The world is filled with so much noise. I don’t mean to judge noise as bad, I quite enjoy living with and experiencing all the wonders of the world’s noise, but it seems an impossibility to escape from it; impossible to stop processing auditory information, even for a moment, to become obsessed with another of the five senses. The impossible, I’ve come to learn, isn’t always as unfeasible as it makes itself out to be. Painting used to seem like an impossible art form for me to improve in as a high school freshman using acrylic paint for the first time, laying the paint onto the paper so thick that what I was doing was closer to smearing cream cheese on a bagel than brushing paint onto paper. Becoming a better painter was not always my goal, though. For the first time in perhaps my whole life, I discovered a way to make possible the impossible. In painting, I developed a method for ignoring the world’s noise, and become unequivocally possessed by the joys of another sense; to enthrall myself in the beauty of sight, through the gift of art. It got me to think if this passion I’ve found could ever be more than a hobby if I would ever go from smearing cream cheese on a bagel to a becoming successful artist: A painter, who began as a boy raised in Fairbanks, Alaska. I have the great luxury of being able to presently call myself a bachelor of fine arts student, in junior standing with a 4.0-grade-point-average, concentrating in painting and drawing with a minor in art history. Even now, as I pick up the paintbrushes and paint-tubes, I feel myself forgetting that the world has noise and my younger self is to thank for this beautiful discovery.

It might be true that Fairbanks, Alaska has a Filipino community, but I’ve never seen much evidence proving its existence. My brother is the only other Filipino I’ve known, similar in age to myself, growing up in Fairbanks throughout all of elementary, middle, and high school. My father, someone who grew up in the Philippines and immigrated to California at the age of 5, has always been insistent that Fairbanks possessed a large Filipino community. Despite my own experience in public school, I want to believe what my father told me. To date, the only evidence that I have been able to collect for a Filipino community in Fairbanks has come from the few that I would meet every now and then, scattered about in low numbers throughout university classes, workplaces, and the public. Every member of my father’s side of the family lives in the sunny city of San Diego, California. They may live over 2,000 miles away but they always take the time to send birthday and Christmas cards with a twenty-dollar bill or two inside. The only verbal communication that we’ve shared has been over the phone, with Jesus always being a topic of conversation and the same questions asked each call. “How are you doing in school?”, and, “Do you have a girlfriend yet?”, are two that seem to hold the most weight when asked and answered. My name is Kyle Agustines, I am 22 years old, I am gay, and I attend the University of Alaska Fairbanks as a bachelor in the fine arts student. I have never known a local Filipino community and the Filipino family of mine that I have never seen in person doesn’t approve of my sexual orientation or choice in academic interest. As someone who lives this life, I want better for myself and the others who share this experience and feelings of disconnection. I want to succeed in university studies, to become an art teacher, and to stand as a role model; to create a new, rurally accessible Filipino community, for those who grew up not knowing one.

Each person is unique in that we carry perspectives that shape how we see and interact with the world. I celebrate this idea in my own painting practice by finding novel and original methods to visually express my own ideas and emotions. This, alongside my interest in pure abstraction, has allowed for my own perspectives on current topics, historic events, and my own life experiences to become the concepts behind my work regardless of how visually removed from reality it becomes. By exploring the nuances behind my art, I keep finding it to be surprisingly informing on a personal level. My art has the ability to reflect my emotional state by displaying what I felt was important enough to give visual form. Engaging with my own work has shown me that sometimes my art knows more about me than I am willing to admit I know myself. For example, it is my paintings and not me that often are the ones to talk about my bouts with bipolar disorder, my relationship with a family that declines supporting my career choice or attendance in higher education, or the drive to undergo two years of working over 40 hours a week after graduating high school both early and with honors to afford attending university. My art brings my lived experiences to the surface, and I love that I can have a conversation with my work about my life: A conversation that one might have in a mirror. This is the vision I have for my art, but the world of art is much larger than what I know. Its size excites me and has inspired my dream of becoming a university art professor that invigorates and nurtures the creative passion in others; to aid others in their individual artistic journeys.