I spent my childhood in New Hampshire, a state rich in natural beauty. As the seasons shifted, I relished catching red-spotted newts summoned by summer thunder, biting into sparkling McIntosh apples in my grandfather's autumn orchard, and, in the winter, walking through silent snow-carpeted forests, holding my breath so that I could hear the snowflakes tinkle as they landed. These experiences engendered love for what others might overlook as 'every day.' What makes New Hampshire beautiful also makes it cold, difficult, and lonely. As a young artist, I needed to be challenged. So, I made my way down to Atlanta, Georgia - a thriving hub of all art forms and a constant source of inspiration. I work and live today in Atlanta, inspired by other artists, big glorious Georgian clouds, and the sound of cicadas buzzing in the live oaks. As a painter, I get lost in shafts of winter sun settling in my bedroom or Georgia dirt splashing red light into the shadows of buildings. I got my feet wet en plein air by camping in the Adirondacks, painting hay bales, and Lake George. On my hikes, I collected treasures from yesteryear's trash heaps and used them to build subjects for still-life paintings as I honed my craft. Nature, I decided, is the true teacher, but I also sought out and hoarded every good book. Eventually, when the pandemic hit, the value of education became clear to me. I made a decision then to pursue my degree in arts, and since have completed my A.S. in Studio Art. I now seek a B.F.A. in Studio Arts and a B.A. in Art History, with an M.F.A. in my future. I want to not only improve my ability as an artist but also teach others as a professor of studio arts.

I live, much of the time, right behind my eyes, crammed up against my brow like sinus pressure. This place is painful and anxious for me. To escape, I go deeper into body-dissolving spaces of intuition where my sense of self has neutral buoyancy. It is cool, dark, and quiet - for a moment. Then, whether my body sleeps or not, I dream. This exploration fuels my art, compelling me to use various methods and materials to breathe life into my work. Painting is the primary language I work in. I blend paint, ink, plaster, nails, plastic, and discarded remnants. To work like this, I draw inspiration from The Fool's open, beginner's mind. This card, symbolizing new beginnings and embracing the journey with an open mind, holds significant meaning. The carefree depiction of The Fool in the Rider-Waite deck is my favorite. Whenever moments of stagnation seem inescapable, this card finds its way into my readings, signifying the end of one phase and the start of another. It represents the beginning of a new artistic and personal journey and a time to open my mind. I have included both The Fool and Death in my artwork to represent my creative cycles. To me, tarot is not just a tool for divination; it is a reflective guide for my artistic endeavors. When working with the artist Craig Dongoski, my professor, I have pulled single cards to gain insight into our process. On-the-spot readings for my artist friends have also been inspirational. Exploring the nuances of tarot has become an integral part of my creative process. It's a means to decipher the subconscious, unravel the complexities of emotions, and channel these discoveries into my work. In my life, I am always looking for new perspectives into myself, my memories, my dreams, and my traumas. Therefore, my artistic exploration remains rooted in the vulnerability of "The Fool." It symbolizes the essence of new beginnings and the pursuit of new perspectives. When I pull the fool, I know to be ready. This scholarship presents an opportunity to share the depth of my connection with tarot and its transformative influence on my life's journey. It's a platform to articulate how tarot cards have guided my introspection and steered my artistic evolution. Embracing the essence of The Fool, I approach this scholarship application with an open mind, ready to embark on a new chapter of learning and exploration while also honoring the memory and spirit of Melanie France.

