From the quiet keys of a piano to the layers of a theatrical underscore, my experience finding a voice has been valuable. I have never had an easy time communicating, as at an early age I developed an unfortunate idea that social and physical cues are irrelevant. This inability left me experiencing a wealth of emotions I did not have the words to describe, nor the means to express. I realized this was an issue during the pandemic, when the effects of social isolation combined with my long-lasting ineptness when it came to communication at last started to affect me. A solution came in the realization that a tool I had for years was the key to expressing these emotions: the piano. Having taken lessons since the second grade, it became apparent that for years, I had been using the instrument as a form of emotional expression without ever realizing it. I’d play pieces from years ago and feel nostalgia, I’d play an excerpt from Khatachurian’s Spartacus and Phrygia to release energy when I felt anxious, I’d practice the first few bars of the Howl’s Moving Castle theme to calm myself down when stressed. In the approximate year following this realization, playing and recording music became a form of solace. When I was 14, I bought myself a resold Ableton Live Suite license and a MIDI controller, and was introduced to the world of digital composition. I felt that the world was at my fingertips, the little keyboard granting me access to any instrument I liked, all of which I could tailor to express whatever I liked. In high school, it occurred to me that theatre may be a suitable medium to apply these skills, though I knew little about what theatrical conceptual design was like. The first show I sound designed for, Monty Python’s "SPAMalot", was a welcome introduction to the technology and facilities involved in sound design, but I did not realize the extent to which conceptual sound design was capable of conveying stories and experiences. I first felt that I was able to make an impact with sound while working on an unrealized design for Frank Wedekind's "Spring Awakening." Revolving around a world not unlike our own, plagued with censorship and misinformation, this play conveys the disastrous aftermath resulting from these societal ills and the hope that the future will be different. My design for this show incorporated auditory ciphers, layering words translated to sounds into my music. I chose words in German or Latin that reflected thematic elements in each scene, then "translated" these words to notes by assigning letters to specific notes. These ciphers helped me convey emotions that I didn't even know existed prior to this design. In a scene where a character's funeral takes place following his funeral, the German word "zerrissenheit" conveyed alienation and estrangement as the character's family curses him for his manner of death. The piece contained a repeating chord progression in which chords corresponded to letters, conveying a certain "torn-to-pieces-ness" that words can't quite convey. This design taught me the power sound has to enhance emotion, and therefore enhance the impact stories have on audiences. I learned how I could take the lessons that playwright Frank Wedekind taught his audiences in 1891, and convert them to an auditory format relevant to modern audiences. The journey from silence to sound has gifted me with a new way of experiencing the world, and inspired me to pursue a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Sound Design. I am inspired by the endless ways sound design can motivate expression and storytelling.

From the quiet keys of a piano to the layers of a theatrical underscore, my experience finding a voice has been valuable. I have never had an easy time communicating, as at an early age I developed an unfortunate idea that social and physical cues are irrelevant. This inability left me experiencing a wealth of emotions I did not have the words to describe, nor the means to express. I realized this was an issue during the pandemic, when the effects of social isolation combined with my long-lasting ineptness when it came to communication at last started to affect me. A solution came in the realization that a tool I had for years was the key to expressing these emotions: the piano. Having taken lessons since the second grade, it became apparent that for years, I had been using the instrument as a form of emotional expression without ever realizing it. I’d play pieces from years ago and feel nostalgia, I’d play an excerpt from Khatachurian’s Spartacus and Phrygia to release energy when I felt anxious, I’d practice the first few bars of the Howl’s Moving Castle theme to calm myself down when stressed. In the approximate year following this realization, playing and recording music became a form of solace. When I was 14, I bought myself a resold Ableton Live Suite license and a MIDI controller, and was introduced to the world of digital composition. I felt that the world was at my fingertips, the little keyboard granting me access to any instrument I liked, all of which I could tailor to express whatever I liked. In high school, it occurred to me that theatre may be a suitable medium to apply these