Eyes are a fascinating part of our body. It allows us to see things that are happening. It observes everything that passes in front of our face. This part of our anatomy is used daily, but I take it to a next level.

Art is something that I am most passionate about. Words cannot describe how much I cherish this. It is not only a gift that resides in me, but it is also everything that I see. I consider everything to be a form of art whether it is nature, music, portrayals, humans, dancing, and so much more. If I could, I would capture every moment in a portrait of a still life.

In my eyes, regular and simple things in our existence are a living painting. The aurora borealis that dances beautifully in the air, water that flows all around me, the stars that wink and sparkle in the darkest nights. The sun that warms my spirit, the moon that illuminates the very depth of my element, and the music that drifts in my ears. Music is something that is created by the passions of the heart. When played exquisitely, the sound waves vibrate my soul with excitement. When my eyes lay on a wonderful piece of art, it absorbs the variety of colors and lingers in my mind. I love the feeling of the goose bumps that tickle my skin when I run across anything that I find beautiful. The human body emits it own special way of art. The body itself is a living, breathing sculpture, yet it can create on its own. With my hands, I can paint pictures and produce music. With my mind, I can imagine things and ideas that take its form into writing and pictures. With my eyes, I see inspiration that fuels into my thoughts. When I skillfully create something, it feels like complete rapture that overpowers my body.

I have always known I had some talent in the artistic field. When I was younger, I would draw pictures of cartoons or favorite games and show them to my parents. When I took art for the first time, I realized that I was actually really good at what I was doing. My teacher presented pieces of artwork by many different artists and had us to mimic their style. Although my particular interest was animation, I had ideas that were unique. My teacher often praised me when he saw that each day I was improving. Over time I began to work with paints and clay sculptures. Although I enjoyed the feeling of molding my own art, I found out I had an allergic reaction to the soft earth. I was excused from that area and was introduced to paints instead.

Painting was a new thrill for me and is my area of expertise. When I hold a paintbrush, I feel as though I hold the whole world in my fingertips. With each caress of the brush, I release vivid colors and emotion onto a once dull canvas. The scents of the paints dance in the air and as I breathe it in, it stimulates my inner essence. The alluring, vibrant shades flow out of my skin as I dip a brush into the pigments. The colors only exist when a heart is poured into it's work. A true piece of art is colorless unless passion is added. A part of me is released onto the canvas by each stroke of my brush. Every time someone looks at my creation, they are peering into the depths of my soul. I constantly try to perfect my creation; always try to improve of what is there. Once the image is complete, the satisfaction is euphoria seeing something wondrous staring back at me.

I can usually tell by the brush strokes if a person poured their heart onto their work. Take the picture that hangs in my living room for an example. It is a lovely portrait of a landscape from afar. However, when I look up close, I can see that the artist rushed through just to finish and sell his product.

Unfortunately, I have only worked with acrylics meaning that I have to work fast in order to race against time. Otherwise if I do not, the color will dry quickly thus making it difficult to blend colors evenly. Although I must work rather quickly with the paints, it still takes me a good four hours to be pleased with my work. I always repaint everything multiple times to make sure there are no “white spots”. I often went to school early to paint in order to start off a peaceful day. My friends would never go to the art room with me because to them “the stench was unbearable”. I find that statement to be insulting because I love the smell of the oil pastels, acrylics, and oil paints that remain in the air. Stains on my clothes were like a trademark for me. The sensation of cool, slippery pigments on my skin is familiar and delightful. The sound of each brush grazing against the rough white canvas is what I live for.

My parents do not fully realize my passions for art, although my mother is far more understanding than my father is. When she sees one of my drawings or paintings, she admires and showers me with compliments. My father is a bit insensitive about this particular area. Since he is a realist and I am more of an idealist, he scoffs at my love of creativity claiming that I never paint anymore. He does encourage me somewhat, but it is hard to thrive with such little support. When I finish my education in college and settle down, I want to build my own private art studio where I am free to do whatever my heart sings.