I am an artist with depression and anxiety. With a history of childhood and adult trauma, coming to terms with my mental health has been a difficult and long road. Five years ago, when I completed an ACE (adverse childhood experience) survey, I was shocked by my own experiences quantified and laid out before me. Never before had I seen the whole story of my trauma neatly measured out. On average, a person struggling with mental illness takes about ten years to ask for help. For me, it took many years to identify the problem. When I was younger, it was easy to blame the world for my depression and anxiety. But, as I grew into an adult, I learned to take responsibility for my mental well-being. Yes, the world is challenging, but I struggled in ways others didn't seem to. It is not easy to accept mental illness, particularly while living with the stigma that society has placed on it. Even so, I admitted that I was suffering and needed help. I couldn't do it alone. There are many tools I've used on my journey to overcome depression & anxiety. After years of practice, I now have a firm grasp of several forms of meditation. Regular talk therapy sessions kept me accountable and on track. And, despite the stigma, I am not afraid to say that medication has been instrumental in my recovery. Progress was slow, but this effort did lead to growth, resilience, and eventually even a change in my entire perspective of my purpose as an artist. This process initiated self-exploration via my art practice. As a result, I believe that the artist has a unique role in seeking out and fostering authenticity. Much of my suffering came from lessons of inauthenticity and repression learned early in life. As an artist and educator, I can help others become comfortable with finding their authentic selves. In doing so, I will contribute to a better, more compassionate, and inclusive world. This activity is a radical act that can seed the world with change. The Elizabeth Schalk Memorial Scholarship would be instrumental in advancing my academic and professional journey. My struggle with mental health has highlighted the transformative power of art in fostering authenticity and connection. With this scholarship, I intend to complete my BFA in Studio Art and my BA in Art History, combining my passion for art with a drive to elevate others. My future goal is to attend artist residencies and an MFA program so that I might move into teaching art as well. Simply put, this aid will provide existential support to my college career.

Art is a life-long pursuit for me. I have been building my art-making skills by any means possible for years. I have collected and studied books, copied masterworks, attended figure drawing sessions, joined online art groups, and even tried online courses when I could afford them. The pandemic led me to reevaluate and realize that art school offered the opportunity for me to take this pursuit to a higher level while completing my higher education. I am pursuing a B.F.A. in Studio with a concentration in Drawing, Painting, and Printmaking. I am also a double major in Art History. Art is essential to me, and it is an obsession that I keep coming back to no matter what winding path I have taken. The arts are also critical for the well-being of humanity. How exactly I will contribute to that is something I hope to explore in college. My impulse is that the pursuit of art encourages authenticity, which is something I hope I can encourage in others through my artwork and my teaching goals. With aid, I have been able to focus as a student while supporting myself as a freelancer and artist. I will continue that line of work as I progress. I have made it so far in both of my degrees. I have maintained a high GPA, taken on extracurricular responsibilities, and was inducted into the Honors College. However, it becomes more challenging to live each semester. Without aid, I will not be able to focus my energy as a student. That is why scholarships will be critical to me. As an adult student, I rely on financial aid and my own resources to fund my education. I have been entirely self-reliant financially since 2008. I would use a scholarship to pay for materials, lab fees, transportation, and tuition, much of which I now spend on credit. I want to be able to free up resources so that I can invest in more ambitious artworks and research. Anything that reduces my student debt burden as I move on post-graduation will be valuable to me. The first of my two long-term goals is to develop my career in the arts further. Currently, I have a budding business in freelancing and fine art commissions with much room to grow. Lastly, I hope to pursue a post-graduate program domestically or abroad. My experience at art school will inform the exact form of these goals, and I look forward to working them into whatever shape they may take.

Art history captivates me and serves as a lens through which I explore human expression, creativity, and world history. My fascination with art history is rooted in my belief that art represents a unique form of communication, not only between the artist and their immediate audience but through history and across generations. I intend to harness my love for history in my future career as an artist and educator. My journey into art history began with an appreciation for the power of art. I remember being enchanted by a book of Salvador Dali's surrealist paintings when I was very young. The paintings gripped me. As a medium, art can hold information, stories, and secrets, whether we are examining an ancient ceramic, a twentieth-century oil painting, or a contemporary multimedia piece. More importantly, though, the reception of an artwork is an experience between the artist, the artwork, and the audience that is unique to each person. This is more significant than the sum of its parts: an experience that connects individuals with unique mindsets and cultural contexts across ages. As a field, art history influences my art-making practice - I look to previous artists, historians, critics, and philosophers as teachers with whom I converse. They have taught me techniques, ways of seeing, and ways of thinking. I started my serious pursuit of art by learning historical painting methods - practicing with plaster casts, charcoal, and master copies as Western artists have trained for centuries. As I matured, I began to understand modern and post-modern art and theory with greater depth. My connection to the history of creativity is why I have chosen to double major in both art history and studio arts. Additionally, as a future educator, I aim to ignite the same passion for art history in my students. My hope is to help students work through this heritage and find their place in history like I am. I look forward to contributing to the ongoing dialogue of history. The synergy between my dual majors in art history and studio arts enhances my understanding of art's evolution. In this way, I can be a creator, conserver, and communicator. To receive the Joseph C. Lowe Memorial Scholarship would significantly support my college career and future goals. As I move towards completing my degree programs, resources have become tighter. With this aid, I can continue to focus on my studies, on my work, and on making connections within my field. Thank you for your time and consideration, Adam Sprague

