Around seven years ago, I was living in a toxic and abusive household. My mother was addicted to Adderall and her relationship with our step-dad and his children was horrible. There were nights my mom had threatened to call the police. My step-dad would stomp around the house, yelling at my mother. I remember crying in my room, my sister holding me. I wanted so badly for it to end. I would yell at them, “Stop! Let’s make a list of how we should treat each other.” I was so young, filled with so much rage, yet so desperate to bring harmony to my family. That same determination and eagerness to make my family whole carried itself into my creative pursuits. Little did I know my art would be a way for me to channel all of these experiences to empathically connect with others going through similar issues. Following that time, for years I experienced tremendous waves of anxiety I felt I had no control over. Eventually, my anxiety had faded, and I felt obliged to make a film that could help others navigate similar issues. I soon created my first film, “A Rose Grows”. My friends and family all reached out to me saying how much they had related to this piece, some of them going through their own mental health struggles at the time. It was from this experience I knew I could continue impacting the lives of those struggling with mental illness through my films. In high school, I created my school's “Mental Health Day” video which helped hundreds of students find mental health support on campus. Last year, I produced my first college film, “Booking The Room”, touching on my experience with mental health amidst COVID-19. After going on and off Prozac, taking supplements, and experiencing undesirable symptoms of anxiety for months, this film was a way for me to capture all that pain through a light-hearted and uplifting landscape. Ultimately, I hope my work will motivate others to become more vulnerable about their mental health issues because art can transform our struggles into something beautiful.

“I already know everything without reading or writing. Not very long ago, maybe only a few days back, I was a girl going her way through a world of precise and tangible colors and forms.” - Frida Kahlo My life is defined by colors. I have found that using my artistic voice through music videos and dance films offers a sort of extreme expression that no book or essay could accurately depict. Integrating colors into this artistic method has helped amplify my narrative in ways unimaginable, and has become my way of communicating my truth to this world. To me, colors symbolize child-like innocence. The older I get, the younger I become; the older I get, the more tempted I am to pick up my paintbrush. The older I get, the more I realize I am in fact living a life filled with colors, each one symbolizing an emotional pull. We often confuse words like “dull” “happy” and “sad”, by associating them with colors like grey, yellow, and blue. However, no color is ever definite. It is emotional. There is no set definition, there are only colored feelings, feelings that--varied in their extremity, take us through a multitude of enriching experiences. I have found this notion to be true to every aspect of the human experience. When I was born, the first thing I saw was colors. Colors I didn’t yet understand. I saw compositions; lines I couldn’t trace, and shapes I couldn't yet define. As I got older I learned to understand BLACK. Black was an extreme feeling. My parents got divorced when I was five. I lived in a toxic household for years. I moved homes and schools constantly. That was black. As I got older I learned to understand GREY. Grey was a little feeling. I spent all summer feeling anxious, restless, and bored. I spent a year overthinking whether or not I could still feel things deeply. That was grey. It wasn’t an extreme feeling, it was just there. As I got older I learned to understand WHITE. White was an extreme feeling. I finally got all A’s after struggling to overcome my cognitive learning difficulties. I traveled to Israel my senior year of middle school. I made my first film. That was white. I used my knowledge of these colors: black, grey, and white, to create my music video, “Booking The Room”. This film was my way of making sense of my brain, a brain I felt was pulled in many directions. Growing up, I faced inevitable changes, changes that forced me to believe a rich life was a black and white one, one that had extreme downfalls and extreme rewards. This film was an ode to that uncomfortable grey zone. Frida’s quote means everything to me because colors have been my way of both understanding and expressing myself to the world, a world I am beginning to see through my own artistic landscape. Thank you for your time and thoughtful consideration.

