Currently, I’m on my path to becoming an art teacher, in hopes of inspiring students the same way my teachers did with me. My favorite teachers were the ones who supported me despite the jeers thrown behind my back about the limited career options the arts held in store for me. I felt seen and if I could share any percentage of that with a child learning to grow into their own and if I could give some guidance, it would be as if I’m extending a hand to a younger version of myself who needed to know; to know that there was someone who understood that society’s box was too small for the free spirits who want nothing more than to let loose and live freely. Being the only art major, in an engineer dominant family, has led me towards places and opportunities I never envisioned myself having. Growing up, I was surrounded by STEM programs, academic priority, and expected to follow the path laid out for me- the wider road. Ever since 2019, I’ve been taking commissions of my artwork. A clear rapport of clarity and constant communication with customers to make sure their end product was as desired. I even had the opportunity to assist in the makings of a zine raising donations for the Yemen crisis the same year. With two art shows under my belt (The South Windsor High School Senior Art Show in 2022 and South Windsor High School Graduate Art Show in 2023), I grew an appreciation for the effort and organization it takes to make large scale exhibitions a reality. For those who held disbelief in my future in the arts, I’m proud that in my current university, the University of Connecticut, I had the opportunity to spent my Fall 2024 semester in Florence, Italy under the ISI Florence Studio Arts program- all thanks to my dedicated teacher, Professor Ray DiCapua. If I’m to become a teacher, a career plan in the making, I can’t only have my technical skills to sustain me. Learning is a constant part of the process, as well as acknowledging that it never truly stops. But taking what I have learned and throwing these pebbles into the water, letting the ripples influence the course of others- of students is something I want to pay back. Helping students like my art teachers helped me realize that an art career was even possible- much less probable. In order to reach that summit, I have to learn the “larger scale”, all things I have yet to learn at UCONN. After studying abroad, I’ve gained an irreversible respect and realization that the arts is everything one could imagine it could be. UCONN has an amazing program called the IDEA Grant that would pay to help realize any creation I could ever hope to create. With plans on the horizon for the completion of this year-long project, I need the support to attend UCONN next year. As with any project, the first step is motivation, a general plan, and follow through. I’ve worked alongside amazing artists at my school and absorbed as much as I can, volunteered as much as I can, in order to cultivate my potential and curiosity. Because then, reaching the precipice of the mountain wouldn’t simply be a mentality, it would be leaving the bed in the mornings and heading towards mud painted boots, cascading winds seeking harmony through the trees, and taking this chance at reaching a higher elevation.

My grandma has been a staple in my life since the moment I was born. With every ounce of that Peruvian stubborn tenacity, she was my greatest supporter and provider of the realest and toughest form of love. She was my third parent and provided for me necessities when my parents couldn’t. Every action I take leads with her voice in my head guiding me towards the best path; mi angel guardante. My grandma’s essence is framed by this unorthodox shoebox. It’s a reminder of where we came from and where we are today. She paved the path for my family to come to America and for that I’m eternally grateful. Privilege became a word in our family because of her efforts which are now memorialized through this portrait. Even the grapes held so gently in the midst of her experienced hands, worn only through age and time; something she’s both been blessed with and blessed us in turn. Mi abuelita is every bit of tenacious and determined one would expect from the elderly. With every passing hospital visit we expect the worst, but as her star sign, Gemini (the Lovers card within the shoebox) dictates, her double sided nature twists the plot and we have the opportunity to bring her back home again; also represented through the 9 of spades with her seemingly 9 lives every time we can take her out of the hospital. The composition and set design is inspired by memorials, in the way the framing is near symmetrical if not for the alluded perspective slightly shifted to emphasize the dimensionality and give the piece life. It's my intention to express both celebration and remembrance for her, in hopes that others can return that sentiment with vigor for the very same people in their own lives. From the rough edges of the podium to the textured wall behind the cardboard box, I wanted to show the attention to the beauty of the roughness. Despite being in the background, it’s still there; presence never forgotten. Needless to say, my inspiration draws from the most influential aspect of my life. From morals to mannerisms, composure to actualizing my dreams, and staying humble to being true to my roots. It was easy, then, when this project was assigned for my drawing class that I would end up choosing my Grandmother to keep me company in spirit as I drew her visage. We may not have as much as those around us but we’re not alone and we will never be forgotten.