The piece I am most proud of deals with the idea that the conscious mind is merely a dream of the unconscious. I find clues in lucid dreams, recovered memories (real or false), distortion of time, and supernatural “high strangeness.” I am inspired by the explorations of the titular character of Susanna Clarke’s Piranesi, who lives in a world carved out by ideas as water carves vast caverns. Philip K. Dick is another author with whom I connect, not for any particular work, but for his general crazy-making belief in overlapping circuits of time, world systems, and personalities that we can sometimes shift between or recall through anamnesis. I also recently discovered the artist Lisa Yuskavage, a brilliant master of color who plays on the idea that shifting hues indicate shifting supernatural realities. In this vein, I completed a depiction of a dream in watercolor, gouache, acrylic, and chalk pastel: "Flyover." When I look up in my dreams, I often notice out-of-place aircraft. They sometimes fly too low, have uncanny designs, or move across the sky as if distorted by absurd systems of perspective. Despite the crazy imaginary landscapes of my dreams, it is these aircraft that clue me in that I'm still sleeping. Bright, strange colors also dominate my dreams. These colors sometimes seem to sizzle around the edges, like my dreams are built from countless points of light. Sunlight is often too bright to view directly, while shadows become so deep that nothing can be seen no matter how long I stare. In "Flyover," I did my best to represent this quality of light and shadow by overlapping layers of different mediums in shifting hues. When I shared this work with my friends and classmates, they had many interesting responses and interpretations. When I painted the architecture, I wanted to communicate the sense that it was constructed and deconstructed in real-time as the dreamer changed focus. Some of my friends saw these buildings as temples or pagodas. Others interpreted the abstract forms as ruined buildings and saw the aircraft as a military bomber. Finally, some did catch on to the dreaminess I intended, but I was almost more interested in the interpretations I did not intend. I love creating work that resonates with or inspires people. Two-dimensional work is my focus while I explore this creative phase. I need to find out how these ideas converge while building on the necessary skills. It is also an experimental time for me, investigating new combinations of materials and processes. Now that I feel more comfortable with the fundamentals, I plan to push the boundaries of my ideas and practice in the Drawing & Painting BFA program. Eventually, I hope to pursue an MFA in Studio Art and transition into teaching drawing and painting at the college level.

I spent my childhood in New Hampshire, a state rich in natural beauty. As the seasons shifted, I relished catching red-spotted newts summoned by summer thunder, biting into sparkling McIntosh apples in my grandfather's autumn orchard, and, in the winter, walking through silent snow-carpeted forests, holding my breath so that I could hear the snowflakes tinkle as they landed. These experiences engendered love for what others might overlook as 'every day.' What makes New Hampshire beautiful also makes it cold, difficult, and lonely. As a young artist, I needed to be challenged. So, I made my way down to Atlanta, Georgia - a thriving hub of all art forms and a constant source of inspiration. I work and live today in Atlanta, inspired by other artists, big glorious Georgian clouds, and the sound of cicadas buzzing in the live oaks. As a painter, I get lost in shafts of winter sun settling in my bedroom, or Georgia dirt splashing red light into the shadows of buildings. I got my feet wet en plein air by camping in the Adirondacks, painting hay bales, and Lake George. On my hikes, I collected treasures from yesteryear's trash heaps and used them to build subjects for still-life paintings as I honed my craft. Nature, I decided, is the true teacher, but I also sought out and hoarded every good book. Eventually, when the pandemic hit, the value of education became clear to me. I made a decision then to pursue my degree in arts, and since have completed my A.S. in Studio Art. I now seek a B.F.A. in Studio Arts and a B.A. in Art History, with an M.F.A. in my future. I hope to not only improve my ability as an artist but also teach others as a professor of studio arts.

