I was sitting in my dorm, scrolling on Instagram when I came across a post talking about Hush Harbors. A place deep in the crevices of the woods, that enslaved African Americans would travel to when the sun was no longer shining. It was there that they would gather in secrecy, to reunite and practice their traditional belief. They would hang up dampened quilts and turn over pots, to turn their shouts into whispers and their stomps into a gentle waltz. It was this bit of knowledge that inspired me to make the quilt in the first place. Before I started, I knew that I had to give this quilt a story, to avoid it being generic. I had been working on honing my conceptual skills all semester, as I want to go into the animation industry as a visual development artist. So the making of this quilt was just another step for me to do that. When it came time to begin, I started writing questions in my sketchbook, like, " Who made the quilt? What would they have wanted to say with it? And what importance would it have when they bring it to the hush harbor?" In due time, I had my answers. The quilt was made by a midwife, who would bring it to the hush harbor to push a message of hope for the future of the children she was helping to bring into the world. The quilt would feature unbroken families, growing communities, and decadent foods that they could only dream of. I kept the style simple and soft, referencing Harriet Powers. It was Harriet Powers’ quilts that showed me the way that quilts can be a means of storytelling in themselves, both in the imagery and executions. So now it was time for me to put all of the preparation into practice. I sat on the floor in the painting room, cutting up scraps of canvas, trying to arrange them to match my sketch as best as I could. Some pieces were bigger, others were misshapen, but I wasn’t looking for perfection. I was looking for something that could feel like a piece of history. I tried my best to keep this mindset throughout the creation of the work. In doing this, I found myself embracing the rough edges, uneven and watercolor-like textures when I went to go paint it. However, the true test and moment where I found myself engrossed in the piece was when it came time to sew it. I had only a week left and several pieces left to sew. With only twenty minutes left until one in the morning, and here I was pushing acrylic-painted canvas through a sewing machine. Music was humming in my ear trying to keep me awake, but it didn’t seem to be enough. As one thing led to another, somehow my thread managed to get tangled inside my machine. So with no screwdriver and minimal time, I decided to put away the machine and bring out the trusty needle and thread. I will be the first to admit, it was kind of awful to do. I was sewing through several layers of canvas fabric and without a thimble, my fingers were not having a good time. However, in time I found it to be weirdly therapeutic. Yes, it took so much more time and energy, but I began to connect with the piece way more. It became a labor of love, as I came to consider and further appreciate the work and time put in by those that came before me.

For a while, Whether it was writing a novel, sewing, painting, or drawing, I loved getting what I had to say out of my head. I would spend hours and well still do spend hours planning out these elaborate stories and characters, that all had an underlying message. Sometimes that message was more universal like racism or prejudice, but other times it went a little deeper. I would dive into the inner aspects of my psyche and pull out something more personal. These could be spiritual experiences that changed me forever like the process of shadow work which revolves around facing the darkness within and working to heal it. It could also be a love letter to my inner child, and show what amazing things can come from learning to play again. Being able to take all of these experiences and express them, be it with a pen or a brush, is a magical thing for me. Even though it can take a lot of work to get my skills to be able to eloquently tell that story, it's the journey that makes it all worth it. The journey to improving as an artist is a tough one, and to help me out I tend to think of it like math. It may seem weird to some to compare art to math, but it's like a puzzle to solve. One is trying to figure out the right variable, word, or brushstroke to convey the message one wants to tell. In the process of trying to solve the equation, I get to discover, experiment and see what sticks. It’s a very enjoyable experience when I’m not having to draw my hands. To continue, getting this scholarship would aid me in funding my education towards getting the skills needed to both to tell the stories I want to and get a job in the industry I desire. I want to be able to bring my skills as an artist to the animation industry, a place where competition is vast and the standards feel ridiculously high. As a black woman, I don't necessarily see myself represented in the media in a more magical and fantastical light. If I can bring some of that energy and the stories I hold, maybe I can make a change, even if it's small. If nothing else, I want to be a representation for other little black children to show that we have a place in the art industry too. As I remember learning about visual development artist Chrystin Garland, and how my eyes lit up as I realized that black people reside in that industry too, and to know that I wasn’t alone. It allowed me to see that it was attainable. However, while not impossible it can be a bit hard to make sure you have everything you need without a bit of guidance. So with the continued support of my teachers and peers, I can go out into the world with the confidence that I can make that dream a reality. So with that, I hope you take me into consideration for this scholarship. Have a good day!

