger dancers and helping create a supportive studio environment. I am also a teacher assistant, helping lead youth classes and encouraging dancers who may feel unsure of themselves. Dance has shaped my character the same way sports shaped Kalia’s. It taught me that effort matters just as much as talent and that lifting others up is one of the most important parts of being an athlete. Academically, I am a strong student who takes AP, honors, and dual-enrollment courses while maintaining a high GPA. I enjoy challenging myself and staying committed even on the busiest days. Outside of school, I founded and serve as President of my local National Honor Society for Dance Arts chapter. I lead weekly meetings and organize community service projects such as food pantry collections, school supply drives, Soles4Souls shoe drives, making baby blankets for our state children's hospital, collecting costumes for underserved communities, and creative outreach for Georgetown University Hospital. Giving back to my community is one of the most meaningful parts of my life. In college, I plan to study get a BFA in Studio Art with a concentration in painting, with a minor in psychology and continue on to earn a master’s degree in art therapy. My goal is to work with children and teens and use creativity to help them express emotions, build confidence, and heal from difficult experiences. I want to make a difference in people’s lives through compassion, patience, and understanding, values that Kalia clearly understood and lived. This scholarship would make a tremendous difference for my family. I have a sibling already in college and another who will follow me soon. My parents run a small business and work incredibly hard to support us. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to focus more on my studies, continue serving others, and move toward my goal of becoming an art therapist without adding financial strain to my family. I am honored to apply for a scholarship that carries Kalia D. Davis’s legacy. Her life inspires me to continue striving for excellence, supporting the people around me, and living with kindness, joy, and purpose.

Community service has always meant showing up for people in ways that matter, even if the act seems small. Growing up in a small town, I learned that the things people do quietly often make the biggest difference. The loudest person isn't always the most capable. Service, to me, is about paying attention to what others need and using whatever abilities you have to help. Most of my community service experience has come from the National Honor Society for Dance Arts chapter that I started at my studio, where I am also the president. I created the chapter because I wanted dancers and artists in my town to have more ways to get involved and be recognized for their leadership, creativity, and academics. Since then, service has become a regular part of my life. I help lead projects like Soles4Souls shoe drives, food pantry collections, school supply drives, making baby blankets for our children’s hospital, costume collection for underserved communities, and providing volunteers for our studio Booster Club whenever they need help. These projects have taught me a lot. I’ve learned how to organize teams, how to encourage people to participate, and how to connect service to something that feels meaningful. When dancers can give back through creativity or movement, they feel like their talents matter in a different way. I think that is what makes service so powerful. It allows people to contribute in a way that reflects who they are. Dance has also shaped how I think about helping others. After going through a very difficult year with a teacher who created an unhealthy environment, I realized how important it is for young people to feel safe in the places where they express themselves. That experience taught me that service is not only about organized projects. It is also about treating people with kindness, noticing when someone is struggling, and making sure you never make someone feel small or afraid. Now, as a co-captain at my studio, I try to be the leader that I needed. I encourage younger dancers, listen to them, and remind them that their feelings matter. Art has been another way I’ve been able to give back. Through the Georgetown University Arts and Humanities Program, I helped lead a "Call for Art" in my high school that were turned into greeting cards for patients, families, and staff. That project made me realize how comforting creativity can be for people. Art can calm you, give you a voice, or help you express something you do not know how to say. Because of all these experiences, I want to give back through my future career. I hope to study Studio Art and psychology, and later earn a master’s degree in art therapy. I want to work with kids and teens and help them use creativity to process emotions, build confidence, and feel understood. I want to bring these services to small or rural communities like mine, where good mental health resources often do not exist. Community service has taught me that helping others is not about being perfect. It is about being present. Through my career, I plan to keep showing up for people with compassion, creativity, and an open heart.

A situation where I repeatedly fell short of my own expectations happened during the hardest year of my dance career. I had a teacher who created an unhealthy and damaging environment. Instead of feeling supported, I often felt singled out, criticized, and made to believe that I was not good enough. Over time, I began to see myself the way she treated me. My real failure during that time was not a lack of ability. It was how quickly I lost confidence in myself. I failed to stand up for myself. I fell short in my own belief that I deserved kindness and respect. I failed to love myself. I kept trying to meet expectations that constantly shifted. No matter how hard I worked, it never felt like enough. I pushed myself until dance stopped feeling like a place of joy and started feeling like a test I was always failing. I was yelled at and put down. I was berated in front of others. I swallowed my feelings and convinced myself that if I just worked harder, the situation would improve. Instead, it only made me question myself more. That mindset followed me into rehearsals, school, and even home. I felt like I was falling short in every part of my life, not just in the studio. The hardest part was realizing how quickly my confidence had slipped away. Dance had always been where I felt most like myself. Losing that sense of belonging made me feel like I had lost a piece of my identity. There were days when I questioned whether I even belonged on the team anymore. Looking back, I see that the real shortcoming was not my skill, but the way I allowed someone else’s treatment of me to shape how I viewed myself. The turning point came when I reached out to trusted adults who helped me see the situation clearly. They listened without judgment and reminded me that leadership built on fear is not real leadership. They helped me understand that harshness is not the same thing as high standards and that the way she treated me did not reflect my talent, character, or potential. They reminded me that I am enough. Their support allowed me to begin rebuilding the confidence I had lost. Rebuilding took time. I had to relearn how to trust myself in the studio. I had to reconnect with the joy I used to feel every time I danced. I had to set boundaries and remind myself that I deserved to feel safe and respected. Slowly, I began to separate who I truly was from who she made me feel like. I learned how to recognize unhealthy dynamics. I had to repair friendships with my teammates after I pulled away. I eventually overcame this issue by choosing not to let that year define me. I focused on growth instead of judgment. I now use that experience to guide how I support younger dancers, how I lead, and how I build safe spaces around me. I know now that my worth will never be determined by one person’s treatment of me. The best outcome of this experience is knowing that I will never let anyone else feel the way I felt during that year. I want the dancers around me to feel protected, encouraged, and seen. This experience reshaped my understanding of leadership and showed me that real leadership comes from love, patience, and empathy.

