Art became a part of my life at an extremely young age. One of my earliest memories is that of my grandmother and me painting acorns to look like miniature Santa Clauses. From that point on, I began to take an interest in art. As a child, my mother bought me a variety of art supplies and enlisted me in art classes to continue my interest in drawing and painting. I always knew I had some talent in art, but I also began to experience life outside of art. I stopped taking art classes one summer when I began to play sports. Instead of drawing, I swam; instead of painting, I played softball. Life changes for everyone, and at that particular time, life changed for me from art to athletics. My parents supported me regardless of what I chose to do as long as I was doing something. Therefore, their focus, similar to mine, switched from buying me art supplies to buying me new bats. My summers now were not filled with charcoal pencils, erasers, brushes, or paint tubes, but instead were filled with softballs, gloves, swim caps, and goggles.

Occasionally, I would grab a pencil and sketchbook and start to draw, but I never seriously got back into the original intensity of which I formerly enjoyed art. Every once in a while, I would feel the urge to paint, to draw, to sketch–anything to express myself–but the urges would pass, and again, I would focus on sports. Looking back now, the world seemed boring and dull to me then. I was not taking in the beauty of everything, the simpleness of our extraordinary world. Nothing awed me. I was walking around blind, not seeing the everyday wonder right in front of my eyes. My life continued for quite a while without art, my focus instead on winning a game or becoming the best. Everything seemed to revolve around sports.
However, my life changed again when I decided to take an art class in high school. I had been away from it for so long, and I thought I might give it a shot to see how it feels again. I remember how things started to change for me after that art class. My eyes opened at last again, and I could see the world I had been missing out on for so long. I wanted to paint every color I experienced; I wanted to sketch every action I witnessed. Softball practices after school became enjoyable again for the simple reason that the practices gave me time to be outside and be inspired. I asked myself, “How could I have forgotten such a huge part of my childhood? How could I have thrown art out of my life?” With every free chance I receive, I find myself sketching, drawing, and thinking about future projects. The whole world inspires me. I have never before seen such beauty in everyday acts, such as a sunrise or a leaf falling from a tree. Life around me screams to be depicted; every color wants to be painted. As much as the world wants me to draw it, I want to draw the world. Yet the desire is not merely a “want” but has become more of a “need.” I find myself in times of great stress, sadness, or happiness, painting and drawing much more than I normally would. Not until the harsh times in my life did I truly understand the urges I once received to let my feelings flow onto paper.
Art became my outlet, my relaxation, and finally, my means of discovering myself. As I tried to pick a job in which I would like to become, no profession ever struck me as something I would want to do for the rest of my life. I considered becoming a doctor, dermatologist, or teacher, but none of these seemed like jobs for me. With my rekindled love of art, though, I seemed to know without question that no matter what I chose, my profession had to incorporate art. I searched for a few days, and then, since I developed an interest in psychology, the answer became quite clear to me that I desired to be an art therapist. Just as I used art as my outlet and escape, I wanted to help others use art to overcome their problems. I hope that I can help others, just as I helped myself, to find not only the world but to also find themselves through art.