I wanted to map my memories, not just the places I went, but the moments and emotions that stayed with me long after they passed. While working on this piece, I found myself scrolling through old photos, reliving quiet mornings, long flights, small joys, and heavy nights. “Between Here and There, 2025” is a diptych, meaning it consists of two separate pieces of art meant to be viewed together as one. Together, they became a visual record of the first half of my 2025. The first piece is in black and white and represents my time in the United States. I transformed places I visited or passed through into symbolic imagery, such as a bald eagle for America, a peach for Georgia, and a paper airplane to suggest travel. Working without color reflected how this period felt to me. Life was steady, but emotionally muted. I was studying, making art, and spending time with friends, yet I often felt the quiet weight of distance from my partner, who lives in Hong Kong. Painting these memories meant sitting with that loneliness and accepting it as part of my growth. The second piece shifts into vibrant color and focuses on my summer in China, Hong Kong, Macao, Thailand, and South Korea. Each place is represented through symbolic imagery, including a heart for China, dim sum for Hong Kong, egg tarts for Macao, Moodeng the baby hippo for Thailand, and the tiger shape of South Korea. This half of “Between Here and There, 2025” feels joyful and alive. As I painted, my confidence with ink grew, and I began to trust the medium more. Letting the colors blend and layer felt freeing. The process mirrored my emotional experience of being surrounded by loved ones again and feeling whole. In my work, I often include elements of my cultural heritage, which has become a constant theme in my practice. This piece continues that exploration, but in a more intimate way than my previous works. Rather than focusing on a single idea or symbol, I allowed my own memories and experiences to guide the imagery, making this one of the most personal artworks I have created and one of my favorite pieces from 2025. To add another layer of storytelling, I used transparent sheets to draw small, cartoon-like scenes that reflect my personal memories from the year. I created my own lizard-style characters to represent people in my life, turning the artwork into a quiet visual diary. Throughout both pieces, I included small gold dots that weave across the surfaces, representing my footprint moving through time and place. Even without knowing the details, viewers can sense that the piece holds something intimate and lived-in, like an unfolding journey. As a Chinese American who grew up navigating two cultures, returning to China and Hong Kong made this piece especially meaningful. Many of the symbols I chose reflect family, food, tradition, and emotional connection. Painting these memories allowed me to reconnect with parts of myself that often feel split between places. Creating “Between Here and There, 2025” changed the way I think about art. Painting my own memories required honesty, reflection, and patience. It reminded me that art does not always have to be about invention. Sometimes, the most meaningful work comes from paying attention to your own life and having the courage to put it on paper. This piece has inspired me to keep working this way in the future, possibly as a series, because telling my story through art feels like the most honest way I know how.

I’m a college student studying Drawing and Painting at Georgia State University. I’ve always seen art as a way to express the things I couldn’t put into words growing up, especially during hard times in my home. My mother has bipolar disorder and narcissistic personality disorder, and her actions have left our family in financial and emotional chaos. I’ve spent most of my teenage years being a caretaker for both her and my grandmother. Art became my outlet and anchor, something I could return to no matter how unstable life felt. Because of these responsibilities and our financial situation, I’m funding my education through a mix of scholarships, student loans, and part-time work. I’m doing this independently without financial support from my parents, balancing school and caregiving responsibilities. Despite all this, I’m determined to become a professional artist and give back to communities like mine. I hope to teach art to young people who need a safe, creative space, the way I once did. I became a MOA in 2021, during the pandemic, when everything felt uncertain: academics, family, and the future. One day, YouTube recommended “Blue Hour,” and something about TXT’s music hit a part of me that had gone numb. Their storytelling, visuals, and sincerity drew me in. But it wasn’t until I heard “Anti-Romantic” that I truly became a MOA. That song spoke to emotions I had never been able to explain: wanting love but fearing it, pushing others away because you’ve been hurt too many times. TXT is my ult group because they don’t shy away from vulnerability. Their music evolves as they grow, and it feels like they’re growing with us. They make space for both joy and pain. I especially look up to Soobin for his quiet strength and gentle leadership. As an introvert who often stays in the background, seeing someone like him lead with empathy and grace has been incredibly validating. And Hueningkai—his creative energy, warmth, and genuine passion for music always inspire me to stay soft and expressive, even in tough times. One of my favorite TXT moments is their live performance of “Dear Sputnik,” which Hueningkai co-wrote. The lyrics about being lost and finding light in someone else moved me deeply. The performance felt raw and dreamlike, and I return to it often when I feel overwhelmed or unsure of my direction. That song reminds me that even when I feel lost, I can still be someone else’s light, or find someone who helps me shine. TXT has influenced not just my personal healing but also my aspirations as an artist. They taught me that art can be both beautiful and honest, and that it can comfort people in their darkest moments. I want to create work that helps others feel seen, just like their music did for me. Whether I go into teaching, illustration, or nonprofit art therapy, I carry with me the lessons TXT shares through their music. Vulnerability is strength, creativity is power, and connection can be transformative. MOAs like to say Tubatu is taking over the world. In a way, they are. One song, one comfort video, one spark of hope at a time—they’ve already changed mine. I hope I can carry that light forward in my own work.