One issue in my community that I have taken the initiative to address is the lack of consistent opportunities for young people in the arts, to be recognized for their leadership, artistic talents, and academic achievements, especially in a small rural town like mine. Many of my teammate wanted to give back but did not know where to start, and there were very few programs that combined creativity, leadership, and community care. I realized there was a gap, and I wanted to help fill it. Our small school often looked for the loudest students to place in leadership roles, students who knew the teachers well and felt at ease moving into high school spaces. This motivated me to start the National Honor Society for Dance Arts chapter through my dance academy. I founded the chapter in 2024 because I believed our dancers deserved a space where their creativity could become a form of service. I wanted young artists to see that they could make an impact, even in a small town. Since founding the chapter, I have led weekly meetings, organized project teams, and created a year-round schedule of service opportunities that focus on compassion, connection, and community need. Our chapter focuses on community service and we pride ourselves to always have some sort of project going on that gives back. So far, we have completed multiple outreach projects including a Soles4Souls shoe drive, food pantry collections, school supply drives, baby blanket-making for our state children’s hospital, and a costume collection for underserved communities. Our members also take the lead on many aspects of our dance Booster Club, which relies on us for volunteer support throughout the year. These projects have engaged dozens of students who might not have otherwise participated in service and have given them a way to give back through a meaningful and inspiring platform they already know and love. To expand our efforts, I hope to build partnerships with more organizations that serve youth, families, and healthcare communities. I would also like to create a mentorship model that connects older dancers with younger ones to encourage leadership, confidence, and service-minded thinking. My long-term goal is to establish creative outreach as a lasting part of my community, even long after I graduate. I would also love to help create a scholarship program that provides graduating dancers with financial support for their continuing education.

I am a student who has always learned best through creativity, movement, and connection. I grew up dancing and drawing since before I can remember it specifically. Dance became the place where I learned discipline, resilience, and teamwork. Art became the place where I learned reflection, emotion, and the value of looking closely at the world. These two passions have shaped my identity throughout high school and continue to guide the choices I make for my future. I dance at a varsity elite level, where the commitment is similar to a full-time activity. I practice five days a week, perform, compete, and serve as a co-captain for the team. I mentor younger dancers, teach youth classes, help with rehearsals, and work to create an environment that feels safe and uplifting for everyone. Outside of the studio, I am the Founder and President of our local chapter's National Honor Society for Dance Arts. I created the chapter from the ground up, and leading it has given me meaningful ways to serve my community. We organize food pantry collections, school supply drives, shoe drives, costume collection for underserved communities, and have hosted baby blanket-making nights for our local children’s hospital. Alongside dance and service, I am deeply involved in the arts. I have contributed artwork to Georgetown University’s Arts and Humanities Program, and I take dual-enrollment art courses at Western Colorado University. I also serve as a Copy Editor for our yearbook, which lets me blend writing, design, and storytelling. Academically, I challenge myself with honors and AP classes and maintain consistent honor roll standing. One of the most defining experiences in high school came from overcoming a difficult year with a harmful dance teacher. That experience taught me how important safe environments are, especially for young people who are trying to grow. It shaped the way I lead, the way I support others, and the path I want to follow after high school. I plan to pursue a degree in Studio Art with a concentration in painting, along with a minor in psychology. Eventually, I hope to earn a master’s degree in art therapy. My goal is to combine creativity with compassion and help young people express themselves, heal, and feel understood. If I could start my own charity, it would reflect that purpose from my experiences. My mission would be to provide creative support and emotional tools for children and teens who do not feel heard or who have experienced difficult environments. I would serve youth in small or rural communities, where resources are often limited. Volunteers would help lead free art workshops, movement sessions, and mentorship programs that encourage expression, confidence, and connection. The charity would also partner with schools and community centers to create safe spaces where creativity and mental wellness are supported together. Art has always helped me find my voice. My charity would exist to help others find theirs too.

