Anne Sexton, "The Moss of His Skin" Young girls in old Arabia were often buried alive next to their dead fathers, apparently as sacrifice to the goddesses of the tribes ... It was only important to smile and hold still, to lie down beside him and to rest awhile, to be folded up together as if we were silk, to sink from the eyes of mother and not to talk. The black room took us like a cave or a mouth or an indoor belly. I held my breath and daddy was there, his thumbs, his fat skull, his teeth, his hair growing like a field or a shawl. I lay by the moss of his skin until it grew strange. My sisters will never know that I fall out of myself and pretend that Allah will not see how I hold my daddy like an old stone tree. Anne Sexton’s Poem, The Moss of His Skin, begins with an epigraph explaining how [young girls in old Arabia were often buried alive next to their dead fathers as an apparent sacrifice to the goddesses of the tribe.] This explanation stands out to me as a stark contradiction to the monotheistic tenants of Islam, indicated when Sexton writes, “that Allah will not see” (line 23) Is this not a truly Islamic culture, but perhaps a sort of homogenous mixture of Islam and some indigenous, pagan religion? Why would a tradition evolve around wasting a life? Most rituals and traditions seem to be correlated to a practice that benefits an individual or a group. Islamic prayer is like the practice of yoga and involves a series of movements and stretches that are beneficial to one's physical and mental health. Even the yearly sacrifice of a sheep, or goat to God, serves to feed poor families in the community. Is there some benefit in sacrificing a young girl in a family who has just lost their patriarch? Perhaps it is seen as kindness to both the girl and the mother. Maybe growing up without a father, to care for and protect her, is a life of such suffering that to die is merciful. Maybe for a mother to raise a young girl, too young to marry or to work, after losing a husband, is such a burden that it is better that the child die as well. There is, in the Islamic religion, an afterlife. Surely this sacrifice would guarantee the child’s place in heaven next to her father. Sexton writes, “It was only important/ to smile and hold still” (lines 1 and 2) and, “to be folded up together/ as if we were silk,” (lines 5 and 7). The imagery of being folded like silk indicates that this sacrifice is precious. I wonder why importance is placed on the girl keeping her composure, and even expressing joy, in the face of death. It could be that the girl meant to spare her mother any additional suffering when the mother was already experiencing such an incredible loss. Based on lines 7 and 8, where Sexton writes, “to sink from the eyes of mother/ and not to talk” There seems to be a connection to the idea of watching someone drown. She’s still alive but can’t be saved because the mother cannot swim. All that the mother can do is watch and mourn. Why shouldn’t the girl speak? What would there be to say other than to plead for one's life or say goodbye? Sexton writes, “daddy was there, / his thumbs, his fat skull, / his teeth, his hair growing/ like a field or a shawl,/ I lay by the moss of his skin until/ it grew strange.” (lines 13 through 19) Why are these the features that the girl takes note of? She couldn’t possibly have seen him in the dark of the casket. Are these simply the last things she noticed before being closed in? These are things that she could’ve sensed by touch. His hair isn’t growing though. Why use that verbiage? Is she alive long enough to experience the perception of hair growing as the skin recedes? Am I analyzing too literally? What could be the significance of these details? Do they serve to convey the morbidity of the situation? It appears that the girl is outside of herself and depicting the events as they are happening. The author adds, “My sisters/ will never know that I fall/ out of myself and pretend/ that Allah will not see/ how I hold my daddy/ like an old stone tree.” (lines 19 through 24) At first read, I thought that falling out of herself was a description of disassociation, but after analyzing further I wonder if this is in fact the moment of death being described. Would her sisters think any less of her for holding onto her father? Why should Allah not see her hold onto her father for comfort? Is this meant to be a test of her courage in the face of death? I lost my own father at the age of four while staying at my grandparent's home in Turkey. My siblings and I were told about my father's passing by our grandmother, who is a deeply religious woman, and there was no comforting or nurturing. Only the calm reassurance that our father was now looking after us as a guardian angel. I was heavily indoctrinated with pseudo-Christian ideology and I remember not understanding death, but still accepting this ‘reality’. The girl does not fight, scream, or even resist. There’s a sense of calm throughout the entire piece. She smiles and holds still. She rests for a while. She sinks and does not talk. She holds her breath, lies for a while, and falls out of herself as she holds her father, “like an old stone tree.” (line 24). Growing up without a father sucks, whether he is dead or simply a bad parent. It’s incredibly difficult. Oftentimes times it does not produce people of excellent character. Many times, I’ve regretted my existence and longed for an end to suffering. I found father figures and role models though, and despite the suffering, I would live this life again. No one should make that decision for you. I don’t like the society depicted in this poem.

