When I think about my identity, the first word that comes to mind is what those who know me would name: artistic. Creative. A good 'drawer.' After all, I am in my third year studying illustration at the Savannah College of Art and Design and have been drawing all my life. I adore exploring my culture in fantasy, building on my world of a fictional Vietnam, drawing from the mythos of Indonesia, and Chinese traditional clothing. I love painting little libraries and public works for my city and putting color where there typically isn't any. The second word I describe myself as is secretarial. My depression impairs my memory, so crude minutes in the form of my sketchbooks and journals allow me to piece together the experience of my childhood. Every picture I drew solidified my existence and proved that I did come from somewhere, even if I don't remember it. Strokes of the pencils hold events that I would never be able to recall on my own. That's what I believe art and music are: a record. Art and music are relics of the past- of the passion and beliefs of a people that survived until the present day. Art humanizes the past as textbooks fail to do. In its quest to tell objective truth, textbooks often tell stories in groups, detaching the student from its subject. On the other hand, art forces the onlooker to acknowledge that someone's hand graced the work. One of the oldest artworks ever made is dozens of negative handprints on a cave wall. The people who made them are dead by now, but thousands of years later, we still look at those handprints and remember their existence. The markings- and therefore they- managed to traverse time, space, and death to tell us one thing: "I am here." Despite knowing the original people are gone, we still want to connect with them and reach towards it. Purposefully laying down a legacy is unmistakably human. We trace the ups and downs of civilizations with the marks they left behind, created to last so the future knows they existed. Folk traditions of ancient peoples live on into the modern day through their culture's arts; puppet theaters in Indonesia carry the old Hindu stories that help shape their beliefs. Jazz inspired hip-hop, one of the biggest genres of music in modern times, which in turn was inspired by the rhythms of African music. In the Middle Ages, commissioners paid for portraits of themselves so the next generations could remember their ancestor's faces. Artists traveled with troops to battles during the Civil War to record the carnage. In his quest to test the limits of art, Marcel Duchamp placed a urinal in an exhibition and caused huge controversy. Despite their differences, they all have one element in common: The persistence of memory. Artists (and thus, the arts) keep people's memories alive, whether it be people of the past or their own existence. It is essential because it is how we recollect events and people in the eyes of individuals, not history. In this way, all artists are secretarial. Making art through music, craft, or fine art is similar to putting your handprint on the wall and saying, "I am here." My culture and experiences live in my fantasy Vietnamese dynasties, doodles of the Indonesian Leyak, designs of the Chinese Hanfu, and community spaces I paint. They record my present. After I am gone, my creations will remain for whoever receives them next, a puzzle to solve for my existence and humanity.

My sister has been the biggest influence on my life. Only thirteen months older, she was always responsible for taking care of the family. From having to fill out government documents for my immigrant parents to raising me alongside them, she had no time to experience childhood like most people her age. My parents had to follow where the money took them, which caused us to move states several times. The instability and responsibilities crushed her at multiple points. Still, she has bounced back with unwavering resilience in the face of conflict- shaking her iron fist as if challenging life for more. While we started drawing at the same time, I always noticed there was a difference between our work. The way she drew was loose; the figures scratched from her pencil had a sense of personality that my static renditions of animals did not. She could conjure characters from imagination, while I preferred to draw with strict reference. We would doodle together and create storylines to escape the hardship we faced in reality- from our poverty to our isolation as the only Asians in every school we attended. I started drawing like her, hoping to capture the energy and story in her work. Like me, she wanted to become an artist. Unfortunately, we found that her role as an older sibling would force her to choose a path that would make my parents proud- the tech industry. She encourages me to chase my dream between programming camps and school, telling me to accomplish what she did not have the chance to do. Thus, I attend her dream college with the intent not to survive- but thrive. I continue to be inspired by her passionate speeches about racial equality and the representation of Asian people. I push for inclusivity in everything I draw. I want everything I create to leak the stories I grew up with as a Southeast Asian girl. While at school, I volunteer with my city to beautify spaces and design clothing for the local Asian American and Pacific Islander Month festival each year. I will also paint my first mural to provide color to my low-income, underrepresented community so they can see the world in bright colors, thus encouraging them to chase for more than life gave them. Due to the varied uses for my work, I draw traditionally and digitally. I enjoy the freedom of mixed media, particularly with watercolor, marker, colored pencil, and ink, but love the convenience of digital art. Overall, my artwork stands out in its saturated color and heavy contrast, which draws the viewer’s attention and keeps them on the page while they follow the curved path of my compositions. The subjects are usually fantastical so they can reflect the childlike whimsy of exploring new places while pondering the history of the environment and its residents. My ultimate goal is to illustrate for animated media. I want to be a part of bringing characters to life and leaving a legacy via the art I create. I want to diversify the Asian sphere by including Southeast Asian people, as we are left out of conversations about diversity. It is important to tell the stories of low-income people so we can battle the monolithic standard of the ‘high-class East Asian’; to encourage and humanize them in the eyes of their peers, so we can strive for a tomorrow that allows opportunities for all.

