Watercolor painting introduced me to color. Before I started painting, I was strictly a pencil-and-paper artist. One day in middle school, my late grandfather gave me his set of paints, and it changed everything. My Grandpa Herbi was an artist at heart his whole life. He never had the opportunity to study art—or even finish grade school, for that matter—but he was incredibly talented and driven. Before he passed, he was so proud and happy to see me not only pursue a higher education as a first-generation college student, but also to carry his artistic dreams with me. I intend to become an illustrator who tells stories that fill the soul. I want to illustrate children’s books, take on commissions, and eventually create my own visual stories—ones that capture the quiet beauty of daily life. I’ve always loved the “little” joys in life, and I think watercolor—with its softness and playful nature—is the perfect medium to tell those kinds of stories. The two watercolor paintings I’m sharing were both inspired by watching my family at play. There’s nothing like sitting back and just taking life in. In my own work, I try to express a love for humanity: the good, the hard, and the quietly beautiful. I’m drawn to moments of connection—children playing, people gathering, everyday life. One painting, titled “The Perfect Swing,” is a series of keyframes showing my brother golfing. The other, “Looking Up To,” captures my siblings playing in a creek—my younger brother stands below looking up to my older brother, as he has his whole life. It’s a quiet moment that reminds me how much the younger generation looks up to us, and how much beauty there is in simply stepping away from the noise of life—and our buzzing phones—to just be together.

In a time of growing AI and social disconnection, the world needs art. Art is not just a product, and it should never be used as a shortcut to replace real artists as in the case of AI images. At its core, art fills the human soul, both the artist’s and the viewer’s. It is a way to put imagery to the life experiences we have. This is the type of impact I want to make with my art: to remind people of our shared humanity and what makes us uniquely human. Art can represent good times, hard times, or take us back to bittersweet moments. Before written language, images were the first form of communication that connected us across cultures. Every culture is built on art, each expressing its unique identity and stories through it. For me, art has always been more than a hobby. It’s how I’ve made sense of life. I’m a first-generation Mexican-American, and that story is important to tell—just like yours is. In a world where AI tries to imitate human emotion, there’s an urgent need for real, lived experience in art. Each individual artist is the only one who can share their story. In my art, I like to express my love for humanity—all the good things, the hard things, and the overall beautiful, complex world we live in. From nature to architecture, to my favorite: people being people. Children at play, small moments of connection, and just the mundane. “Mundane” is often used negatively in today’s culture, which glamorizes the “grind” and the pursuit of success—the need for a finish line. But what about the beauty in everyday moments? Write. Laugh. Bake. Pray. Read. Paint. The small, quiet joys are often overlooked in the rush. The positive impact the world needs is a reminder of the soul behind the simple things—of the beauty of just existing. And that is the impact I want to make with my art.

Becoming an artist was always in my blood. I can't remember a specific time when art struck me; it has just always been there. One of my earliest memories was sneaking into my grandparents' basement, past the 20-gallon fish tank, and through a small wooden door into my grandpa's painting room. The moment you walked in, you were immediately struck by the smells of acrylic paint and turpentine. It was a humble room with hand-built wooden shelves and paintings filling every inch of the walls. In the middle of the tight space stood a little easel with his current painting. I would marvel at his progress and get so excited to see it finished. While everyone else was trying sports, math, and dance in grade school, I was devoting countless hours to art. I was so invested in my improvement that I quit all extracurricular activities, wanting to spend every minute creating. Over the years, I explored pottery, painting, drawing, and animating, but I never strayed far from the arts. I never grew out of that drive. When I was still in grade school, my grandpa pulled me aside and gifted me some of his paint supplies (I had only been drawing with pencils before this). He told me he noticed how much I loved doing art. He was proud of me and wanted to see what I could create. As someone I look up to in so many different aspects, I was absolutely beaming. My creative bone came from him and will always remind me of him, even though he passed away a year ago. For the inspiration he gave me and the support he showed, my grandpa is my favorite artist. Like Hilda Klinger, my grandpa never had the opportunity to attend art school—or even finish grade school. As an immigrant, my grandpa raised his seven children in a country he didn't know. He had a lot of responsibility but never gave up on art. His paintings were of simple towns and seascapes. His signature elements were cranes and lighthouses, which he just loved to include and I love to point out in real life. My grandpa's dedication to his art, despite his challenges, mirrors Hilda Klinger's own journey and passion. Stories like these inspire me to pursue my dream of becoming a professional artist, despite hardships. This scholarship would provide me with the financial support I need to follow in their footsteps and continue to grow as an artist. Thank you for considering my application for the Hilda Klinger Memorial Scholarship.

Adversity strikes unexpectedly, and for me, it arrived with the sudden decline of my grandfather last March. He fell suddenly, leading to a four-week battle in the hospital and eventual passing in hospice care. This was the first time that I experienced a loss so close to me, plunging me to a time of uncertainty and fear about life's fragility. After his fall, my academic progress came to a halt as I spent time at the hospital, grappling with a future without him. The shock and terror of seeing my grandpa, who had always been so full of life, now unresponsive and dependent on machines to keep him alive, was overwhelming. I went from seeing my grandpa weekly in his element—cooking, fishing, painting, and gardening—to seeing him fade away. This period of grief caused me to finish my sophomore year deep into the summer. To overcome this adversity, I had to remember how my grandpa lived his life. He was always excited and proud of us for making it to college, and I knew this was something I wanted to work hard for. I had to get back into a school grind and push through, not my sadness or grief, but my imposter syndrome. Before his fall, I was tackling a final project: creating a mini-documentary. Despite my lack of filmmaking experience, I dove right in, motivated by the excitement and the desire to do well. The documentary focused on generational traditions, particularly food, with my grandpa as the star. Nervous about revealing his pivotal role, I almost didn't tell him, but I finally gathered the courage to ask him to participate, and he was happy to be involved. The last footage I captured was an interview with my grandpa done shortly before he was rushed to the hospital. I had a hard time envisioning where the documentary was going after he died, but more so, I feared opening up the video of him talking and smiling with me. But knowing how proud he was of my accomplishments, I found comfort in editing the clips over a couple of days. The process of editing a film all about my grandpa became therapeutic. Overcoming my excessive self-sabotage led to a valuable memory with my grandpa, and going back and editing it after he passed, led to healing. Sharing the final documentary with my family brought us all to tears. We missed him deeply, but the answers he gave us in the past interview were somehow exactly what we needed to hear now. My grandfather's legacy profoundly shaped me. He inspired me to persevere in the face of adversity, to remain curious, and to always strive for my personal best. To anyone facing similar circumstances, my advice is to allow yourself to feel and process your emotions. It's essential to lean on your support network and on good memories rather than the future without a lost one. It's okay to take a break and that self-care is crucial during difficult times. Most importantly, carry the lessons and memories of your loved ones with you, and let them guide you towards healing and growth. Thank you for considering my application and listening to my story.