There’s so much beauty in this world that goes overlooked. Through my art, I want to show people the magic in the “mundane.” I want to explore and understand the world in new ways and help others do the same. I love creating and fostering the creation of art more than anything else in life. My studio is my home, and the walls are covered in my artwork as well as artwork from family, friends, students, and other artists whose work I adore. I study fine art at MICA (Maryland Institute College of Art) in Baltimore Maryland and I teach elementary school art classes part-time. In my free time, I like to go to museums and galleries or sit in a coffee shop and doodle. A love of art was seeded in me when I was about five years old. I remember asking my babysitter to draw a basket of kittens for me. I watched in amazement as a wicker basket and three fluffy kittens emerged from the blank page. I had never seen such incredible sorcery. She was like a magician who, using nothing more than a short yellow wand, could conjure anything her heart desired. I knew at that moment I wanted to learn that same magic. Art became an escape for me in times when life felt cruel and unforgiving. It was a way for me to express feelings of pain and sorrow. Other times it was a way to show off, to wow my peers, and receive validation. More recently it has become a tool for self-exploration, contemplation of my relationship to others, and a way to communicate my ideas and how I perceive the world. I struggled with substance abuse throughout most of high school. I did not have the tools to cope with and process the loss of my father or the abuse I suffered as a child. Self-medicating was the only solution I had at the time. Not long after graduating high school my mental health had deteriorated to the point that I was afraid for my life, and I made the decision to get clean and work through my trauma. Recovery was a long and difficult process. I battled with shame, guilt, frustration, and feelings of isolation. Creating art was my main source of comfort at that time. I am grateful today for those experiences and the work I have put into my recovery and growth; I can use that experience to help others who are dealing with similar issues. By exploring my journey and the lessons I have learned through my artwork I hope to connect with people, help them feel seen and accepted, and inspire them to keep going. The decision to pursue art was not an easy one for me to make. My mother is an immigrant and was denied the opportunity to go to school her whole life. At the age of twenty-five after having five children she studied for and passed her GED and put herself through college. My father passed away when I was four years old and she has raised us by herself ever since. All she has ever wanted for us is to have a better life than hers; a good education and stable, secure, decent-paying jobs. She reluctantly accepted my determination to study art. I enrolled at Montgomery College in Rockville MD in 2019 and spent two years there developing my technical skills and building a portfolio before transferring to MICA. In that time, she has seen my devotion and growth as an artist, and she is now my biggest supporter.