To The Kozakov Foundation, Hello! My name is Rose Sutton and I am an interdisciplinary artist majoring in Collaborative Arts at New York University. Collaborative Arts is a program focused on the blending of multiple artistic disciplines to create co-authored, collaborative pieces of work. I knew this program was more than just a series of courses, but that it had an agenda-- to teach us what it means to be a multi-faceted artist, one that can create meaningful and cutting-edge work. The program immediately appealed to me, as I have found my interests in the arts to vary, and that I never quite fit into one category. As an artist, it is essential that I am working with others to produce work I feel tells a profound and heartfelt story, combining multiple disciplines in order to challenge the artistic narrative. Ultimately, what led me to the arts is my burning passion for music. I have always found music to be the one and only constant in my life. My love for music led to a love for storytelling, and my love for storytelling led to a love for movement. My immense desire to create has stemmed from the extreme feelings I experienced growing up in a world I felt was constantly changing. When I was five, my parents got divorced. As a result, I moved to many different schools, constantly switching between public and private Jewish schools. I was exposed to diverse, but also closeted environments, which enabled me to embrace my culture from multiple aspects, as a proud Syrian woman. I also moved to many homes: I lived with my grandma for ten years and moved ten times on both my mother and father’s side. As my mom struggled to manage the bulk of the finances, she became increasingly addicted to Adderall, which led me and my sister to experience both physical and mental abuse at home. During this time, I continued to struggle with my academics, as I suffered from anxiety and cognitive learning difficulties. Despite these hurdles, I was determined to do better, with music as a guiding force. With hard work and perseverance, I was able to improve my grades substantially. This taught me to truly value education, especially one that offered artistic mentorship. In high school, I finally began to engage in artistic opportunities, channeling all of life’s obstacles into my art. I joined a Theatre Club, produced school community day videos, participated in dance showcases, and created films that meant the world to me. Currently, I am now a part of the cinematic fraternity, Delta Kappa Alpha, and am a member of two dance groups at NYU. Pursuing my degree in Collaborative Arts is much more than a stamp of achievement, it is what will allow me to continue creating work that is challenging, introspective, and deeply powerful. My recent film, “Seeing Purple” is an ode to my experience with cognitive learning difficulties (see below). This film and the many other films I intend to create will not only be reflective of my own experiences, but a way for others to connect to the highs and joys of life through an extreme, yet deeply empowering perspective. I have found that the work we see today lacks sincere meaning and is often limited in its form of expression. It is through this major that I intend to challenge the outdated narratives of what defines art--because to me, art is many things. It is the black, the white, and grey. Thank you for your time and thoughtful consideration. - Rose Elizabeth Sutton

Thank you for your time and thoughtful consideration! Truly appreciate this opportunity. - Rose Elizabeth Sutton

As an artist, my work would mean nothing if it did not hold a societal impact. From a young age, I have had a desire to tell stories about generational struggles and shared experiences. It is this thirst to make a long-lasting impact on the world that landed me a spot at NYU’s prestigious Tisch School Of The Arts. While I have taken advantage of numerous opportunities in my first year, I worry that I will be in tremendous student debt. My dad, a licensed therapist, makes little money and is in constant worry that we will not be able to pay off student loans. Consequently, much of the pressure has been put on my mother who has to take charge of a majority of the finances. This has created a tremendous wave of anxiety and tension between both my parents and myself. Living with divorced parents, my housing situation is never permanent, and money is always a foregoing issue. Despite these setbacks, I have had my art to turn on. One of the biggest hurdles I have experienced as an artist is learning to fall in love with the artistic process. A sad truth is that much of the entertainment world has started to hyper-value productivity, focusing on the outcome and instant consumption of a product, rather than paying attention to the power one's artistic process may hold. Like life, every single gratification I have earned as an artist has been granted to me through hard work, determination, and patience. When I created my dance film, “Fake Smile” I struggled to afford the studio costs and ended up losing all the footage from the shoot. Regardless of this setback, I was able to still re-shoot my film. It took me three years to be able to create my film, “Hunger” after receiving harsh criticisms from my teacher. The film was about unrequited love and touched on the topics of substance abuse and anorexia. “Booking The Room” was the most exhausting piece to create. I created this piece amid the pandemic, an ode to my mental health issues and anxiety at the time. Getting myself to edit this was a daunting task, one that required lots of trust in myself and my ability to make way through my situation. My most recent piece, “Seeing Purple” touched on my experiences with cognitive learning difficulties, and a struggle to commit to my creative endeavors. With each work came overwhelming gratitude, constantly reminding me to value the process and larger intentions behind my work. My biggest goal is that people can look at my work and truly FEEL something. I am forced to believe this is my purpose; MY way of giving back. I write this essay in the hopes that my persistent efforts and patience to great meaningful work will be enough to prove how deserving I am of this scholarship. For me, my work never stops...it is the epitome of who I am. Thank you for your time and thoughtful consideration.

My favorite artist is distinguished choreographer, photographer, and creative director Tony Testa. While Testa has worked for sensational pop stars such as Ariana Grande, Britney Spears, and Demi Lovato, his return to dance in 2013 marked a pivotal turning point in his artist career, as he began to create abstract and non-conventional choreographic pieces through a narrative format. Testa’s work integrates technology through advanced lighting setups and creative props, incorporating climate change and various cultural influences into his work. As a Middle Eastern woman with a desire to tell stories through dance films, Testa has challenged me to break down complex and culturally charged ideas as I learn to tell stories through a transparent and deeply meaningful lens.