skills, though I knew little about what theatrical conceptual design was like. The first show I sound designed for, Monty Python’s "SPAMalot", was a welcome introduction to the technology and facilities involved in sound design, but I did not realize the extent to which conceptual sound design was capable of conveying stories and experiences. I first felt that I was able to make an impact with sound while working on an unrealized design for Frank Wedekind's "Spring Awakening." Revolving around a world not unlike our own, plagued with censorship and misinformation, this play conveys the disastrous aftermath resulting from these societal ills and the hope that the future will be different. My design for this show incorporated auditory ciphers, layering words translated to sounds into my music. I chose words in German or Latin that reflected thematic elements in each scene, then "translated" these words to notes by assigning letters to specific notes. These ciphers helped me convey emotions that I didn't even know existed prior to this design. In a scene where a character's funeral takes place following his funeral, the German word "zerrissenheit" conveyed alienation and estrangement as the character's family curses him for his manner of death. The piece contained a repeating chord progression in which chords corresponded to letters, conveying a certain "torn-to-pieces-ness" that words can't quite convey. This design taught me the power sound has to enhance emotion, and therefore enhance the impact stories have on audiences. I learned how I could take the lessons that playwright Frank Wedekind taught his audiences in 1891, and convert them to an auditory format relevant to modern audiences. The journey from silence to sound has not only gifted me with a new way of experiencing the world, but positively altered my understanding of the world around me. I am enthused and inspired by the endless ways sound design can motivate expression and storytelling.

I pride myself as a literary and film enthusiast. From a young age, I've had an endless capacity for books and movies, and as a result of this, discovered the works of S.E. Hinton. Introduced to her work by reading The Outsiders in class, I was quickly exposed to her other works, and what would become both one of my favorite books and movies: Rumble Fish. Rumble Fish tells many stories. It tells a tale of a dysfunctional family, of morality, of violence, of social issues, and of living in a world that you don't quite fit in. Blending a captivating plot with characters that spark curiosity and empathy with social topics that must be discussed, the book invites socioemotional growth. The movie adaptation takes these themes to another level with stylistic choices that further affirm the distinct uniqueness of the characters, applying these choices to motifs in the book. The main character, Rusty-James, aspires to be exactly like his brother, constantly restless and looking for a fight. He is perceived as a troublemaker and an outcast. Rusty-James has a brother referred to only as the Motorcycle Boy. He is colorblind and tunes out of conversations often, has trouble with the police, and is described as defying most elements of society. In the book's climax, the Motorcycle Boy breaks into a pet store to set free several Siamese fighting fish, as he believes they are like him their solitude and helplessness. He believes that freeing them in the river will mean that they won't have to fight. Most fascinatingly, in the film adaptation, the fish are the only part of the movie that aren't displayed in black-and-white color grading. Another prominent aspect of the film is the use of underscoring as a reflection of tension and action in the movie. Written by Stewart Copeland, drummer of the band The Police, the use of a sound similar to that of early street rock music is a unique choice that had early influences of my decision to pursue a career in sound design. Even before I had no particular interest in pursuing sound design, the music in this movie resonated with me, and I got my first glimpse into analyzing a conceptual underscore. Coppola's desire to use underscoring as a symbol for running out of time adds an entirely new layer to the story, highlighting tensions throughout. Both Coppola and Hinton present incredible interpretations of Rumble Fish, showcasing the themes of isolation, perspective, and morality through their respective methods. The adaptation preserves every element integral to the heart of Rusty-James's story, building on the central themes through unique use of color and cinematography. The themes of perceiving the world a certain way, and therefore sometimes struggling to communicate, are themes that resonate deeply with me. It is easy to feel alienated and abandoned, and this story is a realization that one is likely not alone in feeling that way. Reminiscent of a quote from Hinton's most famous novel, The Outsiders, "things are rough all over." Conclusively, Rumble Fish tells an informative, emotional, and relatable tale that both spurred the interests I pursue today and contributed to my understanding of myself through its depiction of interpersonal and emotional themes.