Art has been a tool for many different purposes throughout my life. At first, it was a magic trick used to wow my friends. It later became a medium of self-expression. Currently, it's a combination of the two, but most importantly, it's a way to explore and reflect on my experiences and emotions. Why am I passionate about art? Few things bring me such satisfaction as creating. Even now, writing this essay I wish I were at my easel with brush in hand. I know I could so much better communicate my experience through drawing and painting than I ever could through words alone. I am often struck with inspiration while navigating the day-to-day. Whether it is the way the lights dance across the street on a rainy night, an uncanny connection between two seemingly unrelated concepts, or a moment of personal realization, I am overcome with the urge to share these experiences with others. My art teachers were some of my biggest supporters growing up and they made a huge impact on my life. I was not always the best student. In high school, I had serious mental health issues and exhibited many self-destructive behaviors. I was struggling with physical, emotional, and spiritual pain. I was lost and isolated and I didn't think I would ever amount to anything. Most of the authority figures in my life discounted me. My mom didn't know what to do with me, she had to fight to keep me in school. The only place I felt safe and unburdened was in the ceramics studio. My teacher, Ms. Ellis was the head of the art department and she saw the potential in me. She also saw the pain. She had a way of making me feel accepted and understood even when I would mess up. I could be honest with her without fear of rejection or judgment. I didn't know this at the time, but she had advocated for me to remain in school when the faculty was considering my expulsion. She taught me the principles of art and helped me to develop an artistic voice. Her class was one of the only places that I received recognition for being good at something. It is in large part due to this experience that I was able to turn my life around and ultimately decide to pursue an art career. I am studying for my BFA at the Maryland Institute College of Art in Baltimore Maryland. Aside from my federal work-study program at the Center for Student Engagement I also teach elementary school art classes and summer art camps. I am considering a Masters in Teaching after graduation. As an art teacher, I would help children and adults learn how to express themselves through visual media. I will look for the good in my students and help them reach their potential by creating a space where they can explore their vision and their voice. It is my hope and my intention to help my students the way that Ms. Ellis helped me.

I fell in love with art at a young age. I must’ve been around five years old. I remember my babysitter sat me and my siblings down at the table for a coloring activity. Armed with a stack of paper and a regular number-two pencil, she went around the table and took requests for a drawing from each of us. When it was my turn, I asked her to draw me a basket of kittens. I watched, amazed, as she used her pencil to uncover the kittens hidden in the blank page. It was the most incredible feat that I had ever seen. I thought to myself, “I want to do that.” I wanted to learn this magic that Angela wielded so effortlessly—the power to create something, anything, out of nothing but my imagination. A seed had been planted in my unconscious. As I grew so too did the seed in my right brain. I found art a welcome escape from the anxiety and boredom of life. Doodles in the margins of my notebooks would spread into elaborate full-page masterpieces. My teachers didn’t appreciate the importance of what I was investing my time in, even if they were, occasionally, taken aback by the work. In my heart, I always knew that being an artist was what I wanted to do with my life, though initially, reason told me it wasn’t meant to be. When people asked me what I wanted to be when I was older, I had a few well-crafted answers that sounded more practical than the truth. I would say that I wanted to be an engineer or an architect; answers that satisfied my mother's aspirations for me and fell within the societal expectations of an educated and creative person. My mother always loved me and supported my creative endeavors but had a hard time accepting my desire to pursue a career as an artist. She worried, and likely still does, that the path of an artist would not provide me with the stability and security that she wanted me to have. Despite her resistance, I was adamant about my decision. A few years into my art education, having demonstrated my determination and resolve, and having developed my technical abilities considerably, my mother began to express her approval. I knew I could never afford a formal fine arts education, so I spent three years at my local community college developing my technical skills and building my portfolio. During my time there, my mother suffered serious medical problems, which required me to drop out of school to take care of her full-time. My mother lost her job and had to burn through her savings to keep us from losing our home. Her health has improved tremendously since then and she has found a new job, but our financial situation hasn’t improved much. I was overjoyed and distraught when I received my acceptance into the Maryland Institute College of Art. Despite a generous scholarship offer and the convenience of an instate education, I still do not have the money to cover my tuition. The decision to enroll required a tremendous leap of faith and trust in my ability to find a way to pay for school. Scholarships like this one are my best chance at completing my degree. My right brain, aimed at the creative good, gives me faith in this direction. My left brain, a source of reasoning and problem-solving, motivates me to do the work that is in my control so that I am able to continue seizing the opportunities that I need to realize my dreams.

