Psghetti Click! Clack! Thunk! An avalanche of a million colorful Legos invades my hardwood floor like a midnight rain on a metal roof. I sprawl the Legos out, ready for my brain gears to wind up. Overwhelmed with possibilities, my thoughts begin to boil like an old-fashioned steam engine. A house or maybe a boat. No! A car will do for today's creation. I carefully select each piece from the rainbow charcuterie presented in front of me. I’ve always had trouble putting pieces together. I could never build the right thing or see the right thing. I have never built Legos correctly. I was trapped, chained down even. Coincidentally, I could say the same thing about reading, math, and school in general. Sitting on the scratchy carpet of the fluorescent lit room, what was once known as my first-grade classroom, I looked around observing my peers. Some were reading Harry Potter and Percy Jackson, but I was reading a simple picture book. It was as if they were building Lego skyscrapers, and I was building a rudimentary shack. Why weren’t my pieces fitting together? At such a young age, it never bothered me that I was far different academically from my peers, until middle school. “Psghetti.” “No, spaghetti.” Standing in front of my 5th-grade English class, my face like a ripe tomato, I attempt to say spaghetti correctly for the fifth time for my teacher. Relinquishing, my teacher, frustrated, sighs and tells me to sit back down. As I cowered back down to my compact desk, I heard the snickering and whispering among my classmates. Yet again, the pieces don’t fit. My creations, just like my pronunciation and reading skills, were almost always destroyed in some way, especially my least favorite creation, my self-confidence. It wasn’t until years later, when the test results came back, that a weight was lifted from my shoulders. Click! Clack! Thunk! All the pieces finally clicked into place! I had dyslexia and dysgraphia. For the first time in my life, I finally understood why I suffered and struggled constantly. Brick by brick, I began to build my life back together in a way that made sense to me. As I stare at the rainbow charcuterie of Legos before me, I can finally make sense of the chaos. Confidently, I snap the pieces together, and it fills me with a sense of completion and accomplishment. No longer will I allow myself to be defined by my learning challenge. Instead, my willingness to persevere and overcome the avalanche of obstacles that have knocked over my confidence defines who I am today. Although I am no longer a first grader trying to read or a fifth grader attempting to pronounce spaghetti, like a tattoo, dyslexia has branded my identity. While some might view this negatively, including many of my teachers, I have embraced it as a gift. It has been said that the dyslexic mind has a tendency to be extraordinarily creative, and I have found that to be true. My passion for creating has ignited a love of art, ceramics, and photography. These gifts have helped me find comfort and purpose in a world that has been built around letters and words scattered on a page like the Legos on my hardwood floor. I finally learned that even in failure, you can still create something beautiful.

I have always been passionate about my art, but when I was introduced to pottery and ceramics, it transformed my perspective on art and the creative process as a whole. My sophomore year of high school, I was lucky enough to experience ceramics with a wonderful teacher who changed my perspective on art. After learning the very basics of ceramics and pottery, sculpture became my favorite and my preferred medium of art. While I struggled on the wheel, I found that sculpture came naturally to me and made me feel like a real artist. It allowed me to have creative freedom over my art. My favorite projects include a DreamWorks-themed cereal bowl, a replica of the hands from Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam, a bird ornament, and a floating coffee cup. Even though my experience in ceramics is still growing, it has already given me something invaluable: a voice in my art. Another medium I am also very passionate about is photography. I also got a photography class in my junior year of high school. I have been very fortunate to be able to explore my artistic passions at my high school. I learned not just how to use a camera, but how to see the world differently. I was introduced to the work of influential photographers and taught how to compose, light, and frame the world through a new lens—literally and figuratively. Nonetheless, photography opened my eyes to the wonders of nature. Now I find myself taking more photographs of nature than any other subject. Whether it's a collage of fluffy clouds or ducks swimming in a pond, photography made me slow down, observe more closely, and appreciate the beauty around me that I may have otherwise overlooked. These mediums of art, photography and sculpture, have taught me an incredible amount about myself and how I operate as an artist. Both ceramics and photography have been more than creative outlets—they’ve been life-changing. Growing up with dyslexia, I often struggled with traditional forms of communication. Reading and writing didn’t always come easily, and expressing myself could feel frustrating. Art gave me an alternative. It gave me confidence. It gave me a way to process and communicate my thoughts and emotions without needing words. At times, being creative can feel intimidating. There's pressure to be original, to be good enough, to produce something meaningful. But when I’m sculpting clay or looking through my camera lens, I’m reminded that art doesn’t have to be perfect—it just has to be real. These art forms have not only enhanced my life but have also helped me connect with others. Whether it’s sharing my work in class critiques, displaying it at school events, or simply making something personal to give as a gift, my art helps me form deeper connections with people. Art has shown me that there's strength in creativity, beauty in imperfection, and power in self-expression. I may have started this journey as a student in a classroom, but thanks to sculpture and photography, I now see myself as an artist.