I identify myself as a humanist. To me, this means a belief in mankind's ability to improve the world through the arts and sciences, a belief in passion. This philosophy has fueled my engagement in the community, notably in my efforts to help improve literacy and access to books and literature in my community. I run an organization helping to increase awareness of censorship and to support local libraries. Additionally, I've coordinated service efforts as an officer of the Jordan High School Theatre, leading and participating in food and clothing drives and student mentorship efforts. Humanism encourages the idea that in a sea of pervasive chaos, it is the duty of individuals to be a positive force. Even the smallest effort to improve the world goes a long way in asserting mankind's ability to persist and to serve one another. This belief has guided me into pursuing an education in the theatre arts, and I am committed to dedicating my life to this unique, beautiful form of storytelling. There truly is magic in theatre.

From the quiet keys of a piano to the layers of a theatrical underscore, my experience finding a voice has been valuable. I have never had an easy time communicating, as at an early age I developed an unfortunate idea that social and physical cues are irrelevant. This inability left me experiencing a wealth of emotions I did not have the words to describe, nor the means to express. I realized this was an issue during the pandemic, when the effects of social isolation combined with my long-lasting ineptness when it came to communication at last started to affect me. A solution came in the realization that a tool I had for years was the key to expressing these emotions: the piano. Having taken lessons since the second grade, it became apparent that for years, I had been using the instrument as a form of emotional expression without ever realizing it. I’d play pieces from years ago and feel nostalgia, I’d play an excerpt from Khatachurian’s Spartacus and Phrygia to release energy when I felt anxious, I’d practice the first few bars of the Howl’s Moving Castle theme to calm myself down when stressed. In the approximate year following this realization, playing and recording music became a form of solace. When I was 14, I bought myself a resold Ableton Live Suite license and a MIDI controller, and was introduced to the world of digital composition. I felt that the world was at my fingertips, the little keyboard granting me access to any instrument I liked, all of which I could tailor to express whatever I liked. In high school, it occurred to me that theatre may be a suitable medium to apply these skills, though I knew little about what theatrical conceptual design was like. The first show I sound designed for, Monty Python’s SPAMalot, was a welcome introduction to the technology and facilities involved in sound design, but I did not realize the extent to which conceptual sound design reached until roughly a year later. With a year’s worth of experience in theatre and an induction into the International Thespian Society, I was allowed to attend the Texas State Thespian Festival, competing in sound design with William Shakespeare’s The Tempest. It was then that I understood that every miniscule component of these projects has a valuable meaning. The lightning that strikes in Act 1, Scene 1 not only indicates that a storm is afoot, but is an early representation of the power dynamic between Ariel, Prospero, and all else present throughout the story. The epiphanies that resulted from this project may be equated to the wealth of knowledge that comes from learning another language, for since then I have seen the world in ways I never could have previously imagined. I watch Francis Ford Coppola’s adaptation of Rumble Fish and I observe that the unique use of underscoring is a reflection of the main character’s mental state, providing me with a multifaceted perspective of the story. I watch a production of Hamlet and I note that the synchrony of the sharp ambient tone playing underneath the dialogue and the characters’ physicality indicates a shift in a character’s motivation throughout the show. The journey from silence to sound has not only gifted me with a new way of experiencing the world, but positively altered my understanding of the world around me. I am enthused and inspired by the endless ways sound design can motivate expression and storytelling.

