I had always been a theatrical kid, so It was only natural that I would become an actor. I grew up in a bubble of imagination. Since my early childhood, I have been perpetually lost in my own private world. I was always bursting with energy, and thankfully provided an outlet from a young age through music. My dad taught me guitar and piano, and I've been playing music onstage in my family’s bluegrass band ever since. But while my love of performing was cultivated by bluegrass, it blossomed under the discovery of musical theater. I’m incredibly fortunate to have grown up in New York City, the global hub of artistic creativity. Broadway always held a distant presence in my life, but evolved into an obsession in my adolescence. When the outside world was mundane or unbearable, I retreated into the heightened reality of shows, spending hours watching bootlegs and movies. My dad took notice of this passion, and started entering the Broadway lottery for productions I wanted to see. Slowly but surely, he began to win. A lot. The cheap tickets not only provided an accessible way to see theater, but an irreplaceable bond between my father and I. And with each show we saw, my urge to join the company onstage grew stronger and deeper. I used to view acting as a vehicle to getting famous. I wanted to be under a spotlight, to strut down a red carpet and give dazzling interviews. Through beginning to uncover the real magic of acting, however, this desire to be seen would transform into a desire to tell stories. Getting accepted into LaGuardia High School for drama marked a pinnacle shift in my acting journey. I had the privilege to be leads in musicals like Into the Woods, West Side Story and plays like No Exit and Leaves, which unlocked my love for reaching out to people through storytelling. I received messages from countless people describing how much my performance meant to them. I began to realize the true power of theater. I’m not a person that can be put into a box. I now understand that my array of abilities, identities, and stories don’t hinder but enrich my work as an actor. My love for singing, dancing, and music all culminate in the joy I feel while performing onstage. My array of curiosities become tools. The industry of theater needs well-rounded people to tell stories; we bring layered, nuanced representations to the stage. Actors hold up mirrors to society, revealing reflections of the world or suggestions of the way it could one day be. They hold beauty, pain, and Truth. This mirror was once held up to me and my father’s face in the audience of Our Town on Broadway, and we both left the theater weeping. It was the first time I had ever seen him cry. I want to hold up mirrors to the collective egoistic mindset that is destroying our inner peace. I want to hold up mirrors to big issues like racism and homophobia, but also to small, joyous stories of relationships and family. Performers have the power to make people laugh, to make them cry, and most importantly, to make them think. That is my ultimate wish for my art. To be a vehicle towards personal change; a spurrer of thought, an inciter of emotion. Musical Theater is the channel to express all the creativity, imagination, and theatricality I have always felt within me. It has forever been my path, and what will continue to fill me with joy for the rest of my life.

The small wooden box rests in the center of the room, covered with signatures and doodles. A slot at the top makes way for small slips of paper, on which are written some of the most powerful questions known to humanity: the deepest curiosities of teenage girls. This small wooden box is the Question Box at The Talk, a sex-ed after school program I participated in throughout middle school and have since returned to as a volunteer. The Talk meets every week after school, and over the year forms a safe space for preteens to open up and connect. The Question Box has seen hundreds of queries over the years on every puberty-related topic imaginable. The anonymity provides space for any embarrassing confession and a guaranteed judgement-free answer. The Talk was a formative part of my adolescence, so when the founder asked me to come back as a high school mentor, I accepted without hesitation. My past 4 years mentoring at The Talk have undoubtedly changed my life. Each weekly meeting has become a joyfully empowering experience for me as I form relationships with these uniquely curious young women. I've become a confidant for each group of students, navigating open conversations about the hardships puberty brings. I start up discussions about topics like sexuality, gender, and relationships, an affirming experience for me as a member of the LGBTQ community. I remember being filled with confusion and emotion at their age, and strive to help them navigate the challenges of growing up in modern society. I help these young girls work to understand their bodies and feelings, tackling topics anywhere from menstruation to friend problems to grief. My favorite part of every meeting is the conclusion, where we read and discuss a few questions from the Question Box. Some are hilarious. Some are heartbreaking. And, as I've come to understand, all are important. Questions are an imperative vehicle in self-discovery. Every time I answer one, no matter how menial or awkward, I help these girls piece together fragments of their identity. They are brimming with all the innocence and curiosity of kids discovering what it means to grow up. In a way, I feel I grow up alongside them. Through my love of questions of all kinds, I strive to create more environments like The Talk by opening up nuanced conversations and destigmitizing taboo topics. With these questions I provide more than just an answer; I provide understanding, community, and a pathway to change.