Before high school, art education didn't affect me much. I always enjoyed drawing and creating art but my teachers weren't particularly fond of my approach. Honestly, even in high school, there was some friction but there was freedom to choose which art classes to take. The range of mediums I had access to was a lot greater and more sophisticated. I think it's important that I had the opportunity to work with digital art and clay and recycled materials. The experience of diverse and complex creative problem-solving is incredibly beneficial for any sort of creative work. My ceramics teacher in high school was one of the only adults in my life who had said to me that I was gonna turn out alright. We weren't particularly close but she talked to me as though we were on the same level. I've had several impactful mentors in my life, but the one who pushed and inspired me the most in pursuing art was Matt Pasquinelli. Mr. P was my boss when I worked as a valet in high school. My father died when I was four years old so whenever a male role model took an interest, it was emotionally significant to me. Mr. P reached out when I was at a low point in life and gave me a job. He knew that I needed it. Not just the money, but the responsibility and the self-respect. While talking one day, he gave me this advice, "Do what you love and the money will come." He wasn't saying to follow my dreams. People, tv shows, movies, and posters all tell us to follow our dreams. Mr. P asked me what I loved doing. What did I enjoy the process of doing? "Do that thing that you love doing and just keep doing that and the money will follow. Take me for example." He said, "When I was your age I got a job parking cars. I loved driving cool cars. Kept doing it. Started my own company. Look at me now!" I thought he was joking at first, but I'm pretty sure he meant it. Mr. P had a sense of humor, though, he was also quite serious and stoic. He had a way of putting things so bluntly, so matter-of-fact, that it was as if he were describing the dimensions of a wall standing in front of you. When he said that I needed to just do what I love doing there was no sense that he was trying to encourage me or cheer me up. He meant that doing what you love is the only reasonable decision a person ought to make. He may as well have said, "Open the door to go outside." The lesson was planted in my mind like a dormant seed. A few years later, when I began nurturing my mind and body, that seed began to grow. Now it sticks with me anywhere I go. I always return to doing what I love. I've been studying art for a few years and I've just been accepted to MICA. I teach elementary school art and I've got a business selling art. The money is starting to show up as well, all be it, not in so direct a manner. The money has shown up in the form of opportunities to show my art and receive invaluable feedback from brilliant mentors. The money has shown up in the form of scholarships and acknowledgments. The money has shown up in the richness of my relationships as a human being who is living in love and joy.

I'm passionate about art because it has been the main constant in an otherwise chaotic life. I had an unorthodox upbringing, with 20 moves in my first 19 years of life. No matter where I've been or how much I've struggled I've always been able to create. I love creating art but more than that I need to create art. Art is how I process my emotions and experiences. It's how I communicate ideas and feelings that I couldn't through any other language. Art is what excites me most in life. I study art, I teach art, and in my free time, I consume art. Art is who I am, it is everything to me. I was raised by a single mother of five. She is an immigrant who hadn't had the opportunity to go to high school. She got her GED and put herself through college and graduate school while raising five children. While she never discouraged my interest in art she didn't entertain the idea of me pursuing it as a career. She sacrificed a lot for her children and wanted us to pursue practical endeavors that would ensure our security in life. She wanted me to be an architect or an engineer and so I pretended to want that as well. In my adolescence, I struggled with serious mental and physical health issues, and with the overwhelming burden of needing to support my family. I worked jobs to help pay the bills throughout high school. I would miss class, argue with teachers, and have the occasional run-in with law enforcement. Eventually, just two weeks before my high school graduation, I was kicked out of my house. I was sure to burn the bridge behind me as I left. I spent the better part of a year working at a cafe and sleeping on my friend's couch as I slowly spiraled deeper into despair and became utterly lost. I hit rock bottom. I fell through the bottom, actually, into the space between moments and out of context. I lost my marbles. As scary as this state of being was, what I worried about most was that I would end up a madman wandering the streets. I feared that my potential had been squandered and that all of my mom's sacrifice and suffering would be for nothing. It was this thought alone that carried me through the sea of delusion. I woke up and returned home. I clawed my way back to sanity through the humbling experience of mending my relationship with my family. They were not supportive of my choice to study art. Not at first. But I was determined. I enrolled at Montgomery College in Rockville MD. I swallowed my pride and faced my fear of returning to school. I focused all my energy on my mental and physical health, on school, and on supporting my family. After a while, my family began to trust me again. I began to trust myself. When my mom had to have serious surgeries and was repeatedly hospitalized I dropped my classes to take care of her full time. It was incredibly hard, but it was an opportunity to prove my dedication to my family and to see the hidden strength within myself. I think my mom got to see what I was capable of at that time. Since then, having seen my growth as an artist and a person, my mom and my family have been incredibly supportive of my career and education. I'm excited to show them how far I can go!

