Horses taught me how to be an artist. In my childhood, I frequently visited my grandparents’ house on the weekends. They have a very large house, so of course, it was necessary to explore. It was built I believe in the early nineteen hundreds, originally a hotel. There is an exuberant amount of rooms and a vast amount of space. Throughout the house, I always saw my grandfather’s paintings. Horses were common in almost all of his oil paintings. When I asked him why he only painted horses, he told me, “It’s the only thing I know how to draw perfectly.” They were abundant in the house, so I decided I should draw them too.

After all, I always wanted to be like my grandfather, or Popeye, as my brother and I like to call him. My grandfather is a tall man with graying hair and sparkling blue eyes. He is a quiet old man, but he expresses his voice with his art. The crinkling eyes are always full of laughter, even if he keeps it to himself. I always remember hearing him whistle a tune and sing to himself.

Weekends were filled with stories and adventures. My brother and I would stay up the whole night, anxious for fishing with Popeye the next day. He would make us his famous pancakes, like he always did, and we would start our day at the crack of dawn. During the mornings and while we fished, he would go into detail about his childhood, his kids, and when he used to be a coal miner. Going to the creek with him were filled with memories I could never forget. Times with my Popeye appear frequently in my art, displaying vast waters and colorful fish.

I would trace his work until I felt confident in my own drawings. In reality, they were classic, childlike attempts, but there I was with my little sketching pad, trying to recapture the magic. I would tear out pages and pages, crumbling them up if I hated them. I tried my very best to be as good as him. When I would go home, it was the same story.

My mother is also an artist, and I wanted to be as talented as she is, too. My mother, being the exuberant, lively woman she is, always inspired me through her words and laughter. She is a proud woman in every way. She always keeps a smile on her face, just in case. She never matches her outfits or cares for others’ opinions. She strives to make our family whole and safe, still managing several jobs while creating her art. Over the years, she constantly went to school, wanting to learn more and more, soaking in their knowledge like a sponge. I can recall always watching documentaries and several ‘field trips’ for bird watching, adventure hikes, museum tours, or festivals with my mother. When I make a piece, I try to be inspired by her works, because they were steeped with life and freedom. Though, after my obsession with horses died out, I began drawing other things. I would steal my mother’s expensive paints and pastels, in hopes of capturing the talent out of them onto the paper.

Eventually, my mother noticed and after a good scolding, she broke down and bought me my very own art set. Her trip to Michael’s was as close to Christmas shopping is to most. While average children get excited over the newest toy, I was perfectly content with my old toys. Getting art supplies was where my excitement began. The art set to me, it was worthy of Da Vinci’s love but in retrospect, it was probably Crayola. The little art set, filled with oil pastels, cheap pencils and crayons, and a pamphlet, was pure gold. I drew on everything: the walls, the car interior, myself, my clothes, napkins, notebooks. Basically, it was anything I could get my hands on. Yes, it aggravated those around me who didn’t appreciate a very good drawing of a cow on their shoes, but to me it was true art.

As I became older, everyone started to notice my passion for art. Thus, I had several sketchbooks, tubes of colorful paint, fine-tipped brushes, and bleached canvases. Every day, I tried to perfect my skills. I would paint multi-colored landscapes, sketch animals, charcoal people, and pen-and-ink random things. Art class became my favorite subject. I would always get asked to draw things for people or to be in charge of the drawing parts on projects.

As I approached high school, I took art as my electives, and I fell in love with it completely. I loved molding elaborate clay sculptures, splattering paint on canvases, and even doing our cheer signs. I enjoyed the feeling of replicating something and making it my own. I adored thinking of an idea and putting it onto paper, bringing it all to life.

After high school, I plan on not only majoring in social cultural anthropology, but to fulfill my dream of majoring in fine arts. I hope to continue compounding my art career throughout the rest of my life. I want to express my feelings, thoughts, hopes, and dreams across pages. I want to fill rooms with color and feeling. I want to do so much with art, but I don’t forget it started with a few horses