I remember the first time I fell in love with drawing. I had drawn little stick-figure comics as a kid with my childhood best friend, but it was one September afternoon as a goofy 13-year-old girl when my love first sparked. I had drawn a character for a made-up DND campaign (her name was Alena BrightOwl). I was floored by how beautiful she was; how much love I had for this character! Looking back at this drawing now makes me smile. She had been drawn with all the skills of a tiny teenager who had never drawn anything but stick figures before. Though it’s flawed, I still love this drawing. That regular September Saturday afternoon was the moment I discovered my love for drawing people. I’ve been drawing people ever since that day. Everywhere I went I had some kind of notebook and pencil with me. I would watch how-to art videos on YouTube. I started studying people’s faces to the point that I probably look a little creepy. I worked at my mom’s pet grooming shop until I had the money to buy myself an iPad, an Apple Pencil, and Procreate. I’ve been on this exciting and rigorous uphill journey to grow in my love of drawing people for what feels like my whole life. And I want to keep going. I want to be able to draw the emotions that change lives! I want to be able to illustrate the stories that need to be told! I want to be able to depict the beauty that each person on this earth has! And while I know I’ll never reach that illusion called perfection, I can reach skill—and then keep learning. Asking me to pick my favorite artist is hard—I believe every artist is uniquely amazing. But the artist who has inspired me the most is Stephen McCranie. He is the author and artist of the WEBTOON and graphic novel Space Boy. I love McCranie because, first of all, he is an amazing artist. Throughout the story, you can see him improving and growing in his skill until his work has become breathtaking. He creates gorgeous backgrounds and atmospheres that set the tone for that section of the comic. I’ve been studying how he draws his characters, who are always so interesting and unique. He uses motifs to create his different characters; for example, Amy’s shape is a teardrop, and Oliver’s is a triangle, and you can see their shapes incorporated everywhere in their character design. I love learning from others' work and I think that this technique is beautiful. The second reason he is my favorite artist is the meaning that he puts into his work. He creates this story to show the importance of good mental health and how we can achieve it, even though we may go through some trauma. We watch in awe as his characters go through agonizing trials but still decide to keep choosing hope, keep loving and forgiving themselves, and keep doing what is right. They’re all flawed, but that is what is beautiful to me. Both of these skills are essential if one wants to create beautiful artwork: skill and meaning. One needs meaning to make skill have a purpose, and one needs skill to make the meaning known. Stephen McCranie does this beautifully, and I hope to grow into a skillful and meaningful artist like him.

The Funny Bone By Jocie Clancy Why do we call it the funny bone? It doesn’t feel funny It feels like malicious vibrations, angry tingling It doesn’t feel funny. Why do we say good morning every morning? Sometimes it isn’t good Sometimes it’s exhaustive motions, desperate coffees Sometimes it isn’t good. Why do we ask “how are you?”, then walk away? It’s not said with you in mind It’s said with rushed minds, polite coldness It’s not said with you in mind. Why do we say “I’m fine”? Sometimes we’re not fine Sometimes we’re silently crying, mirthlessly laughing Sometimes we’re not fine. Why do we say “us” and “them”? It doesn’t feel like us It’s mocking cliques, isolated unions It doesn’t feel like us Why do we say to be yourself? Sometimes we don’t want yourself Sometimes we want merciless perfection, followed laughter Sometimes we don’t want yourself. Why do we call it the funny bone? Maybe we pretend Maybe we say the thorns aren’t on the rose Because maybe, then, we won’t be pricked