I would not say I love math in the traditional way. I don't wake up excited for equations or feel inspired by long formulas. What I do appreciate about math is the way it challenges me to think differently than I naturally do. I am an artist first. My mind works in color and images and movement and metaphor. Math, on the other hand, asks for structure, logic, and patience. It asks me to slow down, to notice details, and to stick with something even when it does not come naturally. In a strange way, math has taught me a lot about myself. It has taught me perseverance, because nothing about it comes easily to me. It has taught me how to break big problems into smaller steps, which is something I use in every part of my life, especially when I feel overwhelmed. It has taught me that something can feel frustrating and still be worth doing, simply because it strengthens your ability to think. Math has taught me to slow down, to check things I have already done, and be thoughtful. Math has taught me the importance of the little things. I think the reason I “love” math, in my own way, is because it keeps me balanced. Art lets me be expressive and imaginative. Math brings me back to earth. It reminds me that growth often happens in the places where we struggle. And even though math is not my favorite subject, every time I get through a difficult lesson or solve a problem I did not think I could, it makes me feel capable. That's the part I love.

My “pie in the sky” dream is to become an art therapist who creates safe, healing spaces for young people. It is a dream that feels both huge and fragile. Scary and exciting. What sparked it was not a single moment, but a combination of experiences that shaped how I see people, creativity, and the need for kindness. I grew up surrounded by the arts. I have been dancing since I was two. I have been drawing since I could barely hold a crayon. Creativity has always been part of the way I breathe, think, and understand the world. For most of my childhood, dance was a place where I felt confident and safe. That changed during a difficult season with a former dance teacher whose behavior created an environment of fear. It was confusing and painful to feel small in a space that had always brought me happiness. At the same time, it opened my eyes to how deeply young people can be affected by the adults who hold influence over them. Rebuilding myself after that year was not simple. It required patience, self-reflection, and support from the adults who did step in to help. They helped me see that no one should have to go through what I did alone. I had to work to gain back my confidence and love for the studio. I realized that no one should ever feel the way I did during that year. That realization lit the spark that grew into my dream of becoming an art therapist. My dream feels big because it asks me to blend creativity, emotional care, and academic knowledge into something meaningful. It asks me to grow into the kind of mentor and guide I once needed. It also feels out of reach sometimes because creating a career in art therapy requires a long path, like earning a studio art degree, completing the psychology coursework needed for graduate school, and eventually pursuing a master's degree in art therapy. It asks for years of study, self-awareness, and commitment. It asks me to stay open to learning about myself and others. It also asks me to be successful in class that might not come naturally to me. The steps I need to take are challenging but exciting. I plan to study Studio Art with a concentration in painting, while also earning a minor in psychology. I want to strengthen my technical skills and learn how to use creativity with purpose. I want to study the science behind human behavior and develop the skills needed to support people with care and respect. After that, I plan to apply to a graduate program in art therapy and deepen my understanding of how art can support healing. This dream asks me to be vulnerable. It asks me to use my own experience as motivation rather than something that holds me back. It asks me to trust that empathy can be powerful. It asks me to show that creativity can be more than art on a page or movement on a stage. It asks me to prove that art be a bridge. My pie in the sky dream is to stand beside children and help them feel valued, understood, and safe. I want to give them what I once needed. And while it feels big, it also feels worth every step.

