My favorite piece I've created so far is my Lilith project. It grew out of a larger project for my Judaism class, where we were asked to explore gender, sexuality, and the body in Jewish texts. I don't have a lot of personal experience with religion, so diving into this material felt new and exciting. I was especially drawn to Lilith—a figure often demonized in tradition, but who can also be seen as powerful, independent, and unapologetic. I decided to reimagine her through digital art, creating a series of pieces that became part of a book. Working digitally let me layer textures and experiment with light, leaning into the surreal qualities of her story. I wanted to show her strength through bold colors and dramatic lighting—making her feel present and real, but also otherworldly. This project was important to me because it taught me that art can go beyond being beautiful—it can challenge old stories and create new ones. Taking on Lilith helped me see how art and ancient stories can intersect, and how I can use creativity to reinterpret stories that have been told the same way for centuries. For me, Lilith represents the bravery of trying something unfamiliar and finding my own voice within it. I think Natalie would have appreciated that spirit—art that risks something, and in doing so, gives something meaningful back to the world.

When I was younger, I didn't fully understand what it meant to be an artist. I thought it was about being "good at drawing" or taking pictures that looked perfect. But as I've grown in my creative practice, I've learned that being an artist is really about paying attention to the world around you, and then taking the risk of showing others what you see. It's about asking questions, slowing down, noticing, and offering something back—even when it feels vulnerable. I grew up in Columbus, Ohio, in a house where creativity was never far away. My parents encouraged me to experiment with making things, from clay projects to photographs. By high school, I was attending Fort Hayes Arts and Academic High School, an environment that gave me both academic rigor and a space to dive deeply into visual arts. I spent two years in the Photography Career Center, working intensively on cameras, editing, and portfolio development. That program helped me earn Adobe certifications, as well as recognition like a Silver Key in the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards and being named a state winner in the Ohio Governor's Youth Art Exhibition. At the same time, my experiences weren't just about making art in a vacuum. I worked as an intern at the Shot Tower Art Gallery for three years, installing exhibitions, learning how to talk to the public about artwork, and seeing firsthand how art can create a conversation in a community. I also created large-scale work in SCRAWL, a local emerging artist program, and painted sets for theater productions. These opportunities taught me that art isn't only personal—it's collaborative and public. After high school, I thought I knew what kind of artist I wanted to be, but this year at Sarah Lawrence has been incredible. In my printmaking class, I got obsessed with how you can layer the same image over and over to create completely different meanings. And in New Narrative Photography, I studied artists like Robert Frank and Dorothea Lange and then built my own body of work to tell a story through images. I also took courses outside of the studio that inform my art, like Gender, Sexuality, and the Body in Judaism and A History of Black Leadership in America. These classes showed me that art doesn’t exist apart from culture—it’s deeply tied to history, politics, and identity. My dream is to keep weaving those threads together: to create work that is visually striking but also engaged with questions of belonging and justice. Honestly, putting art out there can be terrifying. Everyone has a phone, and everyone can comment—sometimes harshly—on whatever you create. I've felt that sting, the quick dismissal or the silence after putting something vulnerable into the world. But the more I've grown, the more I believe that art matters precisely because it opens you up to that risk. If I can tell a story through a photograph or a print, and someone feels seen—or thinks about something differently—then the vulnerability is worth it. Looking ahead, I want my art to make a positive impact by centering stories that might otherwise be overlooked. In high school, I worked with the Fort Hayes Historical Society, where I helped preserve artifacts and gave tours about the history of our campus, a former Civil War–era military site. One of my most meaningful projects was presenting about an African American burial site for the PBS show Columbus Neighborhoods. That experience confirmed for me that history and art belong together: art has the power to amplify memory, and memory gives art its depth. In the future, I hope to create exhibitions that bring these threads together. I imagine photo essays that highlight marginalized voices, installations that combine visual art with historical storytelling, and collaborative projects where communities can see themselves reflected in the work. I want to use my training in photography, painting, and printmaking to tell stories that matter—stories that make people pause and that help people understand each other better. I'm proud of what I've accomplished so far, but I know I'm still at the beginning of my journey. Every new project I take on—whether it's a gallery show, a set design, or a narrative photo series—is a chance to refine my voice and ask harder questions. I don't just want to build a career as an artist—I want to use my art to actually shape the world around me. I want to contribute to a culture that values compassion, creativity, and justice, and I believe art can help lead us there. You can see a sample of my portfolio here: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1vMKGRVm6PXThhkGDqTw5u2ShlIIw7_Ng/view?usp=sharing