“All my memories gather 'round her, Miner's lady, stranger to blue water, Dark and dusty, painted on the sky, Misty taste of moonshine, teardrops in my eye.” These familiar John Denver song lyrics echo through my ears, sitting in the back of my parents’ car on our long drive home from the beach. The majestic scenery of the Blue Ridge Mountains unfolds dramatically in front of me, reminding me that we are getting closer to home. My mother, a West Virginia University graduate and current adjunct professor, is proudly singing along to the lyrics in the front seat obnoxiously loud. (She once told me that her earliest memory is sitting on the front porch singing Country Roads as my grandfather strummed his guitar.) As the Appalachian foliage passes swiftly by, with the windows down, I can smell the rich soil that roots the trees around me, and the sweet scent of wildflowers on the side of the highway -the same ones that colorfully dot the backroads of my small hometown. The trees remind me of my own roots in West Virginia and how growing up here has had such a profound impact on my life. Born and raised in the quaint and historic town of Wheeling, WV, in the Northern Panhandle of our beautiful state, I have always considered myself a Mountaineer. It is a birthright passed down by generations of my family. My mother and grandparents are both proud West Virginia natives who have instilled in me the very spirit of our Wild and Wonderful State. While West Virginia is known for harnessing our natural resources - especially coal - both my grandfather and my great-grandfather helped to build the infrastructure and blue collar economy of this state through a different industry - the steel industry, working in the steel mills that built the Upper Ohio Valley their entire lives. Through my family’s hard work and perseverance, they have given me opportunities they never had and taught me the work ethic and strength that define the people of West Virginia. With roots this deep, my ties to West Virginia are forever binding. As a native West Virginian and a lifelong member of the Wheeling community, I have learned that West Virginia’s greatest resource isn’t coal, minerals or gas and oil - it is our people. From volunteering at the Greater Soup Kitchen of Wheeling and as a Wheeling Symphony Auxiliary student volunteer, to working at the beautiful Oglebay Park Resort throughout my high school career, I have had the opportunity to meet most amazing people who are dedicated to making our community - and our state - a better place to live, work, play and one day, raise future generations of children. As we make our journey home, the lyrics continue to resonate in my ears, “I hear her voice in the mornin' hour, she calls me, The radio reminds me of my home far away, Drivin' down the road, I get a feelin' that I should've been home, Yesterday…..” Growing up in West Virginia has given me an appreciation of the beauty of the natural world around me, inspiring my path to pursue studies in art and design at West Virginia University. From the crisp chill on an autumn morning to the cotton candy sunsets that slips silently into the mountains behind the Ohio River, the natural beauty of West Virginia inspires my creativity and motivates me to find ways through art and photography to capture its magnificence and share it with the world, knowing wherever I go, there will always be Country Roads to take me home.

My Italian heritage has shaped my everyday life, from family traditions to the values that define who I am. My great-great-grandmother, Doralice Trasetti DiNinno, immigrated to America from Corfinio, Italy, when she was just 15, after losing both of her parents in a tragic accident. Her strength and resilience have been passed down through generations, carried on by my great-nana, my nana, my aunt, and my mother. Through them, I have learned that being Italian is more than just a heritage—it’s a way of life filled with tradition, family, and deep-rooted connections. Some of my fondest memories revolve around the kitchen, where our family traditions come to life. Every Christmas, my nana, my mom, and I spend the day making strombolis and homemade meatballs. We roll out the dough, sample meatballs straight from the pot, and engage in our yearly debate over whether we’ve added enough garlic. It’s more than just cooking; it’s a time to bond, share stories, and carry on traditions that have been passed down for generations. Beyond the kitchen, I honor my Italian heritage in everyday ways. I wear my great-grandmother’s Italian cornicello charm necklace, which, according to tradition, protects against evil spirits. Wearing it makes me feel connected to my ancestors and serves as a reminder of the strength and love that runs through our family. Italian music is also a constant in my life—Dean Martin, a favorite of my mother’s, is always playing in the background, filling our home with nostalgia and warmth. Celebrations and gatherings are at the heart of Italian culture, and our family embraces this wholeheartedly. Special occasions like birthdays and anniversaries are always spent at the original Undos in Benwood, a tradition that ties us to both our heritage and our community. One Italian tradition I hope to experience is the Feast of the Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve. My mother says we used to include fish in our holiday meals, but over time, our family has embraced homemade lasagna instead. Still, I would love to take part in this cherished tradition one day. My Italian heritage is an essential part of my identity, shaping not only my traditions but also my values. Although my father is Irish, my mother has always embraced her Italian roots and made sure to pass those customs and values on to me. Being Italian means more than just ancestry—it means embracing family, honoring tradition, and carrying on a legacy of love, strength, and resilience. I plan to use these values within my major in Art and Design at West Virginia University. I use my art to express more than my feelings; I use it to communicate and tell stories. However, more importantly, the values that have been rooted in my life have a great effect on my artwork. I love to make art that reminds me of my wonderful family, and that tells stories about my childhood growing up in an Italian family. I hope that my art someday will help people better appreciate our heritage and values in life.