At about 12 years old, I discovered a book of artworks by the surrealist Salvador Dalí. I distinctly remember The Temptation of St. Anthony, among other works, evoking a strong and strange feeling in me. Holding the book close to my eyes and examining every detail, I felt as if I was standing before a ghost. Instead of terror, however, I was mesmerized. The artwork whispered secrets of the universe: I had to lean in just close enough, without fear, to hear them leaving the phantom's lips. That was, perhaps, my first experience of art. Since seeing the work of Dalí for the first time, I've learned an important fact that I did not know then: Dalí plumbed the unconscious mind for his subjects, themes, and imagery. I've heard Dalí would fall asleep with an object in his hand, so he might wake suddenly by its clattering against the floor and get to work capturing the essence of his dreams. I imagine that his painting, Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee Around a Pomegranate a Second Before Awakening, was inspired by this technique. Whether or not that is true, my fascination with (and exploration of) my dream worlds connected me to those paintings. I've written in my journals and various unrequited scholarship applications of my feeling that the artist is an explorer, like a spelunker or prospector. Or perhaps she is more like Odin, hung upside down over a magic pool to seek the runes so that she might bring them to the world. She enters deep, unconscious places, altered states, and liminal realms seeking priceless gems and artifacts, sometimes at significant personal cost, as Odin sacrificed his eye to gain gnosis. The fruits of her journey are what I refer to as art. My first taste of the contemporary art world was at MassArt in Boston at 18 years old. Confused and unprepared, I chose Studio for Interrelated Media as my major. SIM is unique to MassArt. In theory, it is a multimedia, performance, and installation major. In practice, it is a major that is almost impossible to explain to your parents. There, I formed the impression that contemporary art was conceptual to such an extreme degree that the text far outweighed the artwork itself. Around 2008, a confluence of traumas brought my art school aspirations to a halt. Mainly, the suicide of my best friend weighed so heavily that it crushed me beneath it. The recession had locked me into a near-minimum-wage job, and my outlook was grim. Still, I leaned harder into art. As a reaction to the conceptualism of art school, I began seeking out old books written by painters long dismissed as too 'academic.' I focused on building the basic skills of a visual artist. In addition to drawing and painting, I also acquired skills like bookbinding, woodworking, metalworking, and electronics. Later, life during the pandemic made me realize how important education is. I decided then to formally follow my passion for art and take my second chance at higher education. I enrolled at Georgia State University's Perimeter College and received my A.S. in Art with the highest honors. While there, I was recognized by the Rosemary Cox Award. I am now pursuing a B.F.A. in studio art and a B.A. in Art History at the Ernest G. Welch School of Art & Design at GSU. I am no longer only focused on technical improvement - I want to create artworks that explore new ideas and connect with people. Eventually, I'd like to teach others how to do the same.

The artist has a role to play in finding the deeper, uncommon aspects of the mundane, laboring to bring these new perspectives to not only her immediate peers but also her wider culture. Like finding a new world in a dream, she grasps it firmly in her hand while she returns to the waking plane. If successful, the artist has spelunked into the catacombs of human experience and returned with artifacts in hand. For this, she uses her skills of intuition. Then, she uses her material skills, whatever they may be, to craft and refine a vessel for that artifact that others might be able to engage with and understand. This is the crucial step in which she blossoms from a simple dreamer into an artist. As she develops her skills, she follows the path from amateur to master. Finding these new artifacts of perspective is not just exciting to me - it is critical. I believe my purpose is to use my intuition & tools not only to bring people peace and joy but also to open their minds to new points of view and new solutions to the problems we are facing as a species. Authenticity and creativity are underutilized tools in humanity's toolbox. I believe the artist can, along her path but especially in her mature form, act as a compass, guiding us back to authenticity and helping us remember who we are. The artist can craft a message or experience to trigger in our souls an anamnesis that restores us to whole human beings and fits us squarely into our people and our planet. Humanity is at a crossroads, and I hope that my art will have some small part to play in pushing us down the better road. This is a mission I have only recently discovered for myself. For some time, I slowly built skills while trying to survive and find my sense of purpose. Finding this new directive has given me energy that I did not know before - now, I hope to use that energy to chart my path from the dreamer to the artist.