From the quiet keys of a piano to the layers of a theatrical underscore, my experience finding a voice has been valuable. I have never had an easy time communicating, as at an early age I developed an unfortunate idea that social and physical cues are irrelevant. This inability left me experiencing a wealth of emotions I did not have the words to describe, nor the means to express. I realized this was an issue during the pandemic, when the effects of social isolation combined with my long-lasting ineptness when it came to communication at last started to affect me. A solution came in the realization that a tool I had for years was the key to expressing these emotions: the piano. Having taken lessons since the second grade, it became apparent that for years, I had been using the instrument as a form of emotional expression without ever realizing it. I’d play pieces from years ago and feel nostalgia, I’d play an excerpt from Khatachurian’s Spartacus and Phrygia to release energy when I felt anxious, I’d practice the first few bars of the Howl’s Moving Castle theme to calm myself down when stressed. In the approximate year following this realization, playing and recording music became a form of solace. When I was 14, I bought myself a resold Ableton Live Suite license and a MIDI controller, and was introduced to the world of digital composition. I felt that the world was at my fingertips, the little keyboard granting me access to any instrument I liked, all of which I could tailor to express whatever I liked. In high school, it occurred to me that theatre may be a suitable medium to apply these skills, though I knew little about what theatrical conceptual design was like. The first show I sound designed for, Monty Python’s SPAMalot, was a welcome introduction to the technology and facilities involved in sound design, but I did not realize the extent to which conceptual sound design reached until roughly a year later. With a year’s worth of experience in theatre and an induction into the International Thespian Society, I was allowed to attend the Texas State Thespian Festival, competing in sound design with William Shakespeare’s The Tempest. It was then that I understood that every miniscule component of these projects has a valuable meaning. The lightning that strikes in Act 1, Scene 1 not only indicates that a storm is afoot, but is an early representation of the power dynamic between Ariel, Prospero, and all else present throughout the story. The epiphanies that resulted from this project may be equated to the wealth of knowledge that comes from learning another language, for since then I have seen the world in ways I never could have previously imagined. I watch Francis Ford Coppola’s adaptation of Rumble Fish and I observe that the unique use of underscoring is a reflection of the main character’s mental state, providing me with a multifaceted perspective of the story. I watch a production of Hamlet and I note that the synchrony of the sharp ambient tone playing underneath the dialogue and the characters’ physicality indicates a shift in a character’s motivation throughout the show. The journey from silence to sound has not only gifted me with a new way of experiencing the world, but positively altered my understanding of the world around me. I am enthused and inspired by the endless ways sound design can motivate expression and storytelling.

From the quiet keys of a piano to the layers of a theatrical underscore, my experience finding a voice has been valuable. I have never had an easy time communicating, as at an early age I developed an unfortunate idea that social and physical cues are irrelevant. This inability left me experiencing a wealth of emotions I did not have the words to describe, nor the means to express. I realized this was an issue during the pandemic, when the effects of social isolation combined with my long-lasting ineptness when it came to communication at last started to affect me. A solution came in the realization that a tool I had for years was the key to expressing these emotions: the piano. Having taken lessons since the second grade, it became apparent that for years, I had been using the instrument as a form of emotional expression without ever realizing it. I’d play pieces from years ago and feel nostalgia, I’d play an excerpt from Khatachurian’s Spartacus and Phrygia to release energy when I felt anxious, I’d practice the first few bars of the Howl’s Moving Castle theme to calm myself down when stressed. In the approximate year following this realization, playing and recording music became a form of solace. When I was 14, I bought myself a resold Ableton Live Suite license and a MIDI controller, and was introduced to the world of digital composition. I felt that the world was at my fingertips, the little keyboard granting me access to any instrument I liked, all of which I could tailor to express whatever I liked. In high school, it occurred to me that theatre may be a suitable medium to apply these skills, though I knew little about what theatrical conceptual design was like. The first show I sound designed for, Monty Python’s SPAMalot, was a welcome introduction to the technology and facilities involved in sound design, but I did not realize the extent to which conceptual sound design reached until roughly a year later. With a year’s worth of experience in theatre and an induction into the International Thespian Society, I was allowed to attend the Texas State Thespian Festival, competing in sound design with William Shakespeare’s The Tempest. It was then that I understood that every miniscule component of these projects has a valuable meaning. The lightning that strikes in Act 1, Scene 1 not only indicates that a storm is afoot, but is an early representation of the power dynamic between Ariel, Prospero, and all else present throughout the story. The epiphanies that resulted from this project may be equated to the wealth of knowledge that comes from learning another language, for since then I have seen the world in ways I never could have previously imagined. I watch Francis Ford Coppola’s adaptation of Rumble Fish and I observe that the unique use of underscoring is a reflection of the main character’s mental state, providing me with a multifaceted perspective of the story. I watch a production of Hamlet and I note that the synchrony of the sharp ambient tone playing underneath the dialogue and the characters’ physicality indicates a shift in a character’s motivation throughout the show. The journey from silence to sound has not only gifted me with a new way of experiencing the world, but positively altered my understanding of the world around me. I am enthused and inspired by the endless ways sound design can motivate expression and storytelling.

