Two years ago, I lost one of my closest family friends, Sam. He passed away in August at just 35 years old after his pacemaker failed while he was sleeping. The hardest part was that he never told anyone he even had a pacemaker. We come from a family of skydivers, and one of the many things you're not supposed to do with a pacemaker is jumping out of an airplane. But, knowing Sammy, he never would have let anyone, even a doctor, tell him how to live his own life. Sam was always adventurous. Outside of skydiving, he traveled the world backpacking and rock climbing, there was never a boring Instagram picture of him, always doing something crazy. He wore these long blonde dreadlocks and silver hair jewelry with ornate designs because, according to him, it made him a real Viking. To me, he had one of the most welcoming souls, always smiling, always ready to joke, and able to playfully bicker for hours. Some of my favorite memories with him come from working long days at skydiving events. We would pack parachutes for 12 hours straight, constantly bouncing jokes back and forth. 2023 New Year’s Eve, I stepped away from packing just to watch the planes do a flyby sending everyone off for the end of the year. Without thinking, I returned to finish my work, but when I was just about to put the parachute into the rig, I realized the entire rig was gone. I turned around to see Sam laughing his butt off. He was, and always will be, my big brother even if we weren’t related by blood. In the United States, you cannot legally skydive until you are 18. Growing up in a skydiving family, turning 18 was a huge milestone for me marking the moment I could finally jump alongside the people I had admired and grew up with my whole life. I turned 18 just one month before Sam passed away. He promised that one day we would jump together. Now, we never can. When he died, I made my decision to pursue art school. For months, I had hesitated, I felt I couldn’t afford it, and I doubted whether I was good enough. But losing Sam changed everything. He lived with a fearless sense of adventure, embracing life so fully that he didn’t even share he was on borrowed time. If he was brave enough to do all that and more, then moving hours away from home should be a breeze for me. He was and will always be my dearest memory.

As of last year, I was sexually assaulted by someone who was, at the time, one of my closest friends. I had just started my freshman year in college and strongly believed that 2025 was going to be my year. The night they assaulted me not only took that away from me but set me back completely as a person. When I returned to college after visiting them, I completely shut off, broke up with my partner and practically blocked all my friends. Suddenly, I couldn't even fathom being close to someone, let alone being touched by them. Class became isolating, and I withdrew into myself. I no longer desired friendships because I felt as though a part of me was no longer human enough to connect with others. I was made to feel like a stranger within my own body and mind. During that time, I struggled deeply with my art. What I was feeling internally wasn't translating to page. Most of my work appeared cheerful, never hinting at the pain I was carrying. I began o believed I had lost not only the ability to communicate, but also my identity as an artist. For reference, I was born and raised in Florida. Lik e many Floridians, I rarely visited the beach despite living so close to it. That changed the winter I returned home for break. After the assault, being around others made me intensely anxious about my personal space. I felt like a shut in unable to leave the house, I was either out working or at home sleeping. At some point, though I can't say exactly when or why, I decide to go to the beach. I went with my mother, one of the only people I who knew what happened with me. Despite telling her what happen with me and my former friend, she struggled to view it as "real" sexual assault because my close friend was a woman. I remembered, it was my first time in months wearing a swimsuit. It was this pretty yellow with brown spots; I bought it months prior but post the assault I nearly donated it thinking I could never wear something like that again. One of the best parts of Florida winters is there is never tourists on our beaches, it was practically just me and my mom. For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel sexualized or watched. It was just me and the ocean. There are many legends about the ocean being jealous of women. Tales of pirates refusing to sail with a woman aboard for fear of bad luck, or myths warning that pregnant women should avoid sea due to a story that the ocean was jealous of a woman's power to create. I never believed those stories. But, to me, the ocean has always felt safe and nurturing. Like many forces on this planet, the ocean sustains life and keeps the world in motion. In a way, it inspired me. "At Peace", like much of my work during that time, initially felt like another bright illustration disconnected from my true emotions. I believed, once again, that I had distanced myself from my work. But, looking back on it, I realized that I was reaching for connection through the ocean. I was trying to reconnect with nature, myself, and something deeply personal. Despite everything, the ocean continues to move and chang. It rises and falls with the tides, shifts with the wind, and moves on. In a way, the ocean reflected what I was headed towards. Resilience.