Education has shaped my goals in ways I didn't always notice while they were happening. It has come from school classes, but also from the studio, the art room, and the community. Each space taught me something different about who I am and what I care about. Over time, these experiences helped me understand that I want a future where creativity and helping others come together. I have learned what brings me joy, what challenges me, and what feels meaningful and important. Education has helped point me to the bridge between art and compassion. My education has been both traditional learning and creative environments. I have been a dancer since I was two and an artist for as long as I can remember. Art was my first teacher. Through drawing, painting, and movement, I learned how to observe the world, interpret emotion, and express feelings before I had the vocabulary to explain them. Art helped me say things that I didn't know how to explain with words. School helped me see learning as something that connects people and helps us understand ourselves. School helped me learn that leadership isn't always loud and in your face. I might not have been the number one kid in school. I wasn't Homecoming Queen or president of our Leadership Class. I wasn't in every AP class offered. But I cared and I showed up. I tried my hardest, even while navigating how difficult high school can be. One of the experiences that shaped my direction the most happened outside of a classroom but influenced every part of my education. For a full year, I faced a painful situation with a dance teacher who created a discouraging and unsafe environment. Dance had always been my joy and my home, so the shift was scary. I carried fear into a place where I used to feel free. It started to affect my confidence in school too. I began questioning my worth and talent. The turning point came when I finally reached out to trusted adults who listened, believed me, and helped protect me. Through that experience, I learned how to recognize harmful behavior and how to ask for help. I learned strength and resilience. More than anything, I learned how much safe and supportive environments matter for young people, especially those who rely on creativity to communicate. This experience changed me. It forced me to rebuild, and it shaped the goals I have today. While I was trying to move forward from the experience, my education gave me something solid to hold onto. School became the one place where I still felt capable. Working hard in my classes helped me rebuild confidence. Being present help me realize I was still important and loved. These experiences helped me find direction and showed me that I want to use education to help others feel safe and supported. Leadership also became a very meaningful part of my education. Founding and serving as President of my National Honor Society of Dance Arts chapter has taught me how to organize, communicate, and support others. I lead weekly meetings, guide dancers through the induction process, and create community service projects that combine creativity and compassion. Some of these include shoe drives, food pantry collections, school supply drives, baby blankets for our state's children’s hospital, and a collaborative “Call for Art” project where student collages became greeting cards for patients at Georgetown University Hospital. These projects showed me how much I value service, community, and creating opportunities for others to feel seen. My leadership extends to the studio as well. As an elite-level dancer and co-captain, I mentor younger dancers, help with rehearsals, and work to create an environment that feels encouraging and uplifting. I also teach youth classes. My desire to build safe spaces for others comes directly from my own experiences. I learned how important it is to make sure no one feels invisible or unprotected. I want to make sure no one ever feels like I did. My education also includes the practical lessons learned from balancing school, work, dance, concurrent classes, and responsibilities at home. Taking college courses while in high school strengthened my academic confidence and taught me how to manage my time. Working seasonal jobs taught me reliability, professionalism, and resilience. These experiences taught me how to stay steady, even when life becomes overwhelming. Looking ahead, I want to use my education to create a better future for others. I want to use art as a way to help people understand their emotions and feel safe expressing themselves. I want to work with young people who need someone to listen. I want to create spaces where creativity is a tool for healing. Education helped me find my direction. It helped me see that art and compassion can change lives. Now, I hope to use my education to help others feel supported, understood, and capable of healing through the arts.

I live in Gunnison, Colorado, where the natural world is not just scenery. It is woven into every part of life. I’ve grown up surrounded by rivers, mountains, forests, open skies, and people who understand what it means to depend on the land. Living here has given me a deep appreciation for the environment, but also a close-up view of how it is changing. Our seasons are shifting, our water levels are inconsistent, and wildfires threaten more each year. As I’ve grown older, I’ve realized that protecting this place, and the planet, is not someone else’s job. It is mine too. The environmental issue that speaks to me most is climate change, especially the emotional and psychological disconnect many people feel from it. We see statistics and headlines, but they often feel distant or impossible to solve. I believe the heart of the problem lies not only in science or policy, but in storytelling. People protect what they feel connected to. And that connection comes from emotion, empathy, and presence. This is where I believe I can help. As a visual artist, dancer, and student leader, I’ve found that creativity can help people care in a way that numbers cannot. I want to use the arts to help people reconnect with the planet and with each other. I plan to study visual arts and community-based arts education, with a focus on environmental justice. My dream is to create community projects that give people a platform to process their fears, grief, and hopes around climate change. I want to help people express what they are losing, what they want to protect, and what kind of future they are fighting for. One of the moments that sparked this passion was when I volunteered at a local river cleanup. I thought we would be collecting a few bags of litter. What we actually removed were years of forgotten objects: tires, broken glass, rusted metal. That experience stayed with me. I realized how easy it is for damage to accumulate when people stop paying attention. It also showed me how healing it can be to restore something, even just a small stretch of water. That physical act inspired me to think bigger. What if I could create art installations in spaces like that? What if people could see a wall of portraits of community members holding signs that say what they love about the earth? What if students could choreograph dance pieces that respond to climate data and perform them in public spaces? These ideas are not just imagination. I’ve already begun taking action. As the founder and president of the National Honor Society for Dance Arts chapter at my elite competitive dance studio, I’ve organized outreach projects that blend art and service. We’ve used repurposed materials for creative projects and participated in donation drives that support both people and the planet. I also assist in teaching youth dance classes, where I make sure students understand that being a dancer also means being a leader in their community. Financially, my family supports me in every way they can, but higher education will be a major challenge for us. I am dual-enrolled at Western Colorado University to get a head start and save on tuition, and I plan to work through college to continue supporting myself. Scholarships like this one make my goals more possible. They allow me to focus on learning and leading rather than just getting by. In the future, I hope to work with nonprofit arts organizations or start my own initiative that uses art to promote environmental awareness and healing. I want to travel to small towns like mine and create opportunities for young people to process their emotions around climate change. I want to help them feel empowered, not helpless. I want to help them tell their stories. What gives me hope is the creativity and compassion I see in others my age. We may not have all the answers, but we have ideas, questions, and drive. We are not afraid to care. I believe that if we are given the space to lead and the support to grow, we can change how the world sees itself—and protect what matters most in the process.