Many creative people struggle with assigning value to their work. Sometimes, that means struggling to price artwork for sale. Lately, for me, the struggle has been finding the value in my work beyond what it can do for me. Can my creative output give something back to those who interact with it? Is it possible to give someone joy in paint or any other medium? Hope? A solution to a problem? We live in a rather harsh and unforgiving system of our own design in which many of us are struggling to exist. Inside this system, it can become difficult to grow into our authentic selves. It is difficult to subvert abusive and oppressive systems in favor of partnership and progress. It beats us down and wears us out. We feel ashamed of our authenticity, forgetting ourselves and each other. But, I believe the artist has a role to play: Finding the deeper, uncommon aspects of the mundane and laboring to bring these new perspectives not just to her immediate peers but also to her broader culture. Like finding a new world in a dream, she grasps it firmly while she returns to the waking plane. If successful, the artist has spelunked into the catacombs of human experience and returned with artifacts in hand. These feelings, perspectives, and concepts she delivers to the world. My goal for myself is to become an artist who can play that role. At the very least, I want my work to encourage peace and thoughtfulness. But I hope to inspire others someday to pursue their authenticity. I want my education to shine gently through my work and hopefully represent the best I have to offer. That is why I've chosen to complete my degree in Studio Arts.

As a creative person, my favorite piece of art changes from time to time. But currently, Whistler's "Nocturne in Black and Gold: The Falling Rocket" is my obsession. The work was painted in 1875 and was, apparently, the subject of some controversy. But to modern eyes, it feels so fresh. For a painter, there is much to learn from it. The first time I saw it, I was struck by two of its qualities - color and abstraction. Whistler has painted his view almost in monochrome, dividing it into golden lights and bluish-black shadows. While the shadows dominate this night scene, sparkling golden fireworks punctuate the sky and glow in the smoke as they fall into the water. The showering sparks are almost spattered paint, but in effect they seem light and airy. The compliment of the saturated gold fires against the night creates a warmth and intensity that I can feel. Whistler's technique in dividing the scene by dark and light is also highly abstract. It isn't immediately obvious what we are looking at, which is likely why it stirred up a controversy in the artist's day. To me, however, this is an invitation to sit with the piece and let it soak in. Just like a dark night, our pupils widen and adjust. As the image develops, we see water, a dark mass of trees, distant buildings obscured by smoke, and sparkling fireworks just after their initial burst. My feeling is that this work is an absolute masterpiece. Whistler conquers color and abstraction in a way that evokes a sense of nostalgia or even sentimentalism. When looking at it, I recall summer fireworks in the small towns where I grew up. Eyes blinded by a flash, sparks falling, and smoke lingering in the air.

My favorite discovery is a recent one: On September 8th, 2016, OSIRIS-REx launched from Earth into solar orbit, achieving a similar orbital period as Earth. Its target was to reach the asteroid 101955 Bennu. It made use of a single gravity assist from the Earth when it crossed paths with the planet about one year after launch. This maneuver gave it the boost required to catch up with Bennu. When close images of 101955 Bennu were beamed back, NASA's astronomers were quite surprised at what they saw. OSIRIS-REx’s mission is to visit Bennu, analyze it, and ultimately collect a surface sample for return to Earth. It has successfully collected a sample and is now completing its return phase. It will return the collected regolith samples to the Earth next year. Scientists chose to sample Bennu because it is an ancient asteroid and will provide new insight into the formation of our solar system. It is also expected to contain organic compounds, which may give clues concerning the building blocks of life. Although the sample is still in return flight, there have already been unforeseen discoveries. Scientists detected clay, which forms in the presence of water: a clue to Bennu’s origins. But images revealed my favorite unexpected discovery: Bennu’s surface was covered in boulders when scientists had predicted that its surface should be relatively smooth. The tallest such boulder reaches 70 feet above Bennu’s surface. The differentiated surface gives a human sense of scale not often achieved in astronomy photos. The result is that Bennu has the charming appearance of a tiny planet à la The Little Prince. I think that Antoine de Saint-Exupéry would have approved!