Art has always been an escape for me ever since I was young. Growing up lower class, dealing with Child Protective Services, and being in and out of the court system, the only thing I had was my imagination to entertain and comfort myself through hard times. I spent the majority of my senior year debating whether or not I should go to art school despite my financial situation. I was 18 at the time and had just moved out of an abusive household. If I was in school, I was studying all day; when I was out, I worked all night. Despite everything telling me not to, I chose the Savannah College of Art and Design. There was never a time in my life when I wanted to be anything other than an illustrator. I knew I couldn’t waste my life without at least trying to achieve that dream. Choosing to pursue art was not just about passion. It was about survival, healing, and reclaiming my sense of self. As someone who grew up in the 2000s when queer media was practically nonexistent, I felt lost during my formative years, with no guidance or connection to help explain the identity crisis I was experiencing. All I had was my drawings, my safe place, free from judgment or limitations. My solace came from the characters and stories I created to comfort myself. By the time inclusive animated shows like The Owl House and Craig of the Creek came around, I was in high school and felt too old to fully enjoy them. But I was surrounded by elementary and middle schoolers who finally saw themselves through culture, race, and queerness reflected on screen. Those kids got to grow up knowing that their stories mattered, and that sense of visibility made the world feel less alienating. It made me realize just how deeply media can shape a child’s confidence, worldview, and emotional intelligence. One of the biggest criticisms of children’s entertainment today is that the industry tends to "dumb down" stories, underestimating children's ability to understand deeper meanings. But children are incredibly perceptive. When I was eight, my favorite Disney princess was Rapunzel from Tangled, not because of her long hair, but because she was navigating an emotionally abusive situation that mirrored my own. That connection gave me comfort, understanding, and a sense of awareness I couldn’t yet name. We often forget that children learn through emotional resonance. Seeing their experiences reflected on screen can be a powerful tool for growth, healing, and self-awareness. Authentic storytelling can be the difference between a child feeling invisible and a child feeling seen. With my illustration degree, I want to help create stories that children can truly connect with. My goal is to ensure that kids regardless of race, identity, queerness, or culture can see themselves represented in the media they love. To me, art is one of humanity’s most powerful tools not just for storytelling, but for expressing the individuality and diversity of every human being. And if I can help even one child feel less alone, then every struggle I’ve overcome will have been worth it.

Growing up I always feared that if I was not struggling then I could not create. I was raised in an abusive climate where arguing and fighting was the everyday norm. Mentally I was perpetually in a state of resentment with crippling anxiety that dictated my every move. I wouldn't leave my bed, let alone my room, in fear that my parental guardian would find another reason to yell at me. In this state of mind I would always turn to art, creating characters and stories that reflected my pain and expressed my anger. I spent half of my life in a state of dissociation and daydreaming. I related this domestic abuse to my talent as an artist, if I was not suffering then I had nothing to create a story out of. When I was 18, I left that household and lived with an at the time classmate. I worked since I was 14 in order to move out and go to my dream art school, but now that I was living in a household that was not fighting anymore, I could not draw or create stories. I was petrified that what made me special was the physical and mental abuse that pushed me to draw. Without it I had no ambition anymore. During senior year, I did everything in my power to keep my 4.0 GPA, I wouldn't eat to save money for college, and I never left the house unless I was working. I kept my 4.0 but at the cost of snapping in and out of dissociation. One week it would be September the next it was December. I was miserable again with no passion for art, I was depressed, going in and out of psychosis. That year leading up to graduation taught me a lot, but the most important thing was that I was miserable, and yet nothing I was creating satisfied me in that misery anymore. It wasn't the abuse or mental illness that made my art special, but my drive and passion to get out of that mental state. When I graduated, I promised myself that no matter my lack of financial support or PTSD, is going to hold me back from my dreams. I would let that drive push me and my ambition triumph over everything I was struggling with because my mental and physical health is important. I am not talentless or lackluster for being happy and being where I need to be.

“Poor Lonesome Cowboy” was an artwork I made my senior year of high school during the worst year of my life. I turned 18 that September when school started, after years of verbal abuse from my grandmother I lived with at the time I decided I would leave in the middle of the night and not look back. I grew up in a redneck household in Florida with no money to our name, only me and my grandmother. At age 14 I came to realize that I would never get were I wanted to be unless I worked my butt of for a chance, started working physical labor jobs and by 18 paid off my own car and was able to move out with not much of a fight since everything I owed I bought. When it came to my future after high school all I longed for was to go to an art college. I had the gpa and the passion but no money. “Poor Lonesome Cowboy” follows that lost feeling I had during senior year, following my character Gabriella who was a gunslinger set in the 1800’s. She owns nothing but her horse and the clothes on her back with the hopes of being remembered even after the Industrial Revolution wipes out the Wild West. The rabbits showing the loss of innocences that is stripped away when you leave the past behind in order to be born again. The background bare but free from society, the only thing owning it is the sunrise that kisses the valley each morning. Character design has always been a source of comfort for me, growing up if I couldn’t conceptualize my emotions I would make a character that world work out the same emotions as me. Art was my outlet from abuse and hardships I was facing at home. When I got my acceptance letter from Savannah College of Art and Design I realized this was my chance to have a future illustrating stories and characters that could help others like me. Characters that express queer communities in lower class situations or the struggle and challenges of escaping abusive situations. I would rather be in debt and stuck in the lower class for trying to get the education I need for a career that makes me happy then work the rest of my life in a field that I am comfortable financially but unsatisfied with. My character Gabriella in the piece while someday pass whether being remembered or forgotten on a tombstone but the point is she got on her horse to begin with and took that chance.

