Written in October 2020 for VIS 41 in college — a sophomore, asked to compile a set of visual influences and write about them. I opened by admitting I don't really connect with art. I have since built a life around it. The closing line surprised me when I wrote it and still does.

A reflection on creative paralysis and the longing to dive back into the ocean of imagination.

There is something strange about loneliness.It creeps up quietly, gives no warning, and leaves a chill when it goes. It’s not the word itself that frightens—it’s the understanding of what it means. It warps the mind and heart, plunging like a knife into every pore. To be lonely is to be present yet apart, to watch life unfold beyond your reach no matter how hard you try to hold on. It is a terrible thing, loneliness—once unleashed, it never stops. Shadows move all around you,

The air feels alive. After escaping the musty confines of the plane, I was greeted by crisp January air that, somehow, felt like the middle of spring. After two days of chill, I was pleasantly surprised one morning by the warm rays of a sun that had been hiding for what felt like eons. Basking in that gold light, the beauty of my surroundings struck me as I was introduced to my new home in its pre-spring glory. Bees flitted around, landing on little purple flowers a quarter t

The wooden drum rolled down the hill, enjoying the feeling of the wind against its fibers. Branches brushed past, striking the drum, Creating a melody that resonated with the heartbeat below. Reaching the cliff's edge, the drum paused -- Was the feeling of liftoff worth the plummet to destruction? Resigning itself to the monotony of safety, the barrel froze in place, surveying the sea of lights below. Fibers began to snap and bend as the crate inched its way down the slippery