I never knew my father very well, but I could tell I didn’t inherit my artistic passion from him, nor from my mother, nor anyone close to me. I realized my way of perceiving the world was different—my heart was sentimental and fragile, and my body was small. I believed the big challenges of the world would overcome me easily, and perhaps art would be my only hope for comfort: a secret place to hide from danger. It became a way of processing pain and discomfort, especially when I moved to the United States with my brother with no prior knowledge of English. There was a barrier to communication between me and others; I would smile and try my best to express my thoughts, but it didn't always work. However, with my art, it was different. Art doesn’t need a language to be understood. Even when I wasn't seeking validation, viewers would find a way to connect with my work and see themselves reflected in it. I have faced rejection because of the color of my skin or the accent in my voice, but the moment those hard-hearted people looked at my drawings on the wall, a part of them saw me as human again because they felt projected in my pieces. In that moment, I realized art was my reason to love. Previously, I focused on body dysmorphia and feelings of awkwardness and rejection, as that was how I felt most of the time. However, after a few years of adapting to American culture, I found myself deeply interested in martial arts and live music performances. I began centering my art on the human body in motion or abstract shapes representing physical forms. The people I draw are always people I know who have helped me become a better person. They feature strong physiques—not just because it looks aesthetically pleasing, but because of the magnificent effort behind them. They represent a significant part of their personality and resilience. I am not saying that to be resilient you must have a fit body; I believe the fruits of daily discipline will pay off depending on the goal you pursue. It is beneficial for a basketball player to be strong and tall, but it is better for an equestrian to be lightweight. The same analogy applies to the subjects in my art. I love observing fighters because I want to emulate that dedication and passion. An artist whose work I admire deeply is George Morikawa, best known for his manga Hajime no Ippo. It tells the story of a shy, short high schooler who is constantly bullied and rejected until he discovers boxing and falls in love with the sport. I relate to the protagonist in many ways—not only because of his social awkwardness, but also because of his resilience and kindness. This manga has united a global community and inspired countless people to pursue their dreams. That is my goal. Hopefully, I can share my art in a way that inspires others and earns a place in their hearts, just as George Morikawa did in mine. I am deeply thankful for this opportunity and for being able to share the love that inspires me to keep creating and the positive impact I want to reach. Thank you. (The wall on the pictures was a group project I worked on during my experience studying in MTSU for the GSFTA)

I never knew my father very well, but I could tell I didn’t get my artistic passions from him—nor from my mother, or anyone close to me. I realized my way of perceiving the world was different. My heart was sentimental and fragile, and my body small. I believed the big challenges of the world would take me down easily, and maybe art would be my only hope for comfort—my secret place to hide from all danger. It became a way of processing pain and discomfort, especially the moment I moved to the United States with my brother and no prior knowledge of English. There was a lack of communication between me and others. I would smile and try my best to express my thoughts, but it didn't always work. However, with my art, it was different. Art doesn’t need a language to be understood. Even when I’m not looking for people to comprehend it, sometimes the audience finds a way to look at it and see themselves reflected in it. I have been rejected because of the color of my skin or the accent in my voice, but the moment those people with hard hearts looked at my drawings on the walls, a part of them saw me as a human again, because they felt projected in my pieces. In that moment, I realized art was my reason to love. Before, I used to focus on body dysmorphia and feelings of awkwardness and rejection, because that was how I felt most of the time. But after some years of adapting to the culture in the United States, I found myself very interested in martial arts and musical performances. I started centering my art on human bodies engaged in activities or shapes representing bodies. The people I draw are always people I know who have helped me become someone better. They have strong physiques, not just because it looks aesthetically good, but because of the magnificent effort behind them. They represent a major side of their personality and resilience. I’m not saying that to be resilient you need a fit body; I believe the fruits of being disciplined in your everyday life are going to pay off depending on the goal you are striving for. It is good for a basketball player to be strong and tall, but it is better for a horseman to be light. The same analogy works for the subjects in my art. An artist whose work I love looking at is George Morikawa. His work is recognized through the manga Hajime no Ippo, which talks about the journey of a shy, short high schooler who is constantly bullied and rejected by others until he finds boxing and falls in love with the sport. I relate to him in many ways, not just because he is awkward but also because of his resilience and kindness. This manga has united a whole community and inspired many people to follow their dreams. That is my goal. Hopefully, I get to show my art in a way that can inspire others and gain a place in their hearts. This is the reason I believe getting this scholarship could help me achieve my goal by persuading this career that I am so passionate about. An example of my work would be the piece I made during 2025, when I was still adapting and going through difficult problems with my self-esteem. However, my last two pieces were made a month ago, this time with a focus on strength and resilience.