On March 16, 2021, a man walked into 3 spas in Atlanta, Georgia and murdered 8 people- 6 of whom were Asian women. I was in my room when I read the news; my skin went cold as I obsessively read every statement given by the chief of police, onlookers, and even the shooter himself. The more the situation unfolded, the more my fears were materializing- the objectification of my race had led to a body count. Confused and grieving, I turned to what I knew best: art. While I processed the event, I realized that I needed to make a stand- that nobody was going to speak for me if I did not speak for myself. I prioritized education and inclusion in every milestone I completed. Diversity is at the heart of everything I draw. I want everything I create to leak the stories and questions I grew up with as a Southeast Asian girl in a world that was not made for her. In my work, I want to speak for those who could not speak for themselves- to tell them that they are not alone. Asian people and aesthetics have been stripped into parts and presented as if they were whole and I want to take back those elements of my culture. I’m currently pursuing my passion for art by painting a mural for my city. Through this opportunity, I want to be able to use my artwork to revitalize low-income, underrepresented communities and leave a piece of me for future generations to see and encourage them to achieve their dreams. Ultimately, my goal is to work in the animation industry as an illustrator. I want to create animated media highlighting Southeast Asian culture, as we tend to be skipped in the diversity conversation in favor of East Asian people. The versatility of my illustration degree will allow me to work in several parts of the ever-growing industry, eventually leading projects and sending a message that they are not to be objectified, but to be respected and revered.

Growing up in a low-income community that lacked the funding to do much other than survive, drawing was only a hobby because I was taught creativity does not pay the bills. While I excelled in every academic subject, I needed another outlet to satisfy my curiosity. So, whenever the teacher would take away my sheets of drawing paper, I would reach into my desk to grab a notebook and start again. Moving to Georgia in 8th grade was a life-changing experience. I met other artists and took my first art classes, refining my skill and being able to use my creativity to its fullest. When I reached my senior year, my last assignment was to paint on a ceiling tile for use in the class. I scanned the tiles of the students before me. I realized this would be my legacy- a record of my presence and what was important to me. I went through multiple pages in my sketchbook asking the same question- how did I want the future generation of students to see me? From sketches of Chinese myth to original characters, nothing seemed to stick. After days of sketching and planning, I decided to go in blind, resulting in one of my best pieces- a painting of puppet Elmo from the show Sesame Street fighting puppet Count Von Count, who brandishes a large sword. As childish as the premise is, the artwork represented the memories I created with my friends that year, how every project we pursued pertained to Sesame Street. When my friends saw it, it immediately sparked videos and stories of how the fight came to be. Watching how my painting inspired them taught me why I wanted to pursue art and why I create- to bring joy to myself and others. A ceiling tile sparked the idea of memorializing a person or object and art’s impact on me: the contentedness, joy, and power stored in an item. In my classroom now sits a tile depicting Elmo battling Count Von Count in a shroud of flames; my legacy. I’m pursuing my passion for art by painting a mural for my city. However, I’m also going to school while supporting my family. Receiving this scholarship will give me the resources to explore my work and lift the weight of tuition off of my parents so I can focus solely on my artistic pursuits. Through this opportunity, I want to be able to use my artwork to revitalize low-income, underrepresented communities and leave a piece of me for future generations to see and encourage them to achieve their dreams.

Growing up in a low-income community that lacked the funding to do much other than survive, drawing was only a hobby because I was taught creativity does not pay the bills. While I excelled in every academic subject, I needed another outlet to satisfy my curiosity. So, whenever the teacher would take away my sheets of drawing paper, I would reach into my desk to grab a notebook and start again. Moving to Georgia in 8th grade was a life-changing experience. I met other artists and took my first art classes, refining my skill and being able to use my creativity to its fullest. When I reached my senior year, my last assignment was to paint on a ceiling tile for use in the class. I scanned the tiles of the students before me. I realized this would be my legacy- a record of my presence and what was important to me. I went through multiple pages in my sketchbook asking the same question- how did I want the future generation of students to see me? From sketches of Chinese myth to original characters, nothing seemed to stick. After days of sketching and planning, I decided to go in blind, resulting in one of my best pieces- a painting of puppet Elmo from the show Sesame Street fighting puppet Count Von Count, who brandishes a large sword. As childish as the premise is, the artwork represented the memories I created with my friends that year, how every project we pursued pertained to Sesame Street. When my friends saw it, it immediately sparked videos and stories of how the fight came to be. Watching how my painting inspired them taught me why I wanted to pursue art and why I create- to bring joy to myself and others. A ceiling tile sparked the idea of memorializing a person or object and art’s impact on me: the contentedness, joy, and power stored in an item. In my classroom now sits a tile depicting Elmo battling Count Von Count in a shroud of flames; my legacy. I’m pursuing my passion for art by painting a mural for my city. However, I’m also going to school while supporting my family. Receiving this scholarship will give me the resources to explore my work and lift the weight of tuition off of my parents so I can focus solely on my artistic pursuits. Through this opportunity, I want to be able to use my artwork to revitalize low-income, underrepresented communities and leave a piece of me for future generations to see and encourage them to achieve their dreams.

