I have a blurry memory when it comes to my childhood years, but I vividly remember the first time I picked up a paintbrush. It was in preschool, and we could draw whatever came to mind. I have always been a good student, but this allowed me to become a star. My classmates and I had our own paint palettes that comes from Walmart, along with a single brush. I painted my family: my grandma, my dad, my brother, and my cat. I have practiced art ever since I learned how to make lines on a paper, which I had valued at a very young age, even so that I sold paintings of flowers to the elderly for twenty five cents at the age of six. If they told me they hadn’t any money, I would give them my art for free. After all, I believe art is what makes life as peaceful and as happy a light rain. This early experience and love for art has never strayed too far away from me, even at the worst of times. It tends to grow and flourish along with me, and even blossoms through my endured grief and joy. It is a habit forming drug, a sort of nicotine, perhaps.
As I sit down to draw, I feel a rush of anxiety and thrill as I’m pondering the idea of a finished product soon to come. I pull up the reference photo on my phone, choose the right pencils and tools to produce with, and quickly begin. It’s quite a long process that I most likely won’t finish in one setting, so I tend to grumble and moan halfway through - but there is unreservedly nothing else I would rather accomplish. When the hourglass drains and I eventually finish after many hours of anticipation, there is absolutely nothing more rewarding than standing back at the glistening appearance of my artwork before me. It serves a sense of accomplishment and pride that will never completely sink in.
I have now transformed into a young adult who arose from the ground immensely, and I contribute so much of my growth to art and expression within my drawings and paintings. As an artist, I have become moved by my own art, as well as others. It is full of speech. It is something felt. It owns intuition, uncertainty, and creativity that searches constantly for new ideas. I have learned to break social norms and find unconventional ways to approach contemporary issues.
Art gifts me the ability to find myself and lose myself all at the same time, and I often question who I would be without it. Of course, I know I am a seventeen year old girl who favors dogs and cats and happy memories, but who would I be if I was not an artist? At times I feel as though I’m overly fanatical when the subject is art, yet completing a dirty pour is exactly what I dream of at night. Every aspect involving art ignites such joy and passion in me, but I accredit all my accomplishments to painting my family in preschool, where it all began.