Art is my whole life. Some artists love to make art and some need to. I do love making art, but the truth is if I wasn't creating I'd lose my mind. Art is how I process life; the good, bad, and the ugly. Art is how I communicate what I can't say with words or actions. It's how I explore my mind and identity. I've dedicated my life to art. I teach Elementary School art. I've been studying art for a few years and have just been admitted to MICA (Maryland Institute College of Art). In my free time, I go to art museums. When I'm at social functions I doodle on napkins. As I write this essay I periodically stop to look at artwork online. I've chosen the path I'm meant to follow. On this leg of the journey, I need scholarships to pay for my tuition. MICA is giving me an incredible scholarship, but if I'm to attend I need an additional 20-30k a year. If I won this scholarship I'd be one significant step closer to the life I'm building for myself and my family. Over the pandemic, I dropped out of school to take care of my mom. She was critically ill and needed round-the-clock care. I took responsibility for her care so that my siblings could finish school and earn their degrees. Now two of my sisters are home and it's my turn to pursue my education. My family is a team and that's one of the reasons I chose MICA, as it is close to home and will allow me to help out in case of emergencies. My mother was the sole provider for our family for a long time and when she was in the hospital she lost her job. Our mortgage is on forbearance, our bills are past due and we're out of savings. Frankly, I cannot afford school. This scholarship will not guarantee I can pay for school, but it will take a weight off my shoulders and allow me to spend more focus on getting the most out of my education. Every scholarship I have received has done wonders in fortifying my resolve as an acknowledgment of the work I've put in and the distance I've come. There are few greater feelings I've experienced than, when I am in the pit of despair, self-doubt, and uncertainty, and I receive an email stating, "Congratulations you've been chosen to receive [...] scholarship" It could be for a thousand dollars or thirty dollars and the feeling is the same. I'm not sure exactly what I'll be doing in 5 years, but I know that I'll be doing it excellently. Whether I'm tattooing and helping people express themselves through art, or teaching and developing the potential of young artists, the experience, skills, and connections I acquire at MICA are going to be critical to my success. My success will allow me to provide for my family and my community. In my heart, I am a giver and right now I need to put in the work to be able to receive and build abundance so that I might be able to give more.

I intend to make a positive impact on the world by pursuing a life of love, acceptance, and dedication. I hope to inspire my young art students in the classroom and to provide an example to others of how to live harmoniously. As a tattoo artist, I would strive to empower people through the art I create for them. Ultimately when creating artwork I'm telling stories of the lessons I've learned in life, however as an artist, I have no right to the meaning taken away from my work. What my artwork can do is resonate with someone enough to encourage them to consume more of it. As I develop in my career and reap the abundance of my hard work I can be in better standing to give back to my community and create programs to help disadvantaged youth, those struggling with mental illness, and local homeless populations. I believe that by living a life of love, the world will present me with opportunities to uplift others, and it is my responsibility to get my life and recourses in order so that I can answer those calls to action.