During the pandemic, my art studio held all of the classes online, and although I appreciated being able to continue drawing at home, I wasn't able to experience the joy of being at a studio in the process where I could be inspired by those around me. This artwork was my first drawing after being able to go to the studio in person again, and the process of creating it was really memorable to me since I was finally able to connect with my teachers as well as my friends, which was something I felt deprived of while taking classes on Zoom. I started this drawing in early 2022, which was the year of the Tiger in the Chinese zodiac calendar. I enjoyed being able to illustrate my culture through a lively and colorful scene to represent the bravery and playfulness believed to characterize someone who was born in the year of the Tiger. I chose to use watercolors and colored pencils because they have always been my favorite mediums to use for my drawings. To capture the vibrancy of this scene, I first laid down a simple layer of watercolor, adding in shading and blending here and there, and then I went in with colored pencils to clean it up and define all of my details. Not only did I improve by skills in using these mediums, but I also felt the community and spirit of being back in the studio again, which is represented through this animated scene.

This piece was reinvented twice over, as was I. In debate, but moreso as an internet citizen, I’ve heard my fair share of mundane discussion. This piece originally represented the state of online speech, where no one listens nor speaks meaningfully– head-shaped mugs: eyeless, unwilling to see; openmouthed, speaking; hollow-eared, unlistening. To carry out my vision, I traveled to Jingdezhen, China, my mom’s hometown, in search of the perfect materials. There, I found the perfect kiln, the perfect glaze, the perfect clay, the perfect tools…I let out a held breath as I closed the kiln’s door, my mugs safely inside. Little did I know, the kiln’s heat would increase slightly too fast. And with one small error, my project literally crumbled overnight. But peering in front of the kiln, searching for a single intact mug, I saw the truth. The bits and pieces of colorful facial parts splattered over each other was stunning, orchestrated chaos. The story behind the cracked clay mouths and broken rims was a testament to what art truly was– not only the result, but the story of creation behind the creation itself. I continue to create for the vivid feeling of liberation in freely splashing bottles of glaze, crumpling a perfect mug, knowing there’s no ugliness to fear because ugliness itself is art. I crave unpredictability. During shipment back to the US, these pieces were lost. I will never see them again, but that’s okay. I’ve learned to covet beauty, and to let it go.

I've always been interested in discovering more about Japanese Architecture, especially now that I understand the complexities of Japanese carpentry. I came across an article online on specifics of Japanese residential buildings, and it included a bird's eye view of the structure, a side view of the interiors, and a simple sketch of exteriors. My idea was to take inspiration from the structure with my research to brainstorm a completed, revamped version of a traditional Japanese building. I began by printing out a scaled-up blueprint and constructing the base, in other words, the "Enoshita" of the building. The wooden sticks are cut with precision knives and connected with hot glue. The construction process is of repetition and preciseness. Halfway through construction, the building began taking shape as I worked on separating the interior rooms with thin wooden sticks. I submerged the base of the model with plaster, therefore getting rid of any unevenness of the base. I decided to make a detachtable roof with double-sided tape; the goal was that you could take it off to appreciate the details and complexity of the model or reattach it to showcase the entirety of the building. The finished model had flaws in which some wooden stick measurements were off; in that case, I used sandpaper to sand off some thin wooden sticks poking out of the model.

My work plays a spin on the popular tiktok filter where one's face is morphed into a heart. Rather than the typical distortion, I manipulated the faces to depict the progress of one's relationship. As one moves across the panels the distortion of the girl progressively increases, representing how a typical relationship starts out nice and seemingly perfect yet ends up dysfunctional and disfigured. Ultimately, the viewer is left with a sense of unease as the last panel illustrates the girl warped off the canvas, her face leaving the heart, and thus symbolizing the end of the relationship.

These pieces are entirely crocheted. My inspiration came when it was time to choose a Halloween costume. Reading Dracula had reinvigorated my love for all things gothic. But every year I’m met with the realization that mass-produced costumes are intended to be worn once, and the craftsmanship reflects that. Attitudes towards costumes act as a caricature of modern consumerism. As fast fashion companies have grown into environmentally devastating behemoths, buyers’ expectations of garment quality have plummeted. Crocheting has allowed me to reconnect with clothing, forcing me to slow down and carefully arrange each stitch. The dress was inspired by Morticia Addams' silhouette. I worked the skirt in the round with double crochets and the bodice in rows for a “V” back that laced up for an exact fit. For the shrug, I wanted a spiderweb motif with the conventional raglan form. It was worked in the round with chain stitches and half-double crochets. The cuffs are the one piece of the ensemble I didn’t design myself. I used a pattern from “LunarStill” on Etsy for Victorian lace cuffs. The dress and legwarmers are an alpaca/acrylic blend, the shrug is a wool/acrylic blend, and the cuffs are a bamboo-rayon/Tencel blend. These garments are the culmination of my experiences with fashion, crocheting, and sustainability. As my senior year pushes me to explore future avenues, I’ve realized designing and making clothing is my passion and I plan to pursue this through costume design in my higher education.

Originally named "The Puppet and Her Puppeteer," this piece depicts the struggle of living with anxiety paired with obsessive-compulsive thoughts and patterns. Often, it can feel like your brain is the puppet master, and you are strung up in the air as it whispers cruel thoughts, hoping it won't pull too hard on the strings. I changed the name because it doesn't quite represent the hardest part; there is no outside intrusion, no other person twisting and tangling the strings—there is only you, your thoughts, and what you do with them.

In my piece “Sorcery”, I’m exploring the ways children perceive the world through the merging of reality and fantasy. Through the use of a mirror, I wanted to depict the imagination of children in a seemingly mundane environment, as they tend to find beauty in things that may seem insignificant. Instead of viewing it as a simple bathroom, the child has turned it into a place for experimentation and enchantment with their daydreams. I further emphasized this with the contrast of the warm, saturated scene in the mirror with the more dull and monochrome aspects of reality. I utilized acrylic paint and gouache to not only bring out the bright and saturated colors of fantasy, but also intentionally used looser brushstrokes to represent the simplicity of childhood. In addition to depicting childhood experiences, I also want the viewer to engage with the work in a child-like way. Inspired by books such as I Spy, I intentionally hid specific objects around in my work for the viewer to search for. In this work, there are a total of six ducks for the viewer to find. I hope the audience has as much fun engaging with the work as I did with creating it.