When I was 11 years old, my parents gave me a life changing gift: the gift of harmony. I can recall with vivid detail the day my mom sat me down and explained how notes blend together to create tritones and chords. I was captivated. It was incredible how different combinations of sounds could have different effects on my mood and tell different stories. Something about harmony just made sense to me; the way each note fits together like a puzzle. It began to make sense of the inexplicable beauty behind music. When I discovered the art form of Musical theater, my world opened up to a new realm of possibilities. I became instantly obsessed, listening to cast albums for months on end and soaking up every piece of Broadway that I could. My dad took note of my obsession, in his inventive fashion, gifted me a loop pedal. It's a device that records and loops vocals and instruments, essentially allowing you to build your own song. Through this gift, I started making mashups, spending hours hunched in the living room harmonizing with myself. I made mashups of Hamilton songs, of Bluegrass tunes, of anything I could think of. But all of my mashups were built off of one thing: harmony. It has taken me places I never could have imagined. 5 years of exploration later, I've taken my loop pedal to concerts, talent shows, subway stations, and venues that give me the opportunity. It's my favorite pass time, and the device that allows my creativity to shine through. I can create anything that comes to mind, and tell any story that I desire. For this mashup, I decided to create a loop-pedal piece detailing my experience as an artist. It combines two Musical Theater songs by Stephen Sondheim; Our Time and Putting It Together. In a sense, it's about the classic artist's journey of creating a work of art out of a pure idea. I was inspired by the process that I have of making mashups on my loop pedal; it always must start with a baseline melody, with the help of my imagination, I build into a swelling harmony and eventually a final product. I realized that all artists go through this process in one form or another. The first step, no matter what medium, is putting it together. Piece by piece. Our Time tells of the new generation of artists, of young people bursting with ideas who are ready to take society by storm. I feel part of this new wave of creators more and more every day. As the music layers and loops, so does the inspiration of the song develop. With the themes of Our Time and Putting it together uniting in a mashup, I portray my best understand of the journey of young artists like myself, and the capabilities we hold to change the world. Thank you so much for watching!

I was born into a large, joyfully southern, resoundingly Episcopalian family. Some of my earliest coherent memories are visions of my grandma seated gracefully at the piano, hits like “Jesus Loves Me” and “This Little Light of Mine” ringing throughout the playroom. Generations of my lineage trace back to Alabama, worship is a community lifeline in the face of loss. Therefore, it’s only natural that I would grow up having a meaningful relationship with God and a deep connection to Christianity, right? Wrong. Unlike the rest of my family, I was born and raised in New York City, hundreds of miles from the rolling fields and slow-paced life of the south. Uprooted from rich Alabama soil and displaced into concrete, the flower of my family’s faith couldn’t exactly blossom. Church proved to be unsuccessful entertainment for me. I was more interested in the geometric patterns of the pulpit than the sermons being preached there. I went to Sunday school for the cookies and Confirmation class for the pizza. I would lie in bed at night pondering my family’s oddly fervent connection to the senseless fables and wordy prayers that seemed so distant from modern reality. I never imagined that 2025 would turn my world, and my faith, upside down. In the spring of my sophomore year, I forgot how to sleep. It sounds crazy, but that’s the only way I can attempt to describe it. One night as I lay in my bed, a sharp tingling sensation crept into my body that kept me tossing and turning until morning. This feeling persisted, quickly and painfully boring its way into my body’s routine. A combination of suppressed anxiety and fatigue made my brain feel painfully alive, as if some “on” switch had unwillingly activated. I tried exercise, journaling, therapy– growing increasingly desperate each evening. In my last-ditch effort, I resolved to attempt what had aided generations of my southern forefathers: religion. I knew I wasn’t going to find my spiritual awakening in the dull Christianity of my childhood, so I resorted to unconventional methods. I dove into books on indigenous