I never lived in Neverland, shot webs like Spider-Man, nor walked straight out of children’s books like Peter Rabbit. I was everyone except myself. My double-barreled name, Peter-Art, invited confusion. Official databases even dropped the hyphen. For a while, I felt disconnected from my name. I even hid behind an online gaming alias, Narby, which felt more like me than Peter-Art. Ironically, despite “Art” being part of my name, I started with little artistic ability and no formal training. In eighth grade, I spent my free time playing video games without knowing what I wanted to create. That changed when I discovered a Roblox platformer built around hundreds of community-created structures. Seeing players shape the digital world made me want to try it myself. I learned by observing other developers and improving through repetition. Eventually, one of my builds was accepted by the game’s curators after hundreds of submissions had been rejected. I realized where I started did not determine what I could make. Near the end of freshman year, I asked my father why he chose my name. He told me that Peter-Art was a tribute to my grandfathers, Pedro and Arturo. Pedro represented stone, strength, and a firm foundation, while Arturo represented the bear, symbolizing leadership and impact. Instead of separating myself from my name, I began thinking about what it could mean through my actions. My name was something I inherited from family, but its meaning did not have to end there. Music became another way I explored that idea. By high school, I had spent several years playing euphonium in band, where I admired older students who performed at an exceptional level. I wanted to stand out too, but performing was not where my greatest strengths were. Instead, I returned to creating. During my junior year, I composed The Concert House for my high school Wind Ensemble. Hearing my classmates perform something I had written was one of my most meaningful moments in band. Seeing my peers become interested in composing showed me that creativity could also be leadership. I did not need to fit an existing role to make something worthwhile. I could create my own path forward. That realization led me toward architecture. I joined my school district’s architecture program and spent three years learning Revit, AutoCAD, drafting, modeling, site planning, and design critique. I learned to present ideas, defend decisions, and accept criticism. Architecture felt different from designing something only for myself. Every line had a reason, every decision changed the result, and every project gave me another opportunity to turn an idea into something tangible. I knew architecture was right for me during my third year. While presenting my projects, I received recognition from professionals affiliated with the American Institute of Architects, who identified my work as strong examples for other students. I was excited that something I designed could communicate an idea clearly enough for professionals to see its potential. I realized architecture gave me a way to take what I inherited and make it my own. I may have picked a peck of pickled peppers, but I am no longer trying to be someone other than Peter-Art. My name was given to me, but its meaning is still being written. Architecture is how I want to write the next part.

High school band has shaped my character by teaching me that I do not have to be the best performer to make a meaningful contribution. When I first joined band, I looked up to upperclassmen who could perform at an outstanding level and earn recognition such as All-State Band. I wanted to stand out too, but I realized that performing was not necessarily where my greatest strengths were. Even before band, I always enjoyed making things in my free time. In middle school, I built physical models and designed structures in video games because I enjoyed turning ideas in my head into something real. Eventually, I realized I could do the same with music. Instead of only trying to prove myself through performance, I began composing, arranging, and experimenting with music production as another way to express myself. That desire to create reached its peak during my junior year, when I composed an original concert piece for my high school Wind Ensemble. Writing for an entire ensemble pushed me far beyond simply playing the euphonium. I had to think about how different instruments could blend and create different colors, how musical ideas could develop like a story, and how something I imagined could become a piece an entire group could perform. Hearing my classmates perform my composition became one of my most meaningful experiences in band because I was hearing something I had created become part of our ensemble. Creating music also changed how I approached leadership. As a euphonium section leader, I realized that I could use my creativity to inspire others not only to create, but to contribute to band in their own ways. I shared my compositions, arranged music for the band, and encouraged classmates who wanted to create their own music. I gave feedback on their ideas and tried to make composition feel accessible rather than something reserved for highly accomplished musicians. Through band, I learned that musicianship is not solely defined by performance. Composing and arranging expanded my musicality while giving me a way to contribute that felt genuinely mine. I learned to recognize my strengths, take initiative, and use creativity to connect with others. I hope to continue performing, composing, arranging, and encouraging other musicians to explore their own creativity. Whether I am creating music or designing architecture, I want to keep finding ways to turn ideas into something tangible. Band taught me that I do not need to fit one definition of a musician to make an impact. I can find my own unique way to make an impact.