I am the multitasker of chaos. The curator of oddly specific playlists. My camera roll is a museum of memes I’ll never post but scroll through when I need comfort. My Notes app? A mix of grocery lists, dramatic one-liners, and deep thoughts like “Do clouds ever feel heavy?” Spoiler: I don’t know, but it felt important at 2:17 a.m. while binge-watching "How I Met Your Mother" for the seventh time. I study for exams with seven tabs open—one for school, one for competition dance videos I claim are “research,” one for existential crisis Googling, and four I forgot to close from my sign language class. I communicate through song links and Pinterest boards, and I’ll 100% send you a Spotify playlist instead of explaining my emotions. “Here’s a moody alt-rock track. Please decode.” Instagram is my therapist, escape room, and comedy club. My explore page somehow knows I need a reminder to drink water, learn new choreography, and cry to an audio clip all within five minutes. I have never felt more seen. I believe in sending voice memos that start with “OK, ignore how I sound,” and end with unqualified life advice. I still screenshot texts I’m not sure how to respond to and ask my friends to co-write my replies like we’re on a sitcom. Being Gen Z means knowing the internet can be a mess and still showing up with empathy. It means finding humor in hard moments, turning playlists into love letters, and making the most out of a group chat that’s half inside jokes, half survival guide. I may not be famous, but I’m fluent in this world. And I’m showing up exactly as I am to a soundtrack of The Beatles, Led Zepplin, Doechii, Sublime, and Pink Floyd.

My name is Finley Downum, and I’m a student at Gunnison High School in Gunnison, Colorado, graduating in 2026. I’ve lived in a small mountain town my whole life, which means I’ve grown up surrounded by people who take care of each other. I’ve learned that even small actions can have a big impact, and I try to live that out in everything I do. I’ve always been involved in both the arts and in community service. I’m a dancer on my studio’s elite competition team, and I also serve as the founder and president of my studio’s National Honor Society for Dance Arts chapter. Through that group, I’ve helped organize food drives, shoe drives, and art projects for hospital patients. I also assist in teaching dance classes for younger kids, helping them with choreography and making sure they feel welcome, safe, and supported. That matters to me more than perfect technique. Outside of dance, I’ve volunteered with Cards for Hospitalized Kids and led a school-wide art submission for the Georgetown University Arts and Humanities Program. I love combining creativity with community care. For me, art is not just something I do. It’s how I connect with people, how I express myself, and how I give back. My family works incredibly hard to support me and my siblings, but higher education is expensive, especially when there will be three of us in college at the same time. I am dual-enrolled at Western Colorado University while finishing high school, which helps me save money and get ahead, but tuition, travel, and living costs still are already adding up quickly. I plan to work during college and apply for every scholarship I can. Financial support would allow me to focus more on learning, creating, and giving back to others. I’ve experienced bullying firsthand, both in school and in one of the places that’s meant to be my safe space: the dance studio. At school, I’ve been pushed to the outside of my social group and have had to navigate exclusion and rumors. At the studio, I once had a teacher who used fear, verbal threats, and physical violence to control us. It was subtle at first, but over time it affected my confidence and mental health. I kept showing up, but I began to doubt myself and question if I even belonged there. Eventually, I spoke up. And now, I’m more committed than ever to being someone who makes sure others don’t feel that way, especially young dancers who look up to older students like me. As someone who spends a lot of time mentoring younger students, I take bullying very seriously. I’ve worked hard to be someone others can turn to. Whether I’m helping backstage at a recital or chatting with a classmate who seems off, I check in, listen, and try to lead with empathy. Online, I help manage social media accounts for our dance team and honor society. I keep our pages positive and avoid content that can lead to comparison or insecurity. I’ve talked to younger dancers about how to stay safe online and how to step away when something feels toxic. Moving forward, I want to keep building spaces where people feel safe and valued. I know what it’s like to feel invisible. And I also know how life-changing it is when someone notices. That’s who I want to be.

My “why” is movement. My “why” is people. My “why” is truth. What drives me is the need to tell stories. Real stories, through bodies, faces, and feeling. My passion lies in stage choreography that pulls emotion out of silence and turns it into something you can feel in your chest. I want to choreograph pieces that yell my story from the rooftops. Not with words, but with movement so raw and honest that you don’t need a single line of dialogue to understand. I want to work intimately with dancers to shape every movement into something personal and human. I want each routine to feel like a confession, a prayer, a memory. I want to create performances that leave the audience breathless because they see themselves in what is unfolding on stage. Dance is how I process what I can’t explain, and choreography is how I share it with the world. My vision is to travel. To meet dancers from all over the world and bring them into my story while learning theirs. There’s a rhythm to every city, every culture, and every person. I want to listen for it. I want to collaborate with artists from everywhere and build choreography rooted in collective experience. I don’t believe in one style or one voice. I believe in connection, and in telling the truth through movement. At the same time, I want to paint people. I want to paint their joy, their pain, and their complexity. Portraits have always been my other language. Faces are their own kind of landscape, filled with tension and tenderness, pride and grief. When I paint someone, I try to read the words written on their face. Every crease, every shadow, every spark in the eyes tells part of their story. I want to build a body of work similar to Humans of New York, but instead of photographs and captions, I aim to create a painted archive of emotions. A study of humans. A visual anthology of what it means to be alive. Even as technology evolves around me, with AI-generated art, digital animation, and automatic editing tools, my approach stays rooted in human connection. I am not afraid of technology. I’ll use what helps me elevate my work. But what matters most will always be the spirit behind the creation. No tool can replicate the feeling of working through choreography with another person in the room, sweating, laughing, and crying as we build something together. No machine can paint the moment someone lets their guard down and you see something real in their face for the first time. Art, for me, isn’t just about output. It’s about presence. It’s about emotion, honesty, and trust. I want to build a creative life that lets me do this kind of work every day. I want to guide dancers toward something bigger than technique, capturing people’s truths through brushstrokes, and making audiences feel something they didn’t expect to feel. I’ve already started laying the foundation. As a dancer and assistant teacher, I’ve seen how movement can give people the confidence to take up space. As a volunteer and organizer, I’ve used art to connect hospital patients, young students, and community members across generations. As a student, I’ve learned that observation and empathy are just as important as skill. And through all of it, I’ve discovered that my voice is strongest when I use it to uplift the stories of others, while still sharing my own. What motivates me is the opportunity to create work that makes people feel seen. That is my “why.” I don’t want to make pretty things just for applause. I want to make meaningful things that hit your heart like a truth you didn’t know you needed. I am not here to decorate the world. I am here to understand it, and to help others do the same.