spirituality, texts that challenge popular images of God. As I began opening up to the concept of a bigger and wiser universe, it became easier to ground myself in the present moment. I explored different kinds of religion, even attending Synagogue with my Jewish friend out of curiosity. I suppose my devout Christian forefathers may have been silently judging me from their graves, but my unconcealable smile of awe that endured throughout the service felt anything but sacrilegious. I slept peacefully that night for the first time in months. I came to realize that religion isn’t merely the creaky pews and mind-numbing sermons of my childhood. Instead, just maybe, it was something that I could connect to: a gift passed down my family tree across barriers of distance and time, wrapped in a box only I could open. My journey is slightly unconventional; I went to Synagogue and read hippie self-help books (not exactly hallmarks of the Episcopalian faith). But I realized that all religions are just signposts pointing to the same destination, a destination I could reach in a manner of my own design. I’m still discovering what my faith means to me every day; and finding my own relationship with God has brought me peace with my family and myself. Religion will continue to guide me as I forge new paths in the future, armed with curiosity to explore. I therefore maintain that while I may be an unconventional one, I am a good Christian. I swear.

Wicked is truly a musical unlike any other. It’s almost impossible to pinpoint the exact reason why the show has always been so moving to me-there are so many aspects that coincide to make an enchanting, timeless piece of theater. It is undoubtedly the show that made me fall hopelessly in love with the art form of musical theater, a love that I am actively pursuing today. What’s always kept me coming back to the cast recording, however, is the fact that I can (and will continue to) identify with all of the characters at different times in my life. Growing up as a passionate, if slightly obsessive, theater kid, there were years where I was made fun of for of my nerdy love of broadway. I felt like I shared Elphaba’s plight; deemed odd in the eyes of her shallow schoolmates, but destined to rise up and claim her power. Belting Defying Gravity in the shower of my cramped apartment helped me gain a fragment of that power, however small. As I grew up and began to construct my own identity, the messages of Wicked became resoundingly clear. Nuanced themes began to peak through in songs like For Good and The Wizard and I, themes about the complexities of right and wrong. I found hope in these anthems for my future, composed of new highs and lows, of new good and evil. Entering LaGuardia High School as a drama major, I finally felt surrounded by peers equally as driven passionate, and nerdy as myself. It was at this point I started to feel like a Glinda; more assured, more confident, more social. I started loving the parts of myself that had previously rendered me shy. It was also at this time when I saw an advertisement for a Musical Theater camp run by the original Glinda herself: Kristin Chenoweth. With unconcealable hope and excitement, I submitted my audition that very week. When I found out that I had been accepted, I burst into tears- It was a dream come true! Those two weeks were an incredible, informative whirlwind of memories. I made lifelong friendships with people from all over the world who have the same all-consuming passion for musical theater as I do; I had finally found my people. What I took away most from the experience was not the training, but rather the lessons that Kristin imparted to us students. She truly is Glinda herself; she radiates kindness and love, and believes in treating everybody with equal respect. She would watch us perform with pure joy on her face, and shower us with genuine compliments. She believed that she had as much to learn from us as we did from her. Her faith in us was more than just inspiring- it was life changing in itself. I came back from camp with newfound confidence. My talks with Kristin showed me that I could achieve my dreams of performing on Broadway, and I am working harder now more than ever to improve my craft. I have the confidence and sociability of Glinda, with the passion and stubbornness of Elphaba. As I continue to grow, I’m sure I will continue to see myself in more characters; in the relaxed carefreeness of Fiyero, the defiant bravery of Doctor Dillamond, or even the proud vanity of the Wizard. However, I know that even in this constant swirl of change, I will never stop returning to Wicked. Like every brilliant work of theater, there’s always a piece of myself, however miniscule, waiting in the music for me to come and reclaim it.