Art has not always been part of my life as a matter of love; however, it has been present since the moment I became capable of creating. I never knew my father very well, but I could tell I didn’t get my artistic passions from him—nor from my mother, or anyone close to me. I realized my way of perceiving the world was different. My heart was sentimental and fragile. It wasn’t until 2020, when the COVID-19 pandemic hit and we experienced total isolation for the first time, that things began to change. Isolation felt like a dream to me at first because I thought I could finally spend my time alone, without the fear of being judged by others. But my grandpa had another plan. One morning, he gave me a box with a strange looking tiny animal inside. It was a newborn bird whose previous owners didn't want him, and my grandpa thought caring for it would be a good responsibility for me to take on. I named him Coco—short for Coco Piolín Bolaños Morales III. His feathers were orange like a mango and his character was strong like a dinosaur, so "dinosaur" became his nickname. At the same time we were isolated, I started playing more video games. In many of them, I would play animal simulators featuring dinosaurs or even dragons; the idea of flying was deeply fascinating to me. I couldn't get over how beautiful their wings were, and I was envious of not being able to grow a pair on my own back. The dinosaur I chose to draw is the Archaeopteryx, a genus of bird-like dinosaurs. It became my favorite after I tried its avatar in a 3D dinosaur simulator game inspired by the Jurassic Park movies. The game wasn’t the best quality, but I still fell in love with the Archaeopteryx’s ability to take flight. Watching my own "little dinosaur," Coco, learn to fly to embrace that freedom felt like watching a piece of my own imagination take off. When I was drawing the Archaeopteryx with color pencils I wasn't just sketching a regular dinosaur; I was capturing the bridge between my isolated self kid and the boundless sky. Just like the Archaeopteryx represents the evolutionary leap from heavy, earthbound dinosaurs to soaring birds, art has become my own way of learning to fly. The young artist Cash Ryder this scholarship honors understood that art isn't just about what you draw, it’s about how deeply you feel the world around you and the desire to share your perspective with others. Through my artwork, I hope to carry forward that same passion, honoring both my little dinosaur Coco and my own dream to soar beyond what feels possible

Art has not always been something I loved, yet it has been present in my life since the very moment I became capable of creating. I never knew my father well, but I know I did not inherit my artistic passions from him, neither my mother, or anyone close to me. Early on, I realized I perceived the world differently—my heart was sensitive, and my body was small. I believed the grand challenges of the world would easily tear me down, and I feared art might only be a quiet place to hide from danger. It became my way of processing pain, especially when I moved to the United States with my brother, knowing no English. Navigating that communication barrier was isolating; I would smile and try my best to express my thoughts, but words often failed me. With my art, however, it was different. Art needs no spoken language to be understood. Even when I am not actively seeking an audience, people find a way to look at my work and see themselves reflected in it. I have faced rejection because of the color of my skin and the accent in my voice, but the moment people with hardened hearts looked at my drawings, something shifted. They saw my humanity again because they felt their own emotions projected onto my canvas. In those moments, I realized art was not just a safe place to hide, it was also my reason to love and connect. Earlier in my journey, my work focused heavily on body dysmorphia and feelings of awkwardness and rejection, as those emotions dominated my life. However, after years of adapting to life in the United States, my perspective expanded. I developed a deep fascination with martial arts, musical performances, and dance performances, shifting my focus toward the human form in motion. The figures I draw are mostly of the times people I know who have helped me become a better person. I depict them with physical strength not merely for visual aesthetic, but to honor the magnificent effort, discipline, and resilience behind their forms. Physical strength means something different for everyone: a basketball player needs height and power, while an equestrian requires lightness and balance. The subjects in my art reflect this truth—I study fighters and athletes because I want to capture and embody that level of raw dedication, not only throughout my artistic skills, but by seeking spiritual balance and maintaining the physical discipline it requires to keep my own body strong as capable as I keep living. One artist who inspires me is George Morikawa, the creator of the manga Hajime no Ippo. His story follows a shy, short high school student who endures relentless bullying until he discovers boxing and falls in love with the sport. I relate deeply to the protagonist, not only through his social awkwardness, but through his quiet resilience and kindness. Morikawa’s work has united a community and inspired countless people to pursue their dreams. That is my ultimate goal as an artist: to share my work in a way that uplifts others, kindles resilience, and earns a lasting place in their hearts. I am deeply grateful for this opportunity to share the passion and love that inspire me to keep creating every day. Thank you for your time and consideration.