From the quiet keys of a piano to the layers of a theatrical underscore, my experience finding a voice has been valuable. I have never had an easy time communicating, no matter the medium, as at an early age I developed an unfortunate idea that social and physical cues are irrelevant. This inability left me experiencing a wealth of emotions I did not have the words to describe, nor the means to express. I realized this was an issue during the pandemic, when the effects of social isolation combined with my long-lasting ineptness when it came to communication at last started to affect me. Even now, I’m compelled to research words to correctly name what I felt, as the best I can hope to express it is by describing the feeling as overwhelmed and isolated. A solution came in the realization that a tool I had for years was the key to expressing these emotions: the piano. Having taken lessons since the second grade, it became apparent that for years, I had been using the instrument as a form of emotional expression without ever realizing it. I’d play pieces from years ago and feel nostalgia, I’d play an excerpt from Khatachurian’s Spartacus and Phrygia to release energy when I felt anxious, I’d practice the first few bars of the Howl’s Moving Castle theme to calm myself down when stressed. In the approximate year following this realization, playing and recording music became a form of solace. When I was 14, I bought myself a resold Ableton Live Suite license and a MIDI controller, and was introduced to the world of digital composition. I felt that the world was at my fingertips, the little keyboard granting me access to any instrument I liked, all of which I could tailor to express whatever I liked. In high school, it occurred to me that theatre may be a suitable medium to apply these skills, though I knew little about what theatrical conceptual design was like. The first show I sound designed for, Monty Python’s SPAMalot, was a welcome introduction to the technology and facilities involved in sound design, but I did not realize the extent to which conceptual sound design reached until roughly a year later. With a year’s worth of experience in theatre and an induction into the International Thespian Society, I was allowed to attend the Texas State Thespian Festival, competing in sound design with William Shakespeare’s The Tempest. It was then that I understood that every miniscule component of these projects has a valuable meaning. The lightning that strikes in Act 1, Scene 1 not only indicates that a storm is afoot, but is an early representation of the power dynamic between Ariel, Prospero, and all else present throughout the story. The epiphanies that resulted from this project may be equated to the wealth of knowledge that comes from learning another language, for since then I have seen the world in ways I never could have previously imagined. The journey from silence to sound has not only gifted me with a new way of experiencing the world, but positively altered my understanding of the world around me. I am enthused and inspired by the endless ways sound design can motivate expression and storytelling. My goal is to continue to find ways to apply sound design to storytelling through the theatre medium, focusing on expressing the humanistic aspect of theatre and to make impactful connections with the hearts of audiences. I want to use sound to give voices to those who haven't found them yet.