Masking isn’t something typically considered to be someone’s constant since the day they were born and yet it has been part of my life since before I realized I was queer- nevermind being nonbinary. Donned this role of “daughter”, “overachiever”, “honors student”, I’ve been putting on a straight face and doing what I can to convince the world that I'm everything that they expect me to be, to convince them that I’m every aspect of shining star that my parents need me to be, convince them that I’m not who I actually am. I promise that I fit your societal norms, understand your social cues, and adhere to your social clock. Of course, I look at the opposite sex and find my sole attraction in such a limiting aspect of the human persona. Of course, I watched the latest season of Love is Blind. It’s within each begrudging moment, as my will struggles to power through the very act of laying down on a bed that suddenly has too-pokey springs and a comforter that weighs on the other side of too much pressure. When the distance between potential and staying at rest feels more than just an eternity. Between the hours that escape through every blink- when did I fall asleep, when did I wake up? The nausea creeping forward, the utter grief is one released from every aching joint; a relief when my bones pop in measured movements as I move away from that sunken bed. Being part of a community that understands me so intrinsically, is revivifying. No expectations for how I have to act, no mannerisms to follow, no gendered anything that can hinder who I am. Juggling between the two separate worlds becomes easy as they blend and become one. I’m not dead named every day, I’m not “hijita”, I’m the me that broke from the first generation line of engineers in my family and figured that art was more my speed. I’m reminded, besides friends who affirm and validate my existence holistically, rather than partly, that I can be who I am without any strings attached. The same way art has a realm of freedom that engineering doesn’t. Limited only by the parameters I set for myself, engineering is obstructed by the very math that makes it. I’m allowed to say no to being compartmentalized in a box. Who I am isn’t determined by first judgements and outdated expectations. I’m on my path to becoming an art teacher, in hopes of inspiring students the same way my teachers did with me. They’re part of my discovery into my new state of being just as much as the community. My favorite teachers were the ones who asked for preferred names and pronouns, despite the jeers some students threw their way. I felt seen and if I could share any percentage of that with a child learning to grow into their own and if I could give some guidance, it would be as if I’m extending a hand to a younger version of myself who needed to know; to know that there was someone who understood that society’s box was too small for the free spirits who want nothing more than to let loose and live freely.

“Failure” could have been another title for this piece yet it’s named after its predecessor: the dreaded pen. When I came into my classroom, dejected, with a pen in my hand and fully intent on drawing its small mechanical bits piece by piece, my teacher took one look at me- believed in my potential- and threw me out of the classroom to find a new subject (granted, he threw everyone else out of the class as well). I was never struck by such a visceral and all-encompassing feeling of stagnancy. For all Drawing 2 was, I felt as if nothing could save me from the dreaded apathy of an empty project. However, as I dragged my feet out of the studio and into the streets, I found my muse broken and battered on the side of the curb. Its wheels were crushed and run over, metal on the verge of rusting, and handlebars whose bandages were worn out of use. Needless to say, I felt liberated by that broken bicycle; my savior from a basic pen. I think everyone should feel defeated- for the feeling of being completely and unapologetically ripped out of such a slump feel that much sweeter. I saw this bike and it promptly owned my soul. I felt my very essence as an artist being reborn while I began to experiment with three different techniques. The first was a technique from the Renaissance in which the general visage of the composition would be drawn with a touch lighter than a feather and a fair distance away from the canvas; my weapon of choice was a 2H pencil. The second was inspired by a night drawing class in which we were instructed to draw only light or shadow. Considering my tendency to outline, this helped me focus on getting both the figure and the rendering done at an equal pace. While the third was letting the piece live the illusion. And by that, I retract my statement on rendering to emphasize the quality of the line weight, overlaying, and usage of vinyl charcoal. By which, I want to emphasize the blending of the shadows, the hatching for the bandages of the handlebars, and- what finally makes me so effortlessly proud of this piece- the same broken tire with its unruly wires that hypnotized me as a siren does a wandering sailor in an unforgiving sea. Except I was desperate, the world unmotivating, and the bike a light in my shadow. I tackled it, expecting to simply approach it as the rest of the piece with a certain distinct attention towards its anatomy in relation to the other wires (which was the case initially) until I remembered my Drawing 1 teacher’s words of wisdom, “What if you tried seeing what could happen if you let loose?” And so I did. Instead of rendering the wires as I did for the metal in the rest of the piece, I let light and dark imply the depth of the wires for me, considering how composed the rest of the piece already was. Thus, I drew two lines and erased them in areas of dark to imply the continuation of the wire and fulfill the illusion. Then, I picked up my chamois, rendered the background, sprayed my piece with fixative, … and let out a simple satisfied sigh.