Much of my artwork incorporates found objects: little trinkets I find in an old bin of craft supplies, trash and recycling that I gather from around the house, even locations that I often see like a beach or my own closet. My art pieces are delicate, with many only lasting as long as I can get a photo or as long as I’m willing to be a part of the art piece. Every piece is a snapshot of my thoughts in the moment, my way of explaining and recording the world for myself as I’m trying to navigate the modern world. Coming of age in this era is fast-paced and confusing, with constant social change and turmoil as well as contending with deeply-rooted history and culture. With my art, I want to capture the ephemeral changes, the everyday little epiphanies that make up my growth. During sophomore year of high school, my homework began piling up and my grades plummeted as I suddenly became riddled with anxiety. What caused it, I’m not sure–the pandemic, or my sudden pivot from STEM to the arts, or just growing pains–whatever it was, I stopped being able to function. At the time, I felt like depression and anxiety were taking over my entire life, yet I told no one, feeling like I “should” be capable enough to do it alone. It was a vicious cycle, where I felt like a burden to my friends and parents and teachers, and yet I couldn’t tell people about it because I would just exacerbate the issue by forcing them to juggle my mental illness into their lives. My mindset was that, if I make my mental problems into everyone’s problems, then it’s not really my problem anymore, is it? I was afraid that sharing would suddenly turn my mental illness into an excuse, a way to receive platitudes despite my admittedly unhealthy behavior. Fortunately for me, anxiety does not care about anyone’s feelings and forced my hand when I broke down in a panic attack in front of one of my speech coaches. I’ve since been diagnosed with and medicated for anxiety, and I found a therapist to talk through my thoughts with. Finally being able to break and look for help felt like a sigh, a release. My parents would take me on random excursions to grocery shop or get dinner when I got too stuck in my head. My friends would text me stupid reels to make me laugh on my worst days. My teachers encouraged me to get a 504 plan and to come in during lunch or tutorial to turn in homework I couldn’t get it in the exact class it was due. Showing vulnerability wasn’t me foisting my responsibilities and pain onto someone else’s shoulders; rather, my ability to cope expanded because I wasn’t just relying on my mind alone. My base of support grew. My world expanded. Suddenly, living didn’t feel as difficult anymore. I also found respite in working outdoors. Wind blowing or leaves rustling, made me smile and served as a muse. And then I started bringing my computer to write Journalism articles while on a creative roll, and pulling out worksheets for US History, and taking my sketchbook out to capture the little interactions of people walking by. Like a stone rolling down a hill, I built momentum and confidence. My struggles have constantly reminded me how wonderful it can be to simply look out, look up, and examine the world. The world is so big when I can get out of my head. The ugly parts, the things I’m afraid of confronting and the danger that perpetually exists, I’ll face them. The beautiful parts, the little moments of laughter and huge displays of wonder, I’ll face them. I want to be a part of the life I’m living.