1. Write about a time when you experienced the arts in your community. How did it impact you? I'm fortunate to know Angela Bortone, a local Atlanta artist who asked me to help her complete her mural "Floral Choral" in Coan Park. "Floral Choral" was a mural designed to represent the surrounding communities with a symbol in each corner. Since I usually work on a smaller scale, learning from Angela as we executed her vision was a fantastic experience. Working with Angela changed my preconceptions of the size and the impact of public art. As we worked, residents would stop by with their feedback and appreciation. I soon realized how community artworks engage people and reshape spaces. "Floral Choral" transformed a cracked concrete square into something beautiful that could represent the people who live around the park. The experience planted a seed in my mind, and I hope to have the chance to create work for a community space one day. 2. Oddly enough, the experience that comes to mind wasn't in an art class but in a calculus class. Calculus is a challenging subject for many students, myself included. In truth, math is my weakest subject. But Mr. Elliot's course was different - he engaged each of us as individuals and found ways to motivate us even when we were struggling. He'd set the mandatory curriculum aside when a more outside-the-box approach would reach us. From our perspective, Mr. Elliot was genuinely invested in our success. He was patient but firm in his demands from us. Then again, he asked us to do only what we thought we couldn't, not what we actually couldn't. This teaching style probably had something to do with his ability as a coach. It would be generous to say that all of us in that class struggled with math. But, that year, we all learned calculus. I brought that experience forward: I could learn anything if I put in the work and took the proper perspective. 3. Living in Atlanta, I've seen so many ways that the arts help communities. Art can improve neighborhood spaces through beautification. It can engage people and motivate political action. It can inspire and invigorate a community of artists to grow around it. It can also represent a community or memorialize a person or event that is important to them. I have a project in development for that last statement. Like everyone, I was affected by the pandemic and shocked by the massive loss of life it caused. The strange thing about a pandemic, unlike an accident or terrorist attack, is that the casualties don't happen all at once. Instead, we are watching an hourglass fill slowly with pain and loss. However, I believe that the pandemic should be memorialized like any other significant loss. My project, Numbers, would be a sculptural work in the form of walls, prisms, or cubes covered with cast miniature human figures. The figures might be represented in bronze or cast concrete. I hope that both adults and children will be drawn to touch the textural surface created by thousands of figures. But the meaning should slowly become clear: each figure represents one life lost due to the pandemic. I want the enormity of the numbers to sink in, but I don't wish for the work to be entirely somber. Instead, I want it to create a beautiful and textured space that attracts the public for a moment of quiet mindfulness and reflection. 4. When I attended college for the first time at 18, I wasn't ready. I did very well academically, but that was not the problem. On the one hand, I was struggling with mental health issues that went undiagnosed at the time. On the other hand, I felt incredible pressure to go to college immediately from my parents and others. With the 2008 crash came additional financial pressures. Eventually, the pressure became too much, and I couldn't continue. I had to leave school to save my health. From that experience, I learned that nobody is responsible for your life but yourself. The truth is that leaving was the right choice for me because I had to prioritize my well-being, even if that meant going my own way. I know that I believed I had failed. For a while, I didn't think I'd ever finish college. But, having gone through so much growth and healing, I realized that now is the time to finish my degree. I'm putting all my abilities to that task. Now, I'm at the end of an associate's degree. I will transition to the Ernest G. Welch School of Art & Design to complete a BFA in the fall. I'm so grateful to have this chance, an opportunity to become educated and to redefine my limits.

There was an unexpected benefit to being a poor latch-key kid: getting to spend a lot of time watching shows like NOVA and Reading Rainbow that fed my interests in science and art. There was also a channel that played frequent re-runs of Star Trek. It wasn't the science fiction themes or action that would grab me, but Patrick Stewart's character, Jean-Luc Picard. Picard filled the role of a positive male influence I sorely lacked. He was principled, educated, intelligent, and loved the arts. He could solve crises intelligently and with compassion, qualities I rarely saw at home. My older sister taught me the alphabet very early. Having my letters, I started to read voraciously. I'm profoundly grateful to her for giving me that gift. I remember clearly my first-grade teacher's disbelief at my having read all the books available for free reading. I had strength moving forward, and throughout my childhood, my grades were the one place I didn't struggle. But changing jobs, living situations, divorce, and other factors meant my family moved every two years. Due to this, I was lost in the system. I struggled to make connections with my teachers. Though my grades were good, I was never encouraged to push further. When I took the SAT, my school counselor was shocked at my critical reading and writing scores. I was shocked too: why hadn't anybody told me I could succeed? Lacking direction, I decided to follow in my sister's footsteps and head to Massachusetts College of Art and Design in 2006. There I found a wonderful world of art and was forever hooked. I knew that I was an artist and would forever pursue art. But in 2008, the financial crisis hit. My father flaked on his contribution, and I could tell the burden on my mother was heavy. I had to abandon school. Prospects for art school dropouts are limited, especially in a contracting economy. I worked in foodservice, retail, IT. I took seasonal work at a vineyard pruning vines in the early, frozen spring of New England. I led several lifetimes in different careers and different places for about a decade. All the while, I was developing my craft and art. By the end of 2018, I was finally able to support myself as a full-time independent artist. Then 2020 came, and everything changed again. My income as an artist dried up - who buys artwork in a time of such uncertainty? Further, a stunning lack of critical thinking was laid bare in our culture and politics. Crassness, violence, and ignorance seemed to be winning. I used my extra time to reflect on my life and realized how my potential had been wasted. At first, I was angry, but I soon turned that anger into resolve. I would complete my degree. I found a way to make it work: transfer my existing credits to Georgia State University's Perimeter College and complete an associate's degree. Then, I could transition to Georgia State University's Ernest G. Welch School of Art & Design, a fantastic art program right here in Atlanta. So, that is what I am doing. I will complete my associate's this semester and move towards a BFA in the fall. I've never been so committed to anything in my life. My institutional GPA is 4.0. I'm doing everything I can to make my full education possible, but I am independent in this effort. I'm profoundly grateful for this opportunity, in which you consider students of life like me who have taken winding paths in pursuit of betterment.