I grew up in Norcross, a small city in Gwinnett County, Georgia, where the streets felt familiar and full of quiet detail. I was the kind of kid who noticed everything—the curve of a sidewalk, the way light shifted through trees, the feeling of the air on a cloudy morning. Drawing became my favorite way to explore the world. One day at the local library, I found a manga. I didn’t even know what it was, but the sparkly eyes and expressive faces pulled me in. That was when I realized art wasn’t just something to look at. It could tell stories and hold feelings I didn’t yet have words for. I didn’t grow up with extra lessons or expensive tools. I had printer paper, pencils from school, and a lot of curiosity. I’d draw in notebooks, on scraps, in the margins of my homework. I wasn’t trying to be perfect. I just needed a space where I could express something real. When things in life felt too loud or too uncertain, drawing gave me quiet. It gave me clarity. I didn’t have to explain myself; I could just make something that showed how I felt. That hasn’t changed much, honestly. Even now, as a college student, art is still where I go to feel grounded. I want to be an artist because it’s always been the clearest way for me to exist, to process, and to speak without having to explain myself out loud. Growing up, art was how I made sense of things I didn’t know how to name yet: loneliness, confusion, dreams, emotions too big for words. I’d draw when I felt overwhelmed, when I was daydreaming, when I was trying to hold onto something soft in a world that often felt sharp. It didn’t start with a goal or a career plan. It started because I needed it. And over time, I realized that what helped me survive, these drawings, these made-up characters and emotional little worlds, could also help other people feel less alone. That’s what I want to keep doing. I don’t want to make art just to impress. I want to create things that comfort, that stay with people, that let someone pause and breathe. Being an artist means I get to take my experiences, my imagination, and all the quiet moments I’ve lived through and turn them into something beautiful and true. Something that gives softness and meaning back to the world. I’m currently studying Drawing and Painting at Georgia State University, and this is the first time I’ve been able to take my work seriously, with guidance, structure, and the chance to develop technically. I’ve grown a lot. I’ve learned how to draw anatomy, how to work with different media, and how to think through a piece beyond the first idea. But more than anything, I’ve learned how to trust my voice. I’ve found that my work leans toward softness: emotional, sometimes whimsical, and always layered with meaning. I make art that’s gentle but deep. I want people to feel something when they look at my work, even if they don’t know exactly why. I love combining different styles and traditions. One of my favorite personal pieces is a traditional Chinese brush painting I made of my pet brown anole, Crepe. I imagined him not just as a pet but as a quiet forest guardian. I painted him perched on a branch with soft washes of ink and careful brushstrokes, pulling from the same visual language I saw in the art passed down through Chinese tradition. Moments like that remind me that art can hold personal memory and cultural history at the same time. That blending of past and present, observation and imagination, is something I want to keep doing. One of the pieces I’m most proud of is a stop-motion animation I created about human trafficking in Southeast Asia. That’s a tough subject, and I didn’t want the tone to be so heavy that people shut down. I wanted people, especially younger audiences, to be able to engage with it. So I used fruits and vegetables as characters, building the story through symbolism. It still carried the weight of the truth, but it felt accessible and emotional in a different way. That’s how I approach a lot of my work: serious stories told in soft, strange, creative forms. Not everyone is ready for confrontation, but most people are ready to feel. I want to open up difficult conversations through visuals that feel gentle enough to invite people in. I’ve also had the honor of being published in Georgia State’s Underground Journal, which features student artwork. Seeing my work in print reminded me that even quiet, personal pieces can have a wider reach. It gave me the confidence to keep experimenting and refining my portfolio. It also made me realize that I want to share my work with more people. Whether through galleries, books, animation, or zines, I want my art to find its way into people’s lives in ways that feel intimate and meaningful. I want to keep creating stories that feel like comfort, that invite people in without forcing them to explain themselves. I want to make art that feels like something you didn’t know you needed until you saw it: gentle, emotional, a little odd, and deeply human. That’s what I’ve always needed, and it’s what I hope I can give through my work. Artist Statement: Mersyna is an artist based in Atlanta, currently pursuing a BFA in Drawing and Painting at Georgia State University. Her work is rooted in the exploration of medium, form, and meaning, as she continues to refine her technical foundation while developing a distinct and evolving artistic voice. Her practice is driven by curiosity. Rather than settling into a single subject or style, Mersyna values the freedom to experiment. From traditional figure studies to abstract mark-making, from digital media to Chinese brush painting, her work reflects a genuine interest in learning and a deep respect for the process of making. Each piece becomes a stepping stone, revealing something new about the material, mood, or herself. Mersyna’s work has been featured in Georgia State’s undergraduate art journal, the Underground Journal. She continues to expand her portfolio with a focus on technical skill, thoughtful experimentation, and expressive storytelling. As she grows, so does her commitment to making honest, resonant work: art that reflects not just what she sees, but how she sees.