I will never forget the day I left my conservative private Jewish school because my Rabbi said, “her learning difficulties are not something we can accommodate here.” Throughout my life, I have shifted from Jewish school to public school. In 5th grade, I remember getting C’s, my teacher saying, “She’s an average student. She works hard, she just has trouble expressing herself on paper.” In middle school, I took learning support classes. Almost every day I cried to my learning support teacher about my struggles to retain information. It was vulnerability at its core, a sort of stress relief and escapism that enabled me to come back to class even stronger. After continued practice and hard work, I finished middle school without a single C. As a girl with cognitive learning difficulties, making sense out of the chaos in my brain was the only way for me to find solace in life’s experiences. To be granted these extreme feelings of gratitude enabled me to truly see the beauty of education; I began to learn just how very capable I was, and how much I valued self-development. In high school, I proceeded to take six AP classes, an advanced production course, and four clubs, all the while, engaging in dance showcases and creating my films, the majority of which, I directed, edited, and produced. I got a 4.1 GPA and landed a spot in NYU’s prestigious Tisch School Of The Arts. I am now doing what I love every day, surrounded by art. It is for this very reason I will ALWAYS strive to pursue higher education. While my love to tell stories through music started in high school, I always had a burning passion for filmmaking and music. The arts never failed to amplify my experiences, the good and the bad: my trip to New York, living in an abusive household for four years, getting my first dance solo, dealing with my mother's addiction to Adderall, etc… Music was always there, and my connection to it was inseparable. Again, it all comes back to feelings, the way music was able to satisfy my left and right brain functions, make me feel like everything made sense...like the story was coming together; the good, the ugly, and the bad. I loved it. I fell in love with the process of life as much as I fell in love with the artistic process. I also started to learn just how much the artistic process and educational process go hand in hand. Currently, I am participating in two dance groups at NYU and am a member of a cinematic fraternity. Recently, I participated in my dance group's showcase, where I got to engage in a reflective piece on the impacts of self-isolation. In addition, I did an internship where I learned about the ins and outs of a production company. I have also been a PA for multiple on-set productions, which has been an enriching learning experience. My recent dance film, “Seeing Purple” is the most special to me. A highly abstract film, the piece touches on my struggles with learning difficulties and a desire to be the most balanced version of myself. I now sit in front of my computer writing this essay feeling blessed. I will always work harder and continue to challenge myself, and through the process, recognize my persistence, determination, and ambition...knowing that these very qualities are not only the key to a successful life but one filled with genuine, raw emotions. Oh how very wrong that Rabbi was about me. Thank you for your time and thoughtful consideration.

My dad told me, “When you were a baby you would climb over me to get to the other side of the bed. You were determined, always.” This same fire still exists within me. As an artist, my desire to create stems not only from my experiences in life but from the consumption of art itself. It all starts with a feeling, a feeling that turns into a desire to create something real; something true to the human experience. To put it simply-- art is the one thing in this world that allows me to feel everything and nothing at the same time. I can be depressed; crying about my learning difficulties, and art would still be there to console me. I can be the happiest girl on earth and art would only heighten that very feeling. I can spend days feeling nothing at all, and somehow, art would be the thing that lets me feel something, no matter how minuscule. As an interdisciplinary artist, my desire to tell stories and develop an intimate connection with the world started with music. Every song carries a distinct feeling and with it, comes the essence of a thousand memories. When I listen to “Part of Me” by Katy Perry, I start to think about how hard I’ve worked to accomplish my dreams, defying every person who told me I wasn’t good enough. It all hits me like a fast-paced montage. I hear the bass, those three chords--and my entire artistic career plays on repeat: auditioning for musicals in high school, dance team, pitching a pilot episode for film a class, etc… Almost every experience was followed by rejection. When I listen to “Elastic Heart” by Sia I think about all the nights I spent trying to make choreography. I hear the swarm of voices crowding the song in the final chorus and I translate them into my own head, my own voices, “you're too hard-hitting” “you have no technical training” etc...I use her lyrics to fight through the pain. When I listen to, “Viva La Vida” by Coldplay, the memories are distant, but still there. I hear the violin and tears fill my eyes. I am reminded of my trip to Israel and the feelings brought by a community: chanting prayers, holding onto someone’s hand next to the Kotel. When I listen to, “Superposition” by Daniel Caesar last summer comes right back to me. I felt numb, tired, confused, as I experienced dreadful symptoms of anxiety. This song comforted me beyond measure. Each of these songs allowed me to create films deeply personal to me. What I know to be certain is that art lives inside of me as much as it grows; I consume it as much as I let it help transform my own voice. It has been the one thing in this life to back up the montage that plays in my mind; to nourish every feeling, the black, the white, and the grey...and somehow make it more.