in 2008, I left college early to look for work due to the financial crisis. The following years were tough, but I made ends meet and slowly built my skills as an artist. Today, I support myself with those skills. If the past few years have taught me anything, it is that a good education is absolutely critical. Not only for my own well-being but for the well-being of my nation and the world. That's why I've committed myself to pursue my education to its furthest possible end, starting with completing my bachelor's at Georgia State University.

I haven't been sharing as much of my art on social media over the past year. 2020 really shook up what I was doing, how I found work, and what that work would entail. It also was a year of great personal growth and I have been spending a lot more time and energy on myself instead of chasing commissions. In my path over the past few years as a full-time artist, I have learned a few points and come to some conclusions. First, I believe to be successful, you must be flexible but specialize in what you do. That is, you must be able to take opportunities as they come even if they are unexpected. That said, over-generalizing can be a pitfall as well - it is important to find a happy medium. Another key insight I had is what I call 'Tokyo Theory.' Tokyo Theory is the idea that Tokyo is such a populated city that it can support almost any kind of niche business. Our increasingly connected world is like this as well. If we pursue a larger and more global audience, we will find the support & patrons we need to thrive. In this way, I can have confidence that someone out there will want to support the sort of artwork I want to make: I just have to find them. The third insight I had is that it is crucial to connect with your neighbors - The artist cannot exist in a vacuum. This insight acts as a counterbalance to my Tokyo Theory. I have a community and neighbors directly surrounding me who I want to engage with and support. At least some of them likely want to engage with and support me as well. So, we can reach out and improve our entire neighborhood. Of course, me the artist, and me the artist as a business are pretty much inextricable. So, at the same time that I have been refining my business, I have been experimenting with new mediums and trying to loosen up so that I can express myself more clearly, especially on an emotional level. Part of doing that meant stepping away from social media so that I didn't have social pressures in the back of my mind while I was creating. Now I'm feeling much more like myself: more integrated, more creative, more energetic. I'll be sharing not only some of what I've done over the past year but also more current work going forward. I'm not going to be as self-curating as I used to be, which means more sketches, more experiments, and more 'bad' art that doesn't quite fit my 'business model. I hope that in doing so I will find more ways to connect with others and, eventually, become an inspiration to others seeking authenticity and change in the world.