Attached below is a piece designed for Act 1, Scene 1 of Frank Wedekind's 1891 version of Spring Awakening: A Children's Tragedy, along with the project data for the piece in the program Ableton Live. My sound design for Frank Wedekind’s Spring Awakening encompasses a central concept of censorship and morality. The show explores conflict between censorship and knowledge, such as Wendla’s insistence on learning how children are born while her mother insisted that it would be wrong to tell the truth, and as Melchior’s essay was condemned for exploring objective facts about censored topics. Significant conflict between morality and immorality is depicted as well, such as when Melchior’s parents debate whether or not his essay was inherently wrong and as Moritz is both condemned and praised for his suicide. My design explores these themes by utilizing auditory encryption of abstract concepts, establishing both verbal and musical motifs that are hidden within the underscoring to reflect the prominence of censorship depicted in the show. Words taken from Latin, Greek, German, and English were carefully chosen to represent the main themes in each scene, then encrypted into the scene’s music through an auditory cipher. Act 1, Scene 1 explores themes of censorship, coming-of-age, adolescence, loss of innocence, and truth as a 14-year-old girl, Wendla Bergmann, laments the fact that her mother treats her like a child, thinking Wendla is too young to understand the world, while Wendla argues otherwise. In this scene, the Latin phrase "Innocentia Amissa" is encrypted in the underscoring. The noun "innocentia" translates to innocence. The verb "amittere" means "to lose" in the sense of having something taken away or no longer possessing it. "Amissa" is the past participle of this verb, so this phrase emphasizes the state or condition of having lost innocence, often with a focus on the process or experience of the loss. The underscoring attached contains this phrase, encrypted by assigning a musical note to each letter. For example, the letter A is equal to the note C3 on a piano, the letter E is equal to the note B3, and so on, and this pattern is repeated sequentially for both vowels and consonants. This is an example of what creativity means to me. Creativity is finding versatile, even abstract ways to discuss inherently humanistic themes, especially through the application of creativity in my favorite medium, the theatre. To possess and to apply creativity to the act of storytelling is to add another layer of unique communication to the development of a story's inherent message.

My leadership experiences include serving as a historian and vice president for the Jordan High School Sexuality and Gender Alliance and serving as a treasurer for the Jordan Theatre Company. To begin with, my experience with the Sexuality and Gender Alliance is important to me because it means serving, expanding, and supporting the local LGBTQ+ community. The club primarily conducts regular social and informational events, helping people make friends, stay informed of what's going on in the LGBTQ+ community on a larger scale, and working to grow, support, and recognize the unique and amazing individuals within our community. Additionally, our club has made significant connections with other similar groups in the area as well, coordinating district-wide social events to celebrate LGBTQ+ communities across the Katy area. Being able to take part in leadership for this club means a lot to me because it means providing a supportive community for those who may not have that community otherwise. It means getting the chance to show someone that they are valued, that their identity is valid, and that everybody, no matter who they are, is somebody to be proud of. Furthermore, I participate in leadership as a Thespian Officer, serving as Jordan High School Thespian Troupe 10042's treasurer. I get the opportunity to work with a group of people, talented in all areas of theatre. My job as treasurer includes coordinating membership, tracking the thespian point system in our community, and assisting our Philanthropy chairperson in finding ways to reach out and support the larger community in our area. As theatre is what I intent to pursue as a lifelong career, being a Thespian Officer and getting a chance to serve and support the backbone of Jordan Theatre Company is something I am incredibly proud of. Getting to coordinate company events, lead workshops, and work with incredible people provides a sense of the inner workings of a theatre, the qualities required to be a leader in this field, and a strong sense of community and resolve. In conclusion, my experiences in student leadership as integral parts of who I am today. I am incredibly grateful for the opportunities I have been given. Expanding on my participation in Jordan Theatre Company, participation in theatre has led me to pursue the arts as a lifelong career. This scholarship would ease the financial strain of pursuing a BFA degree, making it feasible to successfully achieve my goals. This scholarship would enable me to contribute positively to society by continuing to be an artist, telling stories and sharing my own experiences through the unique medium that is theatre. The craft has the ability to change lives, contributing to our understanding of ourselves and society as a whole through innovative and humanist storytelling. Additionally, if given the opportunity, I intend to continue pursuing efforts to support and strengthen the LGBTQ+ community in any way I can. I intent to continue to find volunteer opportunities wherever the future takes me, be an active participant in social or informational groups that benefit the community, and to share my experiences as part of this beautiful, vibrant community.