As a visual storyteller, I aim to make difficult topics easier to understand through creative, accessible narratives. One of my most meaningful projects is a stop motion animation I created about human trafficking, using fruits and vegetables as characters. While the subject is serious and often frightening, I chose a lighthearted, symbolic approach so that people, especially younger viewers, can engage with the story without fear, while still grasping its emotional weight and real-world impact. The story follows tomato characters who are lured by a fake job offer, trapped in a scam compound, and eventually escape with help. It’s inspired by real survivor accounts from Southeast Asia, but instead of using graphic imagery, I focused on minimal narration, expressive motion, and careful sound design to tell the story in a gentle yet powerful way. 1.) What impact has your work had? After screening the animation in my university class, several classmates and professors shared how eye-opening the piece was. Many didn’t know about the scam compounds operating in Southeast Asia and said the video helped them understand the issue more clearly. One student mentioned that the use of fruits and vegetables made the story more accessible, and removing the fear factor allowed them to process the narrative more fully. Others were surprised that such a serious story could be told in such a soft, symbolic way and still feel emotionally impactful. This reinforced my belief that storytelling doesn’t need to rely on shock value to make a difference. By using creative symbolism, I helped people engage with a difficult topic in a way that encourages learning, empathy, and awareness. 2.) What challenges have you faced? One major challenge was translating a heavy topic into a visual language that felt appropriate for a wide audience. I had to find a balance between staying true to the gravity of the issue while presenting it in a non-threatening, even whimsical style. Every creative choice, character design, lighting, and pacing had to carry emotional weight while remaining gentle enough to keep viewers engaged, not overwhelmed. Another challenge was the technical aspect of stop motion. I built all the sets and props by hand, using recycled materials and a basic camera setup. Stop motion is time-consuming and requires immense patience. Filming took days of careful frame-by-frame shooting, often with many retakes. Despite the limitations, I was committed to bringing this story to life with intention and care. 3.) How would this scholarship support your work? This scholarship would support me by giving me more space to grow as a storyteller, both in what I make and who I make it for. My stop motion project was just one example of how I approach serious topics through creative visuals. I’d like to keep experimenting with different formats, like illustrated stories, comics, or zines, that can reach younger audiences in meaningful but approachable ways. I’m interested in telling stories that are honest but not overwhelming; things that help kids understand the world without feeling afraid or shut down. Whether it’s about safety, kindness, identity, or emotions, I want to create work that stays with people in quiet, lasting ways. Having financial support would help me access better materials and have more time to focus on these projects instead of constantly worrying about the cost or how I’ll pull it together. I’m still learning and figuring out my path, but I know storytelling is at the center of it, and this scholarship would help me keep going.

