As a kid I despised chicken foot soup. I was scared that I would swallow talons or something (laughable I know). Yet all I crave at 21 years old, is the savory smell of my grandmas chicken foot soup. For my dad to dish me a bowl and lie saying “it’s only chicken noodle soup Gaby”. In late March of 2023, my beloved grandmother Beulah Perry passed away. She was loud, bold, and had a heart like no other. One of my biggest inspirations in life was gone. Yet it still feels as if she’s here with me? I’m haunted by her presence, I keep thinking she’s playing some cruel joke on me and that she is actually here. The day of her death I went to her house and sat on my uncles bed. I expected her to emerge out of thin air. To scream at me in patois. To berate me for “sitting in the dark”, waiting for her to berate me and force me to sit outside as she tended to her many tropical fruits. I’m a senior in college and first generation American. I thought she would be here to see me walk across that stage? I was class of 2020 in Highschool, that opportunity was robbed from me. Now my own grandmother won’t see cross. I worked myself to the bone academically, yet all I want to hear is her voice telling me how she “had to walk miles to get to her school in Montego Bay, and how I’m incredibly fortunate for this educational opportunity”. My grandma is the reason why I’m in the United States. I will continue to wear my heritage like a badge of honor, and make my grandma proud. I miss you always grandma and I love you.

I was once a little black girl. A child who was told by society “you cannot pursue your dream”, “you won’t make any money in the real world”, and lastly “you’ll be a struggling artist”. I grew up being told by my black immigrant parents, that I had to work ten times harder than my peers in order to achieve. They knew how society treats young black children, especially little black girls. Art was my escape from discrimination and my escape from my biggest of fears. I was told I wasn’t “beautiful” that I wasn’t “desirable”, so I put all my feelings into my work. I would create loud pieces of art that expressed my emotions, they gave me the space to see myself as beautiful. Despite being treated differently by my peers. Thought I was sexualized, fetishized, and bullied for my appearance as a child. I remember getting up one day and being tired of letting the world get to me? Deciding enough was enough, I decided to stand up for myself in all aspects of my life. I’m not sure what change incited such confidence in myself, but I know art is what gave me the push to not be ashamed of who I am. Why let the world make fun of the way I was created? As humans we are the original art pieces, beautifully shaped and crafted despite our many differences. Though our society may be opinionated and we all have a right to our beliefs. No one has the power to dictate who you are, what you should do with your life, and what your purpose is. We all have the power of free will. Art is used for movement. To move people in ways they didn’t know were fundamentally possible. I want to create for people who feel unheard, share their voices through my creations. What many people don’t know is that art is historical. Not only can it express the mind of its creator, but it has the potential to express the emotions of its collective community simultaneously. I don’t want young black children to feel the way I felt about myself as a child. I want them to know they are beautiful and love itself. That is why despite all odds, I defied society itself and became an artist. Currently, I am a senior at the University of Central Florida majoring in Visual Arts Management. Even if society does not believe in me, I believe in myself and I know I will make a change.

I’m not sure the exact age I fell in love with art. What I do remember was the first time I picked up a pencil and decided to draw whatever came to mind. A six year old doesn’t think about how good their drawing is. They allow themselves to feel and whatever flows will appear on paper. Somehow being twenty years old, I haven’t lost the inner child within me. There were many times I was hesitant to dip my paintbrush in water. Gouache can be difficult to maneuver, she dries quicker in comparison to other mediums. That’s how I once felt in a world of other artists, easily overlooked and difficult to maneuver. At fifteen years old you feel as if you have something to prove, whether it’s to yourself or to the world that’s a weight on your back. Your skeptical about what you can accomplish. The most beautiful thing about gouache is her versatility. She may not be the easiest to use, yet that’s what makes her unique. Her uniqueness makes it pointless to compare her to other mediums that are just as beautiful. To create in my eyes, means to create without the intention of surpassing another or being the “best”. You’re not looking for the understanding of the world, you are looking inward because you are the center of you’re truth. I want to teach other young artists to focus on creating for themselves, to let the earth sway them around and pick up what remains. We create to tell our truths. The truth may not always be pretty or valuable to the eyes of others; but it’s valuable to yourself and that’s what matters. Add here- Gouache is symbolic of what art should mean; unique, versatile, temperamental, and beautiful in it’s own way. Gouache, just as all mediums of art, allows us to express feelings. The gift of feeling, is truly a blessing we all can convey in different expressions.