Growing up, it’s hard to pinpoint the exact motivation I had for drawing so much. I honestly wish I could. I wish I had some kind of deep and moving motivation for why I felt the compulsive need to reach people through artwork. Something rich and thematic, hugely satisfying enough to knock the socks off anyone reading this. Sadly, I don’t have a story like that. I don’t have any story at all. As far as I could remember, all I ever wanted to do was draw and attempt to say though pictures what my mouth never could. I can’t say that I was a quiet kid, per se- but when it came to the hard stuff, I froze. Be it another fight between my parents I can’t help but listen to through the thin walls, or a teacher verbally berating me for zoning out and getting distracted… again. I didn’t have the courage to speak up and assert how hurt I felt. The only stable thing I had was my sketchbook, and a blooming imagination that could take me anywhere away from there. It’s how I was able to calm myself down and- I’ve learned since, how others do themselves. It’s no secret that the generation of today is probably the most anxious we’ve ever seen. Or at least, the most outwardly expressive about it. But what many people overlook in favor of the more negative metric, are the people who choose to turn that anxiety into something. Those who channel it into their art or music, or simply just redecorating their house to blow off steam. Just like myself, millions of people everywhere direct these messy, confusing, and upsetting feelings into another form of creation that can be quite beautiful. I want to use my art to do for other people what was done for me. I want to create film and comic book stories to show anyone watching that they aren’t alone in this world. No matter if they’re in a comfortable big family, or barely scraping by, I want to show them that they are loved and worthy of being loved. When they don’t feel represented, I want to make something that helps them feel seen and understood. If just one person out there can feel the same way that I felt when diving into a new world of wonder, then I’ll be doing something right.

Growing up, it’s hard to pinpoint the exact motivation I had for drawing so much. I honestly wish I could. I wish I had some kind of deep and moving motivation for why I felt the compulsive need to reach people through artwork. Something rich and thematic, hugely satisfying enough to knock the socks off anyone reading this. Sadly, I don’t have a story like that. I don’t have any story at all. As far as I could remember, all I ever wanted to do was draw and attempt to say thought pictures what my mouth never could. I can’t say that I was a quiet kid, per se- but when it came to the hard stuff, I froze. Be it another fight between my parents I can’t help but listen to through the thin walls, or a teacher verbally berating me for zoning out and getting distracted… again. I didn’t have the courage to speak up and assert how hurt I felt. The only stable thing I had was my sketchbook, and a blooming imagination that could take me anywhere. It’s how I was able to calm myself down and- I’ve learned since, how others do themselves. It’s no secret that the current generation is probably the most anxious we’ve ever seen. Or at least, the most outwardly expressive about it. But what many people overlook in favor of the more negative metric, are the people who choose to turn that anxiety into something. Those who channel it into their art or music, or simply just redecorating their house to blow off steam. Just like myself, millions of people everywhere direct these messy, confusing, and upsetting feelings into another form of creation that can be quite beautiful. The art piece that I’ve chosen to include is titled: “Prisma Panic”, Primarily for the rushed, upset, and frantic feeling it’s supposed to convey. The subject is torn between parts of themself, smearing between consciousness in a blur of color. When in the depths of a full-blown panic attack, or just trying to fight one off internally and keep things looking normal on the outside, you can feel like your entire mind is splitting apart. You ask why on earth you feel this way and how to make it stop. You scrape your brain for ideas on how to get over what problem you’re facing. You cry out for help for nobody to hear. It’s a state hard to describe, yet I'm sure can be understood by anyone. Through my art, and this piece specifically, I aim to show a side of the mind that sometimes gets overlooked. Sure, mental health awareness is becoming more common, but how much work is really being put in besides memorizing the names of disorders and a few basic bullet points about them? I want to express the turmoil that I and many others feel, sometimes on a daily basis. If people finally understand the struggle it is that many suffer though, then not only will there be more of a drive to find effective solutions to make an adaptive, accessible, and kinder society for people to live in- But also to show in the littlest ways possible, that just reaching out and connecting to someone afflicted by anxiety or other similar feelings, It can make a world of difference. They no longer have to be stuck in a void alone. Not anymore.