I’m passionate about design because it’s a powerful way to communicate ideas and emotions without needing words. As someone who majors in drawing and painting, I’ve always felt a strong connection to visual expression. Design feels like a natural extension of that, like a language where layout, color, and shape all work together to make something not only look good, but also feel intentional. I love how design can be bold or subtle, practical or emotional, and still carry a clear message. There’s a special kind of satisfaction that comes from taking an abstract idea and turning it into something others can instantly connect with visually. What excites me most are projects that combine traditional art and digital design, especially ones that allow for storytelling or atmosphere-building. I love working on visual identities, concept posters, zines, and album covers. These types of projects give me a chance to mix illustration, layout, and type in creative ways. I like having the freedom to start with hand-drawn or painted elements and then bring them into a digital space to push them further. For example, the idea of creating a fictional brand or artist and designing everything around it, from the logo to the promotional art, really excites me. It’s not just about making something that looks cool; it’s about building a world and telling a story through design. Digital design tools open up endless possibilities for how I can bring these projects to life. I use programs like Photoshop and Procreate to scan and refine my traditional art, adjust color and texture, and layer different elements together. Illustrator has helped me start learning how to make cleaner shapes and logos, and I’m currently getting more familiar with InDesign for layout work. These tools make it possible to test ideas quickly, iterate, and create polished, flexible work that can exist across both print and digital platforms. What I find especially valuable is the way digital tools let me bridge the gap between fine art and design. I can preserve the organic feeling of a pencil line or brushstroke and then pair it with digital type, structured composition, or interactive motion. Being able to experiment like that keeps me creatively energized. I’m always trying to figure out how to blend hand-made and digital textures in a way that feels fresh, personal, and functional. I want to continue growing both my technical skills and creative thinking by exploring more advanced tools like After Effects or Figma in the future, depending on the project. But even now, I’m constantly learning how to get more out of the tools I already use, how to work smarter, not just harder, and how to stay true to my style while making work that connects with people. Ultimately, my interest in design isn’t just about visuals, it’s about creating experiences, telling stories, and building connections. Whether I’m designing a piece for print or a digital screen, I’m excited by the challenge of making something that resonates.

Although John Graff’s Real Insights focuses on real estate, I found the lessons in Chapter Two about why new agents fail surprisingly relevant to my own field of art. Graff points out that nearly 87% of new agents leave their profession within five years because they underestimate how challenging the work really is. That resonated with me deeply, since many artists also face early struggles, doubts, and setbacks that can discourage them from pursuing their passion full-time. Graff emphasizes that success requires more than just raw talent or luck; it demands constant learning, building strong relationships, and managing your career like a business. For artists, this means not only honing technical skills but also networking, promoting work, and understanding the practical side of art as a livelihood. Like real estate agents, artists must be proactive learners and patient builders of their own brand and community. Another important point Graff makes is about financial realities. New agents must be ready to support themselves before steady income arrives. This is a lesson I take to heart as an artist, where income can be irregular and uncertain at first. It reminds me that planning financially and mentally for ups and downs is crucial to staying committed through the early, difficult years. Overall, this chapter offered me a useful perspective on resilience and preparation that applies beyond real estate. Graff’s honest advice about managing expectations, continuous growth, and relationship-building gives me confidence that success in art, like in any competitive field, requires dedication, adaptability, and patience. It encourages me to keep learning and growing, even when progress feels slow.

Arts education has shaped my life from the very beginning. When I was around three or four years old, my grandmother, who loved drawing herself, enrolled me in a children’s art class. I was so young, but something clicked. I remember how natural it felt to sit down with paper and colors and just create. My grandmother recognized that spark in me early on, and without her support, I might not have realized that art was something I could truly grow with. In elementary school, art class was always the part of the day I looked forward to most. I loved the hands-on projects, painting sessions, and the simple freedom of making things. Even back then, it gave me a space to express myself in a way nothing else could. Those early experiences made art feel exciting and limitless. I didn’t worry about being “good” or “bad”, I just enjoyed the process. I think that sense of play and exploration really built the foundation for how I still approach creating today. As I got older, access to formal art classes became more limited. For a long stretch, I had to rely on self-teaching. I turned to books, online tutorials, and lots of trial and error. While it was challenging at times, I learned a lot about my own work ethic and how much I cared about improving. Teaching myself allowed me to explore different styles and figure out what kind of art felt right to me. It wasn’t always easy, but I kept going because I couldn’t imagine giving it up. Eventually, I entered college and began majoring in art, and that changed everything again. Being surrounded by other artists, getting real-time feedback, and learning from professors who are passionate about what they do helped me level up in ways I couldn’t have on my own. Each semester, I see growth in both my technical skills and my creative confidence. I’m learning to take risks with my work, dig deeper into the “why” behind what I make, and trust my instincts more. Art is no longer just a hobby or an escape, it’s a path I’ve chosen to walk on purpose. When I think about who inspired me the most, I always come back to my grandmother. She didn’t have access to formal training herself, but she had a love for drawing and a belief in me that never wavered. She was the first person to encourage my creativity, and I carry that with me every time I sit down to make something. Her support, especially in those early years, planted a seed that has continued to grow. Art education, whether it was in school, self-taught, or now in college, has impacted me in every stage of life. It gave me an outlet, a sense of purpose, and a way to connect with others. It’s shaped how I see the world and how I see myself. I don’t know exactly where this journey will take me, but I know I’ll keep creating, learning, and growing, because art has always been a part of who I am.