Some teachers leave an impact because of what they teach. Others leave an impact because of how they make you feel. For me, that teacher is Mrs. Vokoun. My high school art teacher, mentor, and someone who showed up when I needed support the most. I’ve always loved art, but my sophomore year was the first time I really felt seen as an artist. That was largely because of her. From the very first day in her classroom, Mrs. Vokoun treated me like someone whose work had meaning. She looked past what was on the page and noticed what was behind it. She saw potential in me, but she also saw pain. And instead of brushing it off or staying silent, she said something. At the time, I was struggling with my mental health and stuck in a situation with people I had considered friends, but who were ultimately toxic and harmful. I was overwhelmed, anxious, and shutting down without realizing how far I was sinking. Mrs. Vokoun noticed. She didn’t make a scene. She didn’t label me or overstep. She just pulled me aside, told me she cared, and said that I deserved better. I deserved better people around me, better support, and better care for myself. That moment changed everything. Because she reached out, I got the help I needed. I started healing. I began to understand that strength isn’t pretending to be fine. Strength is asking for help and choosing to walk away from what hurts you, even when it’s hard. I don’t know if she realizes just how much she helped shift my path, but I think about it all the time. Now, when I see someone else struggling or shutting down, I don’t ignore it. I speak up, check in, and try to be the kind of steady presence that she was for me. Her example taught me to lead with care and to trust that small actions can have a lasting impact. Since then, our connection has only deepened. She is still my teacher, but she is also a friend, someone who believes in me as a person and as an artist. She doesn’t let me settle. She holds me to high standards, challenges me to explore new styles, and pushes me to take myself seriously. She reminds me that my voice matters. She treats me with kindness and respect, and in doing so, teaches me how to treat myself with the same care. Mrs. Vokoun has created a classroom that feels like a safe place. It’s a space where students are allowed to grow, mess up, get better, and be human. She makes her expectations clear, but she meets each student with empathy. You always know where you stand with her, and that sense of security makes it easier to take creative risks. She’s the kind of teacher who notices when you’re off, checks in, and never makes you feel like you’re too much to handle. Because of her, I’ve started to see myself differently. I’ve learned that being an artist isn’t just about what you create. It’s about how you carry yourself, how you show up for others, and how you push through hard seasons with grace. She taught me that real teachers don’t just help you pass a class. They help you grow into who you are becoming. Mrs. Vokoun didn’t just change how I approach my art. She changed how I approach life. And for that, I will always be grateful.