Art has always been an escape for me ever since I was young. Growing up lower class dealing with Child Protective Services and being in and out of the court system, the only thing I had was my imagination to entertain myself through hard times. I spent majority of my senior year debating whether or not I should go to art school despite my financial situation. I was 18 at the time and had just moved out of an abusive household, if I was in school I was studying all day and when I was out I worked all night. Despite everything telling me not, too I chose Savannah College of Art and Design. There was never a time in my life where I wanted to be something other than an illustrator. I knew I couldn’t waste my life knowing I did not at least try to achieve that dream. As someone who grew up in the 2000s when queer media was absent I felt lost during my formative years with no guidance or connect to explain the identity crisis I was going through. All I had was my drawings to express myself with no limits holding me back, my solace was the characters and stories I made to comfort myself. In my high school years animated tv-shows like The Owl House and Craig of the Creek already had its run and though by that time I felt to old to sit down and watch those shows, I was surrounded by elementary and middle schoolers that finally were able to see diverse characters like them which made the fear of speciality in a world less daunting. Those kids got to grow up seeing their culture, race, and, identity expressed in a show that was made for them. The biggest criticism about children’s entertainment currently is that the industry is dumbing down stories believing that children do not yet have the capacity to understand meanings. When I was 8 my favorite Disney princess was Rapunzel from Tangled not because of her long hair but because she was going through an abusive situation similar to mine. We often forget that children learn from connections, being able to see their experience explained on the big screen not only comforts them but gives children situational awareness about their circumstances. I want to use my illustration degree to work in children’s entertainment so kids have stories to connect and grow with. I strive to help children see themselves in media whether it is by race, identity, queerness, and culture. To me art is humanity’s greatest importance not only for story telling but to express the individuality of every single human on this planet.

Growing up I never had money to afford consoles or a proper gaming computer. I spent most of my younger years watching people on YouTube play video games, arguing at the screen on how I would have grabbed the loot they skipped out on or chosen a different dialogue option. Video games were an escapism from the real world, where I was in and out of the court system battling legal custody with my grandmother and mother. At age 15 I got my first job and spent my first pay check on a PlayStation 5, spending majority of the COVID - 19 pandemic playing Read Dead Redemption II and Bioshock. At the time I started taking art more seriously and was planning to go to art school despite my financial situation. Spending days on long zoom calls for class to keep my 4.0, and at night would work to save up money for college. Rockstar and Fictional Games studio became a big inspiration during my junior and senior year of high school. I became enamored with their concept art and the expansive detail they put into projects like Bully, Red Dead Redemption, and Soma. I grew up watching Bully and thinking at the time it was revolutionary for open world gaming with an immersive and thought provoking story to since come out of Rockstar company. Then watching games like Soma and Amnesia come out, with Fictional Games studio creating alternate realty games (ARGs) to entice players. I learned games could be more than just things you play, that stories could be interactive in and out of gaming media. By age 18 I played Cyberpunk 2077, a love project for CD Projekt that even in 2024 continue to update their game regularly, even long after being forgiven for the nightmare that happened on release date. This game taught me that beloved personal projects still exist. Even in a system that pops games out left in right with no breathing room. When I graduated my senior year financially I was not ready for a school like Savannah Art and Design. I knew going in I’d come out with empty pockets but there’s a quote from Cyberpunk that keeps me going even when I'm stressed about the state of the world and my financial situation, ”Not a single thing in this world isn’t in the process of becoming something else. Likewise you. Never look back.” Even if the world is in chaos I have a dream that does not allow me to look back. Thanks to video games I’m going to Savannah Art and Design with the prospect of graduating with an entertainment Illustration degree and 3d animation with big dreams of being hired by the companies I grew up with to create stories like Cyberpunk 2077. In hopes to motivate and emotionally move players for many years to come.