For most of my life, I believed I had to choose between stability and passion. I was raised to value practicality, and for a while, I convinced myself that putting art aside was the responsible thing to do. I followed an academic path that felt safe on the surface, but the more I distanced myself from art, the more lost I felt. Eventually, I realized that choosing security at the cost of purpose was unsustainable. I didn’t just want to create—I needed to. So I made the decision to return to what mattered most to me. Pursuing a BFA in Drawing and Painting was a turning point. It wasn’t just about making art again—it was about finally choosing to live with purpose. I’ve always been a visual thinker, someone who pays attention to small gestures, quiet moments, and what’s left unsaid. Now, I’m using those instincts to build a body of work that reflects both personal experience and cultural memory. A large part of my artistic drive comes from a desire to celebrate and share culture, specifically, Chinese culture, which has always felt close to my heart. There are so many stories, symbols, and ways of seeing the world that get overlooked or flattened in the mainstream. Through my art, I want to give space to those perspectives. That might look like incorporating traditional Chinese ink techniques into modern narratives, or drawing inspiration from mythology, folklore, and lived experiences. Sometimes, it’s as simple as representing the quiet rituals of daily life or the feeling of being in-between cultures and learning how to hold both. One piece that holds special meaning to me is a traditional ink painting of my pet brown anole, Crepe. It was inspired by guo hua techniques but also influenced by biological illustration. Crepe became a subject not just of observation, but connection, reminding me that even the smallest life can have meaning, presence, and story. That piece was later accepted into my university’s undergraduate art journal, and it marked a turning point for me: a moment when I began to trust that my voice was worth sharing. My long-term goal is to create work that invites curiosity and encourages people to explore cultures beyond their own, not in a distant or academic way, but through human moments. Whether that’s through narrative art, illustration, or installations that draw from both tradition and contemporary life, I want to create pieces that help bridge understanding. I’m also committed to learning deeply—from technique and structure to historical context—because I believe that honoring your influences means truly studying them. That’s why I’m currently focusing on mastering anatomy, life drawing, and storytelling structure while also expanding my visual vocabulary. I want to carry the richness of Chinese visual traditions forward, but also give them room to grow, change, and speak to the present. Art has helped me reconnect with my own identity, and I hope to use it as a way to help others do the same—whether they share my background or are just beginning to learn about it. The impact I want to make isn’t flashy; it’s about creating moments of recognition, connection, or wonder that stay with someone quietly after they’ve walked away. You can view some of my work here: https://mersyna.com/

One of my favorite pieces of art is a traditional Chinese guo hua-style illustration of my pet brown anole, Crepe. This artwork is a combination of a detailed biological illustration and a simplified, abstract line sketch above it. The lower portion of the piece captures Crepe’s anatomy with precision, showing the fine details of her scales, limbs, and posture. Above the realistic drawing is a minimalist line sketch, where I’ve reduced the details, focusing only on the essential lines that convey her form and presence. This dual approach creates a striking contrast between the scientific accuracy of the biological illustration and the fluid expressiveness of the abstract lines. The inspiration for this piece came from my personal connection with Crepe. These past few months, I’ve observed her closely, watching how she moves, rests, and interacts with her environment. Her quiet, almost meditative nature has taught me to appreciate the smaller details of life that often go unnoticed. Crepe, as a pet, is a constant companion, and in capturing her image, I wanted to go beyond the typical representation of a pet and instead explore her as a living being with its own story, personality, and significance. I am constantly trying to learn more about my culture and incorporate that into my artwork. I want to create art that reflects the things I love, using traditional art techniques that hold a deep meaning for me. Chinese art, especially traditional techniques like guo hua, has a special place in my heart. These methods are rich with history and offer a connection to my roots. I am proud of my heritage, and through my art, I hope to share this pride with others. By blending traditional techniques with modern subject matter, I aim to spread the culture and make it more accessible and relevant to today’s world. Art has always been a bridge between past and present, and I want to honor that by continuing to explore and share the beauty of my culture with others. I was honored when this piece was accepted into the underground art journal at my university. Being able to share my work with a wider audience and have it appreciated by others reinforced my belief that art can bridge personal and cultural boundaries. It also reminded me that art is not just a tool for self-expression, but also a way to foster understanding and connection between people of different backgrounds. This experience has motivated me to continue creating art that conveys both knowledge and emotion, blending traditional techniques with personal and cultural narratives to create something truly meaningful. Moving forward, I am committed to blending traditional Chinese art techniques with personal narratives to honor my cultural heritage and share it with a broader audience. I want my work to inspire others to connect with and appreciate the richness of diverse cultures. Through my art, I plan to contribute to the preservation and evolution of cultural traditions while also encouraging new perspectives on what it means to be part of a global community.