My love of art began, like most meaningful things, quietly and instinctively. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t creating something. As a kid, I was always drawing on scrap paper, making dollhouse furniture out of cardstock, sketching faces in the margins of my notebooks, or making cards for people just because I felt like they needed one. I constantly created comic strips about every funny thing I could think of. It wasn’t about being good at it, it was about the feeling. Creating helped me slow down, look closer, and connect with something inside myself that felt important. Growing up in Gunnison, Colorado, I’ve been surrounded by beautiful landscapes. I appreciate them, of course. I spend time outside, watch the light change through the mountains, and understand why plein air painting is such a respected tradition here. But even in a town where nature takes center stage, I’ve always found myself drawn more to people. My art centers around human faces and stories, the kind of layered expressions that hold emotion, memory, and history all at once. What I love about portraiture is that it requires presence. You have to really look at someone. You notice the way their eyes soften when they talk about something they care about, or how their expression shifts when they are caught off guard. I think there’s something sacred in that kind of observation. For me, painting a portrait isn’t about perfection. It’s about capturing something real. Something human. My favorite artist is Alice Neel. She was known for painting people in their rawest, most honest states. She didn’t glamorize her subjects. She painted them sitting in chairs with tired eyes and wrinkled clothing, or looking directly at the viewer with an expression that felt uncomfortably real. Her work reminds me that truth in art is more powerful than beauty alone. I admire her not just for her technical skill, but for her courage. She painted people that society overlooked and made them visible. She made their humanity impossible to ignore. That idea has stayed with me as I’ve continued to grow as an artist. I want my work to feel accessible and connected, not distant or polished beyond recognition. I want to create pieces that make someone stop and wonder what the subject is thinking or feeling. I want people to feel seen when they look at my art, even if it’s not a picture of them. My love for art also deepened when I started organizing community-based projects, like the collage art drive I led for Georgetown University’s Arts and Humanities Program. I asked students at my high school to submit original collage artwork to be turned into cards for hospital patients, caregivers, and staff. It reminded me that art is not just personal. It’s generous. It can be shared, it can comfort, and it can connect people across distance and circumstance. Working with Cards for Hospitalized Kids is another experience that has deepened the “whys” of my art connection. Creating cards that spark joy or offer comfort to a child in a hospital bed is a powerful reminder that even the smallest artwork can carry big meaning. Art has always been my way of making sense of the world. Whether I’m painting someone I know, someone I’ve studied, or someone I’ve imagined, I feel grounded. My love of art didn’t come from one moment or one person. It came from a quiet accumulation of experiences, encouragement, curiosity, and the feeling I get when the world slows down and I start to create. That feeling is what keeps me going.

For me, collaboration in the arts is about the space between people. The conversations, the trust, the shared breath before a performance starts. It’s more than working together to create something. It’s about building something with others that could never exist alone. In dance, visual art, and leadership, collaboration has shaped how I work, how I listen, and how I contribute to the communities that I care about. I first started dancing at a very young age, but it wasn’t until I joined my studio’s elite competition team that I truly understood the depth of what it meant to collaborate. On a team like ours, it’s not enough to simply know your choreography. You have to match the energy and emotion of everyone around you. You have to show up fully, even when you’re tired or discouraged, because your presence matters to the group. You matter. Some of the strongest connections I’ve made in life have come from long rehearsals, problem-solving in a dressing room, or pulling each other back up after a rough competition weekend or a tough technique class, when we were all subjected to verbal abuse by a teacher who no longer works with our studio. Those moments taught me that real collaboration comes from a place of mutual respect and shared commitment. One of the most meaningful collaborative experiences I’ve had happened outside the studio. I led a school-wide art drive for Georgetown University’s Arts and Humanities Program, asking students to create original collages that would be turned into cards for patients, caregivers, and hospital staff. I wasn’t sure how many people would participate, but the response was inspiring. I worked with teachers, gathered submissions, and handled all the logistics of mailing the artwork. It wasn’t flashy or public, but it was deeply fulfilling. That experience reminded me that collaboration often begins with a single invitation, and it grows when others feel seen and included. As the founder and president of my dance studio's chapter of the National Honor Society for Dance Arts, I’ve also had the opportunity to build a creative community from the ground up. I didn’t just want a title. I wanted to make space for other dancers to be recognized for more than just how high they could jump or how well they could turn. I wanted to show that academic excellence, leadership, and service belong in the conversation too, not just within the walls of our high school. Every meeting, every service project, every student performance we organize is a reminder that the arts are most powerful when shared. In my future career, whether I pursue arts education, nonprofit leadership, or creative direction, collaboration will remain at the center of everything I do. I believe that good collaboration starts with listening and grows through kindness. It takes patience, open-mindedness, and the willingness to let others shine. I’ve learned that leadership is not about control. It’s about creating conditions where people feel safe to contribute and brave enough to grow. Collaboration in the arts is not just preparation for performances. It is preparation for life. It’s how we build trust, how we make meaning, and how we lift each other up along the way.

Arts education has shaped nearly every part of who I am. From a young age, dance and visual art gave me the space to express myself when words didn’t feel like enough. Over time, they’ve become more than hobbies. They are how I process the world, connect with others, and find my own voice. Growing up in a small mountain town, I didn’t always have access to the same resources or programs as students in bigger cities. But what I did have was a supportive community and a dance studio that felt like home. Through years of classes, competitions, rehearsals, and performances, I learned not just how to dance, but how to work hard, how to lead, and how to keep going even when things got tough. Visual art became my other outlet, and I now spend hours painting portraits, telling stories through watercolor, and organizing creative projects with my peers. Someone who has inspired me more than I can fully express is Ms. Lilyanna, one of my dance teachers and a graduate of High Attitude Dance Academy. I had the honor of dancing alongside her before she graduated, and now I’m lucky to be one of her students. She is the most heartfelt, honest, kind, and loving dance teacher I have ever met. The world is a much better place with her in it. She leads with care, teaches with patience, and encourages us to show up as our whole selves. She reminds me that art and kindness can coexist, and that being a powerful leader doesn't mean being loud or intimidating. It means seeing people, lifting them up, and creating a space where they feel safe to grow. Lilyanna is the epitome of kindness and inspiration. Her presence reminds me of the kind of artist and human I hope to become. Her heart has meant even more to me because I have also experienced the opposite. There was a time in my dance training when I had to navigate an extremely unhealthy environment. Certain instructors used yelling, demeaning language, and even physical aggression to intimidate and control students. It was painful and confusing. But through it all, I kept showing up. I kept dancing. I reminded myself of why I love this art form and refused to let someone else's cruelty take that away from me. I also learned how important it is to speak up, set boundaries, and find the people who protect you and remind you of your worth. Lilyanna always welcomed me to class with a smile and understanding that I am wanted and loved. She was the reason why I continued showing up each day, especially when my mind wanted to quit. Because of the arts, and Lilyanna, I have learned to show up for others, speak up for what matters, and trust that my perspective is valid. I founded my school’s chapter of the National Honor Society for Dance Arts because I wanted to create more opportunities for dancers like me to be recognized not just for how they perform, but for how they lead, serve, and grow through art. I also volunteer as a dance teacher, help organize outreach events, and continue my own training with a focus on giving back to my community. Arts education gave me more than skill. It gave me purpose, resilience, and the ability to imagine a better world and take steps toward creating it. And I will carry that with me wherever I go next.