The book Jambalaya by Luisah Teish has been a big step for me in reconnecting to my African American roots and learning more about African spirituality. In the book, I explored things like hoodoo, voodoo, lucumí, and more, all wrapped in a blanket that is the author’s life and experiences. While I’ve researched these practices and beliefs before, this book had a way of bringing me into Luisah’s life. It tells of how she grew up in Lousiana and the subtle ways in which these once and still demonized practices played out in her community. Painting porches in red brick dust, or women sitting around a table interpreting dreams after church, were some of the stories mentioned. It was all truly enlightening for me. The book explained how African spirituality wasn’t necessarily these evil practices typically shown in media. Instead, it was a way for enslaved black people to hold on to a piece of their culture that their masters were desperate to strip away from them. Since the slave masters couldn’t break their spirit, they demonized their practice depicting it as evil. In Jambalaya, this history was told in rich detail. While painful to read at times, I needed to hear it. Aside from the history, Luisah also speaks on her spiritual journey without the rose-tinted glasses. She tells her experiences of depression, abuse, and when she simply felt lost. Spiritual experiences are described in a way that left me feeling seen and less strange. I was no longer alone. I felt like I was connecting with an ancestor from long ago that was telling me. “ Baby, everything is gonna be okay. ” So for that, I am truly thankful to Jambalaya, for unpacking a rather misunderstood piece of black culture.

In truth, I want to be able to share the journey, not just the pretty artwork at the end. Being able to share, what it feels like being a black artist wanting to go into the animation industry and not seeing many people who look like you. Speaking on, the late nights at the drawing board, and the sadness in people’s eyes when you say you wanna go into the art industry instead of being a doctor. I want to make work that inspires people to keep going, even when it does it hard. The idea that my art and my journey as an artist can one day make people do more than just say, “wow”, but make them think about life and their story brings joy to my face. Yes, of course, I would to see my work on the big screen and be in the title cards, but first and foremost I want to make work that can make a change. This change could be something akin to speaking on racism, the complexities of mental health, generational trauma, or simply seeing a broader range of different cultures being represented in an authentic manner. As a black woman specifically, I want to make more art that shows black people through a wider lens. Art that depicts not only the civil rights movement or slavery but the diverse and abundant culture within the community as well. This could include things like a short comic about waking to gospel music and knowing it was time to clean or the subtle ways African spirituality and traditions have worked their way into our homes. It is truly beautiful. In conclusion, I want to use my art and my journey to inspire and uplift others, and to make work that can leave people wanting to make a change in themselves and the world around them. It may be small in the grand scheme of things, but it takes each little drop of water to form an ocean, right?

I distinctly remember walking into my mother’s room one Saturday morning, and asking her, “ Why aren’t we taught how to be more self-aware, both emotionally and mentally in schools?” The reply I got was lackluster getting back a mere, “you learn it as you get older.” However, considering that many of my mental struggles stemmed from childhood and adolescence, like many others, skills like emotional regulation, understanding, and communication seemed too important to wait for. One may say that it is the responsibility of the parents to teach that to their kids, but that argument fails if the parent(s) don’t know how to do it themselves or teach it correctly. Many children grow up in households with parents who, repress or fail to communicate their emotions, deal with mental health issues themselves, or aren’t educated on the complexities of mental health. Many schools may push the idea of,” talk to a friend or a trusted adult when you are feeling down,” but what does one do if they don’t know how to properly communicate or can’t understand what they are feeling outside of words like mad, sad, or happy. When in truth the feelings usually run deeper than that. There is power in being able to truly understand yourself and your emotions. So overall, my solution revolves around, giving diverse and adequate information and resources regarding mental and emotional health to students. This includes things like coping mechanisms, understanding and unpacking traumas, the healing process, and things like emotional communication, understanding, and regulation. The more we level out the playing field, those who might be struggling can get the help they need and harbor fewer problems into adulthood. As if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my battles with depression and anxiety, it is that change starts from within.

I don't think any show has had the same impact on me as Haikyuu. It is a Japanese animation by, Haruichi Furudate which follows a boy named Hinata and his journey and growth as a volleyball player. On the surface, the show may seem like your average sports show, but whenever I sit down to watch, I feel inspired. Each of the characters is going through relatable issues such as perfectionism due to insecurity, always feeling one step behind everyone else, or the at times paralyzing fear of judgment. However, despite everything, each character keeps going and working hard to improve at what they do. This show has brought me comfort in knowing that failure is okay, as it just teaches you what you can do better the next time. Failure doesn't have to be a weight holding me down, but steps on my way to the top.