Every time I say that the first time I have ever seen an East Asian person other than myself was in 5th grade, the person I’m talking to always reacts with a surprised look. I had jumped around three states at that point. My first interaction with my own culture was in a small book named “Where The Mountain Meets The Moon” by Grace Lin, a book about a young Chinese girl who sets out on an adventure to ask the Old Man of the Moon how she can bring fortune to her family. As an Asian girl from an underprivileged area with every race but my own, this was the first time I fell in love with storytelling. While my love for storytelling originated from a book, the television shows I watched impacted me greatly. I grew up watching shows on PBS Kids and wanting to learn and experiment, but I never believed I could do so because I never saw people like me. Every person I saw on the television lived in a house, went to a school with supportive friends, and looked nothing like me. Living in an apartment with little to no support system, I did not believe I had the tools or resources to explore my curiosity in the sciences. What I did have was a pencil, and no program told me that I couldn’t draw. Today, I study in an arts college, pursuing an illustration degree. I want to use this degree to fill many shoes, such as a muralist, graphic designer, book illustrator, and eventually, an art professor. But after college, my main goal is to draw illustrations for animated media, whether concept art in the production stages or drawings that end up in the media itself. I want to intern at animation studios like Disney and Dreamworks to help produce works that impact many people, especially those who are underprivileged and have no representation on the screen. I will use my experience in these animation studios to lead projects that tell diverse stories, mainly serving Southeast Asians and those in the LGBTQ+ community, as they are susceptible populations and do not have accurate representation in media. Animation is powerful for representation and is forever evolving- it has the potential to touch the hearts of many, and its limitless nature allows for storytelling to flourish. Thus, it is the best vehicle to spread the message of perseverance and self-assurance that will be at the core of my movies- the same feeling reading Where the Mountain Meets the Moon gave me. I want to prevent children from feeling the same isolation in their identities as I did- that they could do anything they put their minds to. Like Minli, who discovered she was the key to bringing her family wealth, they will discover they are the key to their happiness and a prosperous future.

The piece I submitted is called "New World," a 37'x18' surrealist portrait I created for my drawing class. While it was just another project to me initially, it quickly gained momentum as my favorite drawing, now representing my first steps into mixed media and the transition from my one-dimensional artwork in high school to the detailed, large artwork I do in college. The official name of the assignment was "Surreal Portrait Landscape." Although we had to use colored pencils, my professor opened the mediums to add little outside markers, watercolor, and gouache. Looking at my unopened watercolor set that was at least five years old, I figured that using it to lay down base colors would speed up my coloring process. This was the first time I had ever indulged in mixed media. I knew the only way I would start was to dive in without a plan, so I immediately got to work on my final project. I started as I usually did. In a desperate attempt for ideas, I got to my vanity. I started slapping whatever I wanted on my face: a large crack, some blush, and even lash-glued flowers over my eyes. In the photoshoot, I bit down on a pot of water-activated eyeliner to replace it with whatever I thought looked good later. Then, I got to drawing. As I worked, I started to get a sense of new life on the page. This person represented a world lost to time, a new civilization growing around the old ruins of what was once living. It dawned on me that the prompt was the perfect opportunity to explore absurdism and how random the start of civilization can be. I started asking myself; what were these hummingbirds flying towards? Were they finding religion in the temple? Water gives life to all, so the opening of the coconuts was the catalyst to this life. I started gaining idea after idea for the piece- and for the first time in years of taking art classes, I was excited by every stroke I made with the colored pencil. For the first time in years, I felt a familiar electricity flow from my hands to the pencil. Unfortunately, I did not finish the drawing when it came time to turn it in. I left it alone during the break, and around halfway through, I thought about my professor. He talked about how students allow deadlines to control them too often, getting a grade on their work and never touching the drawing again. Longing to see the piece finished, I took it off the wall and started working. I worked loosely without the restrictions of mediums or a deadline. I felt free to use what I had, adding gel pens, acrylic paint, markers, and even gold leaf. I set clock motifs at different times to imply the nonexistent consistency of time in this world. Gold-infused water leaks from the coconuts as if something divine is escaping. I stepped back, admiring each detail in the waters and its edges, the gold leaf accents, and the colors of the jellyfish. It was unlike anything I had drawn before, and all the evidence pointed toward one conclusion: this drawing marked the beginning of a new chapter in my artwork. A new world is coming, and I am excited to tackle what it has in store.