Peter. The name traces back to the ancient Aramaic word Cephas, meaning "stone" or "rock," a symbol of strength and a firm foundation. It is timeless and recognizable throughout countless cultures and languages. Yet despite its history, the name has faded over the past several decades, slipping from one of America's most common names to one that is surprisingly rare. In theory, the odds of spending thirteen years in the same school district without meeting another individual named Peter are remarkably low. Yet from kindergarten through senior year, I remained the only Peter in my school. How could a name be so recognizable, yet so uncommon at the same time? Starting in elementary school, being the only Peter came with a cruel and unusual cost. Prior to my classmates meeting me for the first time, they attached fictional characters to my name. They thought I lived in Neverland, shot webs like Spider-Man, or was an animal taken straight from the pages of children's books like Peter Rabbit. I was everyone except my own self. The name-calling jokes were never malicious enough to be memorable on their own, but after years of hearing them, they hindered my sense of identity. Peter is not my first name, but rather a shortened version of my double-barreled first name: Peter-Art. This only invited more confusion. Many asked, "Is Art your middle name?" and, "Were your parents hoping you'd become an artist?" Every explanation seemed to raise more questions than it answered. Even official forms and documents struggled with the hyphen, sometimes replacing the hyphen with a space, omitting it altogether, or treating "Art" as my middle or last name. Over time, I became so detached from my own name that many of my closest friends in high school called me by my online username, 'Narby.' Ironically, a name I had invented felt simpler than Peter-Art. By the end of middle school, my curiosity finally outweighed frustration. I asked my father the question I should have asked years ago: "Why did you name me Peter-Art?" In seconds, he simply responded that my name was a tribute to both of my grandfathers: Pedro and Arturo. My name was never meant to be unique for the sake of standing out. It was a bridge between two generations of my family. Peter, the stone, symbolizes a solid foundation. Arthur, the bear, is associated with leadership and impact. Together, they gave me a name that I spent years trying to understand, and a legacy I'm proud to carry. For years, I thought my name was something I had to explain. Now, it's something I'm proud to introduce myself as Peter-Art, and I hold it with love and respect. Whether I'm designing spaces that bring people together or creating music that tells a story, I've realized that every meaningful creation begins with a strong foundation before an idea can become something tangible. Through architecture, I hope to design spaces where people feel welcomed. Through music, I hope to create experiences that tell beautiful stories. Most importantly, that's exactly what my name did for me. It became the foundation on which I continue to build my identity and the foundation I hope to build for others.

“What’s past is prologue.” William Shakespeare’s words from The Tempest reflect how I understand growth. Where a person begins does not determine where they will end up. Commitment and effort do. This belief is also why I am pursuing architecture. Architecture allows ideas to become real, and I am motivated by the challenge of creating spaces that are thoughtful and meaningful. Despite having “Art” in my name, I did not grow up with strong artistic ability. I had no formal art classes, little confidence in visual expression, and no natural talent in design. What I did have was curiosity and persistence. In eighth grade, I spent many afternoons gaming without a clear sense of direction until I discovered a platformer game on Roblox built from community-created environments. Every structure in the game existed because someone chose to create it. That idea inspired me to begin designing my own builds, even without any training. I learned by observing others, studying my mistakes, and improving through repetition. Over time, my work was accepted by curators among hundreds of submissions. That experience taught me that consistent growth can outweigh raw talent, and confidence is built through effort. Music became another important part of my development. I have been participating in band since sixth grade as a euphonium player because of my siblings’ influence. While I did not immediately succeed through auditions, I chose not to lose interest. Instead, I redirected my efforts toward composing and arranging music. During my sophomore year, I arranged a stand tune titled Stop, Drop, Roll, which was later performed by the entire band at football games. Hearing my own work performed by others was a defining moment. It helped me earn a section leader role and strengthened my ability to problem solve, collaborate, and design with intention. These are skills that directly align with architectural practice. From gamer to creator and player to arranger, these experiences were prologue to realizing that architecture was the right path for me when I entered a four-year Career and Technical Education architecture program as a freshman. For the first time, I found a field that required both creativity and sustained effort. Balancing architecture projects with advanced coursework and band was overwhelming, but it felt meaningful. Long nights designing floor plans, revising and receiving critiques back-to-back, and presenting increased my determination. My projects stood out for their creativity, precision, and leadership in group settings. My work has been recognized by instructors and professional architects associated with the American Institute of Architects, and a few of my projects have been used as examples for other students. Those moments confirmed that architecture was the path I wanted to pursue. I am pursuing architecture because I am passionate about turning ideas into spaces that serve people. Ambition constantly motivates me to push my potential, discipline keeps me focused, and passion drives my effort to improve. I have learned that success is not defined by where you begin, but by how willing you are to grow. Before, my name felt like a contradiction. Now, it represents the effort behind it.