Hip-hop is my soul food.It's not something that just fills me, but rather it is something that nourishes my self-expression. Growing up, its hypnotic beats and inescapable poetry became the first space to offer me a guide to my sense of self: my identity. When I felt unanchored, hip-hop offered a vocabulary for the parts of my identity that I hadn't even learned to name.Therefore, dissecting the dynamics of hip-hop's rhythms and lyrics became a way of life, providing a framework for guiding and digging deeper into my identity. Tracks like A Tribe Called Quest's "Excursions," for example, challenged the idea that material success leads to "true" art; rather, real expressive art was created by not bending to a crowd. I became inspired by the way hip-hop music symbolizes a reverence for authentic artistry that can help small things matter—even the fragments others may find insignificant.This theme that I saw so often through hip-hop led me to sample things in my own life. Old hip-hop magazines and painting supplies in the back of my closet regained new lives and purpose. My personal version of sampling was soon expressed through collages I would make. Through cutting, layering, and recontextualizing meanings built by other producers, I built collaging into an identity that was truly my own—something unapologetic and unshrinkable.My curiosity soon developed into a question that urged action: How does hip-hop culture cultivate authenticity not just in sound but in people? In my junior year, I produced a high-scoring AP Art Portfolio built on hip-hop's unapologetic culture of originality and creativity. Works titled "Breakthrough," "The Kitchen," "Liberation," and "Reflections Eternal" are only some of many artworks centered around hip-hop's impactful and unique culture. My art highlighted a simple truth: without authenticity, there is no art.Hip-hop taught me that creative expression is less about perfection and more about the courage needed to show things about myself that the world has trouble digesting. As I continue to practice my art through collage, I hope my work inspires others to do what feeds their own soul and expression—no one else's. Through my future artistic pursuits, I seek to produce works that promote authenticity and embrace the truest parts of yourself. Like the impact hip-hop music had on me, I want to have a similar effect on other young creatives like myself. I want my art to transcend traditionality to foster an environment where people from all backgrounds can fully engage with hip-hop and individuality's unique culture. With more thoughtful and genuineness in the world through my art, I'll create deeper, stronger connections that feed the soul.

I captured my first glimpse into the captivating chaos of art as I peeked inside his sloppy, splotchy mess of a room. Stumbling into his studio, surrounded by scattered paint and papers, I found my father hunched over his sketches—hard at work. As he invites me to draw alongside him, our shared joy in drawing silly cartoons together becomes my first memory of how art fosters human connection. Growing older, as papers dissipated and colors faded, I began to notice an emptiness in my father’s studio. Confused at first, I soon realized that he lost his job to artificial intelligence and how something non-human took over the most human aspect of my life. Witnessing parts of myself slipping from technology, I found myself asking, "How could humans choose regurgitated code over soul to produce art?" Exasperated, for a junior-research capstone, I spent months interviewing local artists to explain this curiosity. Discussing themes of automation and homogenization with like-minded creatives, I realized that the displacement of artists like my father mirrored power imbalances in society. And through multiple global politics readings, these interviews affirmed my interest in how social structures like laws and norms shape the principles of humanity. My project identified a problem, but I wanted solutions. Taking these principles to my district office, I voiced artists’ concerns directly to the City Council. For all 90 anxiety-inducing minutes, facing skepticism and doubt, convincing the cohort felt impossible. Eventually, I shared stories of the displaced artists I spoke with, emphasizing a need to protect human creativity and jobs. As eyes widened and minds opened, they agreed to consider AI regulations in the art industry—achieving the impossible. As my hopelessness dissolved, I recognized my ability to actualize my vision for a world driven to preserve human creativity. So, I created ImaginACTION, an organization empowering youth creatives by driving art towards social change. Holding workshops and donation drives, while publishing artist interviews from my research paper, presents new ways to represent art’s vital role in society and politics to a larger audience. My favorite moments, though, come from bonding with like-minded creatives, centered around conversations of “Art brings people together” and “Art is the greatest form of protest,” reminding me that the human stories explored through art are the same ones shaping political realities. My experience with ImaginACTION has shaped me to be altruistic through powerful storytelling, and I love that I get to inspire future changemakers by transforming creative vision into lasting impact. With this epiphany, what initially began as an indignation of automation led me to dig deeper towards intersecting humanities and policy. With 2.9k+ youth impacted and continuing to reshape political values through grassrooting and canvassing, I’m committed to accomplishing my dream: helping society be more in touch with humanity. In doing so, I developed an impassioned voice for my art community and became a tool for real advocacy. There’s something human, emotional, even discomforting in a good way about art. While they helped me express myself and form a deeper bond with my father, their power to bridge others together is beyond my example alone. In my future in art, both local and global voices will call for me to step into using my voice to support underrepresented communities like those I connected with in my ‘artivist’ community. And by listening to each person's story, I'll be reminded that the human stories I've explored through the arts are the ones shaping political realities—because human understanding is what shapes successful policy. My passion for art ultimately taught me one thing: when you truly love something, you'll always fight for it.