I vividly remember my first time watching Kaycee Rice dance to Jojo Gomez’s choreography of “Wild Things”. Seeing her body move so intensely, with so much passion, untamed yet graceful-- I was inspired on another level. It was the way she brought an entirely new dimension to the music, using her body as a muscle and unifying force; the dynamic to her movement unparalleled. She reminded me of just how diverse and accepting dance can be. I returned to dance my freshman year of high school, with the intention that it would remain a hobby rather than a career of interest. I had little technical training and feared that I would stick out like a sore thumb amongst my classmates. Also-- growing up, I always struggled with cognitive learning difficulties, so these particular struggles were put to the test when I began dancing. Regardless, my fears never stopped me, as my passion for dance outweighed every bit of self-doubt. However, none of my rewards came easy. I was rejected from my high school’s dance team-- I applied to the musicals and got rejected all four years. Every night I would listen to music and dance in my room, imagining precise movements but always struggling to translate them to an external space. I soon turned to the world of dance film, where I co-choreographed my first dance film with a friend of mine. Editing to dance was a dream for me; cutting to the beats and getting lost in a world it felt as though I had demanded so very long. I realized that my love for telling stories through dance was driven by my desire to feel sincere and genuine emotions, however messy they may appear. Dance became the one thing in this world that could allow me to make a sense out of a paradox; my struggle but innate desire to create meaningful art. Looking back on my journey with dance, I feel so much gratitude. I can think about the night I was finally given a small solo and how much it meant to me, or the nights I cried endlessly from rejection. It was all the same. My love for dance was a love for the creative process, furthermore, a love for the ability to feel every feeling that came with being passionate about one's craft. It taught me that if you love something, you’ll take no hesitation to endure its beautiful challenges. My art is comfortable but never too comfortable; it gives me answers that somehow lead to more questions. I find validation in the emotions that transpire in my work, but my never-ending thirst to analyze, deconstruct, and grow from my work is what makes me an artist that is in tune with every fiber of my being; my left and right brain functions. For so long I would overthink and question my actions as a performer, but I learned that dance is not a narrow construct, and that to embrace who I am meant to look at the “Wild Things” video and truly understand it. I still haven’t stopped dancing. I create dance films, and when I’m not creating dance films, I’m challenging my perception of dance constantly, learning that it is infinite and that whenever a door seems to close, another one opens. In the future, I plan to continue creating abstract and thought-provoking pieces of work that touch on large-scale topics and create a production company “Envisualized Productions” centered on honoring directors, editors, writers, and producers who seek to tell meaningful stories through music.

To be an artist is to challenge the narrative of what defines art. As an artist with passions in film, music, and dance, I’ve found that the combination of artistic disciplines is bound to happen in a creative workspace-- it is what makes our art cutting-edge, and what allows us to feel something deeper. Being able to make films through music is one of the many examples. It has taught me that art is infinite and complex; that my evolving self mirrors the very facets that define this interdisciplinary art form. When I make a music video, the process of pairing music with metaphorical imagery and dancing allows for a feeling indescribable. It's the way I look at an accentuating arm movement and hear the bass drop, the way the clips cut over each other in precise accordance with the music. Every part of the song is amplified through the imagery that follows. Telling stories through music has allowed me to reflect and reminisce on defining moments of my life. My music video, "Booking The Room” was created during the peak of the pandemic, a time where I struggled with my mental health like no other. Despite this being an intensely dark time for me, I put all of my pain and anguish into my art, telling my story through a playful, but equally powerful lens. Looking back on this video I feel a deep level of accomplishment and admiration, not only for myself but those around me at the time. It is an era of my life that no longer just exists in my mind but an external space. When I look back on my music video, “Hunger” about a young woman’s desire to find love, I feel a sense of knowing; comfort, and familiarity in my profound emotions. I want to hug my younger self, the version of me so vulnerable and so desperate to feel something deeper-- a version of me that still exists today. My recent piece, an experimental dance film titled, “Seeing Purple” is about my experiences with cognitive learning difficulties, and a desire to become what I deem whole. Sharing this piece required strength and confidence, being able to fight through tears and self-doubt. I look at this film with a growing certainty in my thoughts and creative attributes. Ultimately, my films are my outlet, helping re-affirm and strengthen my thoughts, while also reminding me of how much I need to grow. All of my work touches on some sort of power struggle and is paradoxical; wanting to embrace something and in an instant, run away from it. It is a conflicting force. Art drives me because it is the only thing in this world that can allow me to make sense out of a paradox, while simultaneously being at wit's end with it. My art is comfortable but never too comfortable; it gives me answers that somehow lead to more questions. I find validation in the emotions that transpire in my work, but my never-ending thirst to analyze, deconstruct, and grow from my work is what makes me an artist that is in tune with every fiber of my being; my left and right brain functions. In the future, I plan to continue creating abstract and thought-provoking pieces of work that touch on large-scale topics. Dance films and music videos are given little attention in the filmmaking industry, and I intended on changing that. I am currently working on my production company, “Envisualized Productions” a company centered on honoring directors, editors, writers, and producers who seek to tell meaningful stories through music.