While I’m still exploring exactly where my career path will lead, I know that creativity, community, and service will always be at the heart of what I do. Whether through dance, visual art, or a future role in arts leadership or education, I plan to use my voice and talents to uplift others and create spaces where people feel seen, inspired, and empowered. As both an artist and a dancer, I’ve experienced firsthand how creative expression can break down barriers, connect people from different backgrounds, and provide healing, hope, or even just a moment of joy. I’ve led my dance studio’s chapter of the National Honor Society for Dance Arts, where I helped celebrate both artistic excellence and academic achievement. I also organized a month-long shoe drive for Soles4Souls, collecting and shipping dozens of pairs of new and gently used shoes to help support women entrepreneurs in underserved communities. These kinds of experiences have shown me that art and service are not separate passions—they’re deeply connected, and when combined, they can create real, lasting change. In the future, I hope to use my art—whether it’s through choreography, portraiture, or community storytelling—to advocate for causes I care about, like mental health awareness, youth empowerment, and equal access to arts education. I want to help break down the barriers that keep some young people from discovering their own voice. Art changed my life, and I want to pass that gift on to others. I cannot imagine a life without art, and I will bring my art with me in whatever role I find myself landing in. I don’t yet know the exact form my career will take. I may curate community galleries, teach in schools or studios, lead nonprofit initiatives, or build creative programs that make the arts more inclusive and accessible. I might be a traveling choreographer or painter. But no matter what path I follow, I know my work will be rooted in service, creativity, and connection. And even before someone unravels the question of, "What are you going to do when you grow up?", you can start wherever you are, with whatever you have. Ultimately, I want my career to be a bridge between imagination and impact; creativity and connection. I want art to not only be celebrated, but used as a force for social good. If I can help others see the value in their own creative voice, that will be the most meaningful legacy I could build.

My town is small—so small that community events are few and far between, and those we do have are modest in size. But that hasn’t stopped me from finding meaningful ways to engage and give back. One local community event that stands out to me is a recent shoe drive that I organized at my dance studio in support of Soles4Souls, a nonprofit that provides shoes to people in need and helps single mothers start and sustain small businesses. Over the course of a month, we collected new and gently used shoes from our dance families and local community members. The more I researched their mission, the more inspired I became. It’s one thing to donate a pair of shoes—it’s another to realize that donation could empower a woman to earn a living, send her children to school, or support her family independently. As donations steadily rolled in, I sorted, packaged, and shipped multiple boxes of shoes. The experience taught me the value of consistency and follow-through and how grassroots efforts can truly make a global impact. It might seem like something pretty small, just like my town, but I’m incredibly proud to have been a small part of something with such meaningful reach. At the end of my shoe drive, I invited our community to participate during our studio’s spring recital. In this well-loved annual event, 130 dancers, ages 2 to 18, perform the routines they’ve worked all season to perfect. It’s a celebration of hard work, joy, and artistic expression. This year, we added another layer of meaning: audience members were asked to bring in a final shoe donation. Watching families walk in with bags of shoes while their children put on their costumes was powerful. It turned a local performance into a moment of shared generosity and community pride. This event is meaningful to me not only because it made a difference elsewhere in the world, but also because it planted a seed in my own town. I saw how people were eager to help—they just needed a simple, accessible opportunity to do so. Going forward, I hope this spirit of service continues to grow. I’d love to see more student-led initiatives that align with what we already love doing—whether it’s art, dance, or sports. I love that the idea of simplicity doesn't have to mean small. I want our dance studio to be more involved with giving back to our community on a regular basis. I recently founded our community's National Honor Society of Dance Arts chapter, and as president, I want to make sure that our chapter is directly involved with our community in regular ways, no matter how big or how small. This shoe drive showed me that our community shows up when asked, and we need to show up for them. When giving back becomes a natural part of our community’s rhythm, the impact will reach far beyond our town’s size.