I began my adult path as an artist, as many do, by attending art school for completely the wrong thing. I first enrolled at Massachusetts College of Art & Design in Boston to study industrial design, that is, the art of conceiving, designing, and developing objects for people to use and enjoy. The model making and technical drawing involved in the field of ID amazed me, and more importantly, it was the major of my recently graduated older sister, who was (and still is) a great positive influence in my life. However, my interest in ID was soon stolen away by the bohemian revelry of MassArt's SIM program - a multimedia performance & installation-based major that easily ranks among to most difficult majors to explain to your parents, or truly, to anybody at all. Every critique session was like a microcosmic Cirque du Soleil, and I was immediately enamored. So long as my work didn't look, sound, or feel too much like any of the more traditional arts, I could move in almost any creative direction. There was ample support and equipment available (assuming you could answer the basement troll's riddles unerringly) and my peers and I produced some of the most compelling, though also some of strangest, works in the college art scene. But something nagged me. Deep inside I had creative sparks originally kindled by fiery explosions of autumn foliage, the cool low lights of the winter sun, and quiet forests softly pierced by bird song. In short, my creative spirit was driven by beauty rather than the conflict that the contemporary art establishment which prevailed relished. I produced half-hearted installations with buried televisions and broken electronics which the professors glowed over. I felt like a con. When I presented musical pieces meant to communicate peace and beauty, I was told by the presiding professor to consider changing schools. In a way, I ended up taking that advice. I left MassArt with the blessings of some and the curses of others. After some soul searching and way-finding, I realized that the traditional paths of fine art, were where I'd find the skillset which I hoped would help me in self-expression. Discovering no immediate outlet, I took to studying and practicing independently with as much discipline as I could arouse. Nature, I decided, is the true teacher, but to play it safe I sought out and hoarded every good text I could obtain on the matter. Eventually, I returned to New Hampshire where I would study in near isolation for some years. Despite the hardness of winters there, the complete and transitory beauty of that place inspired me every day. The ever-changing gamuts of color, in my opinion, put even Monet's dynamic Rouen Cathedrals to shame. In that natural landscape, I achieved my greatest accomplishment - teaching myself to draw & paint. What makes New Hampshire beautiful also makes it cold, hard, and sparsely populated. For a young artist, there isn't much opportunity to be challenged and grow. So, I made my way down to Atlanta, Georgia - a thriving hub of all art forms and a constant source of active inspiration. It is in this place that I work and live today, inspired by other artists of all types, big glorious Georgian clouds, and the sound of cicada buzzing in the live oaks. Furthermore, I also reconnected with humanity. I spent much too long alone, focused on improving my skills. Now, my eyes are opened to the crossroads at which we stand as a species. My next goal: to gain the experience and wisdom to do what I can as an artist to guide us down a better road.

Since childhood, I have been passionate about world languages and cultures, but due to my family's circumstances, I wasn't able to travel outside of North America. My grandmother spoke Spanish. In high school I was told that there were no openings in Spanish, so I took Latin instead. Little did I know that Latin would open me up to new grammatical structures and languages. Still, I was largely confined to New England in my travels. Then in adulthood, I had the opportunity to study Japanese and visit Japan for 3 weeks. It was such an eye-opening and inspiring experience to be able to engage with a culture so different than my own. Japanese is about as different from English as it gets: my Latin studies would not help me there. I even spent a few days with a kind host family and got a peek into daily life. Furthermore, Japanese culture is so different than our own. Now, with increasing globalization, we do share a cultural lexicon. But even so, the motivation of Japanese society (collectivism) versus our own (individualism) came as a shock. When I touch down back in Huston, Texas, I was struck by certain contrasts. In Japan, the airport was clean and organized - in fact, pretty much everywhere was clean and organized. There was a sense throughout the country that people cared about their environment and did not want to leave it worse than they found it. For example, Japanese people will carry small bits of trash, such as a candy bar wrapper, with them for long periods if there is no trash can. They will go so far as to carry small trash bags in their backpack or purse. In the U.S. I've had someone complain to me that they got in trouble for littering. "If they didn't want me to litter there should have been a trash can," I remember them arguing. The Huston airport was dirty. There was trash & grime. Aside from that, being grilled by my own country's border agent was a disheartening experience. We seem so used to a military-style police force that we expect to be abused. In my case, the agent seemed determined to trip me up with repeat questions and aggression. In contrast, the officers in Japan treated me, a foreigner entering their nation, with respect and kindness. I had similar experiences in the coming weeks after I had made my way home to Atlanta. Contrasting my experience home & abroad made me realize that the status quo in the United States, which we are taught to believe is unchangeable, is not only changeable but also apparently in a state of self-destruction. I believe that our own culture stands at a crossroads, but I do not have the answers. I do know that broadening my own experience with alternative cultures will help me find those answers. I'd like to not only re-visit East Asia but also Europe, where forms of social democracy & attitudes of collectivism seem to be better flourishing than they are here at home. In a few years, I would like to pursue a master's, perhaps at the Sandberg Instituut in the Netherlands. It seems that international experience is key to shaking off the malaise of the status quo.

Moebius (Jean Giraud) was a french artist & illustrator who created new fantastic realities. To say that Moebius had a unique vision would be an understatement: the world had not seen artwork such as his until he made it. What I find most inspiring about Moebius is how his artwork seems to inspire other artists to find and amplify their own creative intuition. Through this, I believe Moebius has contributed to the growth of authenticity in myself and throughout the world.