I grew up learning how to watch. I was raised by a single father who pursued his bachelor’s degree alongside my own primary schooling, guiding us both through education with determination and the help of scholarships like this one. We moved often through Nebraska, San Francisco, Chicago, and ultimately settled in Ohio. With each transition, I learned how to skim new environments and adapt without losing myself. Being the “new kid” more than ten times taught me that creativity is not just about expression. It is about problem-solving, empathy, and building connections where none exist yet. Art was my first language, but I became equally drawn to how systems shape culture. I noticed how creative work is often undervalued economically, and how artists and cultural institutions struggle to survive without sacrificing their values. This pushed me toward entrepreneurship not as a mere pursuit of profit, but as a tool for sustainability. I want to help creative industries thrive ethically by being financially viable while remaining socially responsible. My academic and professional interests sit at the intersection of art history, business, and sustainability. Through coursework, internships, and interviews with artists and cultural thinkers, I have seen how creativity can function as both critique and catalyst. These conversations reinforced my belief that the arts are not separate from social impact. They are often where social change begins. I am particularly interested in sustainable business models for museums, fashion, and cultural spaces, especially models that honor labor, reduce environmental harm, and expand access rather than exclusivity. Periods of disruption have shaped my approach to leadership. When I transferred high schools as a sophomore, I struggled with a new grading system and unfamiliar expectations. Instead of retreating, I sought mentorship and learned how to ask better questions. That experience taught me resilience, but more importantly, it taught me how to support others navigating uncertainty. Whether mediating conflicts in group projects or contributing to collaborative creative work, I focus on clarity, structure, and shared purpose. I hope to make the world a better place by building bridges between creativity and commerce, between cultural preservation and innovation, and between individual expression and collective responsibility. My goal is to create or lead organizations that empower artists while addressing real-world challenges like sustainability, equity, and access. I am motivated by environments where ideas are exchanged freely and disciplines overlap, because meaningful progress rarely happens in isolation. Creativity, to me, is not decorative. It is strategic, human, and necessary. Through entrepreneurship grounded in curiosity and ethical responsibility, I want to help shape a future where creative work is not only celebrated but supported as a force for lasting impact.

Growing up, I saw firsthand how incarceration and poverty create cycles that are hard to escape. Living in a low-income single parent household teaches you about the impact of circumstance very early on. As a child I had a keen financial and social awareness developed in part due to the adversity I have faced. I've improved significantly as a student because I feel an intrinsic imperative not to repeat the mistakes of those who came before me. For a long time, I felt like I was carrying the weight of something I couldn’t control, something that had already determined my future before I had a chance to define it for myself. There's an additional sense of instability that comes with living in a household with a single father that was pursuing higher education. We moved a lot when I was a child, and my current high school is the first institute I've attended for more than two consecutive years. Had I not experienced transferring across 13 different schools and multiple state lines, I wouldn't be such a dynamic and well-rounded student. I began to see my education not just as a way out, but as a way forward. I don’t want to just escape the struggles that come with poverty and generational trauma; I want to break those cycles. While I have had my personal struggles with self-advocacy in the public school system, I know that ultimately I am not anti-intellectual. It is this understanding about what it means to move through academia that was imparted upon me by my father that has provided me with the motivation I need to continue to navigate the educational machine. At the root of my educational endeavors is a hunger for information. The thought of a world where I am naive or apathetic affords me the discipline at times to break out of a tough phase of life that I may be experiencing. This motivation and cyclical pattern recognition has also allowed me to take tangible steps towards success in a more expedited manner. I want to be part of the change that ensures future generations have opportunities that weren’t always available to those before us. It’s critical to me to provide the world with work that is substantive and long lasting in nature. Allowing myself to be un-beholden to my circumstances has greatly increased my perceived ceiling of possibility. Reminding myself that resilience is also just as much a part of my family as any other negative issue is a positive reminder. A pervasive trueness to these values has taught me that giving is about healing, and that it’s important to make sure the struggles of the past don’t dictate the future.

For a long time, I was ashamed of being from Nebraska. It felt like a no man's land, a place no one cared about unless they were talking about corn or college football. When people asked where I was from, I would answer hesitantly, waiting for the usual reaction—"Where? Alaska?", a joke about the Midwest, or complete disinterest. I didn’t see Nebraska as a place worth being proud of. Going to powwows has always been a powerful experience for me. They are more than just gatherings; they are a connection to something larger than myself. The first time I really paid attention to what was happening—not just as a spectator, but as someone feeling the energy in my bones—I understood why they mattered so much. The drums, the songs, the intricate beadwork on regalia, the way the dancers moved with history and resilience in every step—it was a reminder that our culture is alive. It’s not just something in history books; it’s here, now, in us. I remember one particular powwow where I stood at the edge of the dance circle, watching an elder lead a song. His voice carried generations of strength, pain, survival, and joy. I saw little kids laughing as they danced, their feet touching the same earth our ancestors walked. I realized then that Nebraska isn’t just a place—it’s a home, a history, a people. It’s where my roots are, where my ancestors lived, struggled, and thrived. I had been ashamed of something that should have been a source of pride. At the same time, I have also seen the struggles that exist within my community—poverty, alcoholism, the weight of generational trauma. I’ve seen how these things hold people back, how cycles of pain repeat when there aren’t enough resources or support. That’s why I want to be someone who helps break those cycles. I want to work toward a future where being from Nebraska, being Omaha, isn’t just about survival—it’s about thriving. Now, when people ask where I’m from, I say it with confidence. Nebraska is part of me, just like the stories, songs, and resilience of my people. The shame I once felt has been replaced with a responsibility—to honor where I come from, to uplift my community, and to make sure the next generation has more to be proud of. And every time I go to a powwow, I’m reminded why that work matters.