I never knew so much could happen to me within 5 months. Yes, I am a girl who, like others, has experienced trauma, hardship, and unprecedented setbacks. I’ve learned to overcome these hurdles through perseverance, often incorporating and showcasing them in my artistic work. However, these 5 months were the biggest testament. It’s been a rollercoaster. A whirlwind of events, some that happened in real life, and others that were curated in my head. My anxiety has always been something temporary, short-lived. Over the years, I have come to better understand my anxiety, where it manifests, and rationalize my thoughts and feelings. What I wasn’t expecting, was for my anxiety to physically manifest itself. Almost every day, anxious or not, I feel pressure in my throat, tightness of the chest, and shortness of breath. Managing these symptoms has been the biggest, if not, the greatest struggle I’ve endured. The trust I have for my body is lost, and it almost feels like a life or death situation, when in actuality, my head is amplifying these distressing symptoms. I couldn’t begin to list the number of things I’ve searched on safari, the help I’ve been trying to get. Despite all of the mental health issues I’ve been experiencing, I continually, day by day, try to take hold of life. I made a dance video in quarantine titled, “Move Your Body”, where I pieced together a visualizer of everyone dancing in their homes, following social distancing measures. I then proceeded to interview with a teen magazine, applied for a film festival in which my film was then officially selected, created a blog alongside my productions page, was featured on a website for my photography, and winner of the Palisadian Post teen talent contest. Struggling with my anxiety daily, I didn’t let this keep me from honing in on my artistic craft applying for contests, features, even scholarships. Today and always, I choose to be vulnerable with myself, give myself to this world, and tell my stories through my creative work, in the hopes that we can become more connected with one another.

It was BLACK or WHITE. Good or bad. A dividing wall, distinct in its partition. Until I entered the GREY zone and learned what it truly means to be an artist. BLACK. My mom and her boyfriend are fighting. My step-sister gives me the middle finger. Everyone is hitting each other. My older sister tries to calm me down, always the mediator. She tells me to stop crying. I can’t. I go upstairs and listen to the song “By the Grace of God” by Katy Perry. I pray the song never ends. This all-consuming feeling takes over me and a vision, as if projected on film, runs through my head. I dream of a world where things are different, and this is the start of my music video. I tell myself not to feel, but I am convinced that this anguish must mean something more. Is this what it means to truly grow? To be in touch with these raw emotions; to feel pain? Challenge gave me reason to believe there was a greater purpose. Music ignited the story, drawing me in; the universal and guiding tool. WHITE. It is 2016. I travel to Israel my 8th-grade year of middle school. I listen to the song “Viva La Vida” by Coldplay. An intense feeling comes over me, one I never felt before. A feeling so extreme, it must mean more. My challenges seem to culminate in this moment. I am in touch with myself, music elevating the connection and unveiling the rest of the story. GREY. I go to the beach and start to question things, “How do you feel?” “Is this a shortcut to being depressed?”. I don’t have the answer. Throughout my life, I have relied on the spark of emotional stimulation. It wasn’t until this past summer that I learned to find peace and tranquility in the simplicities of life. While musical storytelling has helped ignite my emotional connection, I learned it could also comfort me in the inevitable grey zone. It is this comfort that taught me art is infinite and like life –complex, and in every way contradictable. It can challenge but also comfort and mend one’s soul. In life, I yearn for two things: comfort and challenge. Finding comfort in the stillness of time, while also being able to take satisfaction in tumbling headfirst into what may seem like insurmountable obstacles. Even in my numb state, art still found a way to cultivate a connection, to stimulate me, and address this hunger, while also reminding me that it is ok just to be ok. What has developed is a strong sense of humanity; of the appreciation and sensitivity to the human condition and the ability to grow from life’s troublesome experiences. Through the moments I understood and the moments that made no sense, art was by my side, guiding me, and helping to define me.