I need to write an essay that shows my passion for art, how it has influenced me and why I want to pursue a career related to the arts.
Any suggestions, comments or corrections are greatly appreciated!
"Happiness"
I found it one November afternoon.
It was a cold. The smell of linseed oil and turpentine lingered in the air.
I sat there, awestruck. They were much more advanced artists than me, and much, much older. I marveled at their sketches, those few streaks of charcoal, vague ideas and thoughts that started to become a reality.
These people were my idols, the real heroes. The ones who saved the world by donating pieces of dreams and restoring the hope of those too bound to reality. And like any other kid my age who looked up to their favorite heroes, I aspired to become one of them.
The fainting sound that came from an old, beaten up radio slowly made me realize what I had just gotten myself into. I had never painted before in my life. The simple thought of splattering color on a canvas, what I thought was a risky and irreversible action, made me tremble. But there was no going back. Dad wasn't picking me up until 4 anyways. I struggled trying to remember what my teacher had instructed me to do just seconds ago. Something about not being so tense and intimidated, to just relax and let go. I took a deep breath. A variety of unusual objects were placed on a satin tablecloth, but it was a simple vase full of brightly colored flowers that caught my attention.
My brand new white canvas waited in front of me impatiently. Kind of like life when you think about it. Blank and intimidating. Full of endless possibilities, just waiting for you to splash it with color. And it was in that room, a studio hidden from the bustling city of Madrid, where I found it.
It was in those common colors with common names, that when mixed suddenly became extraordinary and unknown. It was in that feeling of power. In how easily a flow of ideas could transfer to a paintbrush, and slowly begin to exist. It was in that smell of paint, in the tapping of my feet in time to the rhythm of the music. In the joy I felt just by being there, surrounded by people who shared my passion, slowly becoming an artist myself. In all the things I learned in that studio, and how I came to apply them to life.
Years later, I would see it being discussed over family dinners, mentioned in the cover of self help books, and on the cheesy Spanish soap operas my mom loved so much. I would sometimes see people argue that it was impossible to find, that it was an illusion we were all doomed to hope to achieve. Others would state that one could find it eventually in life, that it was synonymous with success, while others would say that money could simply buy it. I realized that in reality, it has no substance, no significance, until us humans give it a unique meaning.
That afternoon, I came home with a wet canvas and a smile across my face. For me, happiness was as simple as a vase full of pink flowers, and success meant the feeling of accomplishment I felt when signing my name on that canvas. And although some may say that pursuing an education in the artistic field may not lead me to a certain and secure future, I am definitely up to take that risk.
Any suggestions, comments or corrections are greatly appreciated!
"Happiness"
I found it one November afternoon.
It was a cold. The smell of linseed oil and turpentine lingered in the air.
I sat there, awestruck. They were much more advanced artists than me, and much, much older. I marveled at their sketches, those few streaks of charcoal, vague ideas and thoughts that started to become a reality.
These people were my idols, the real heroes. The ones who saved the world by donating pieces of dreams and restoring the hope of those too bound to reality. And like any other kid my age who looked up to their favorite heroes, I aspired to become one of them.
The fainting sound that came from an old, beaten up radio slowly made me realize what I had just gotten myself into. I had never painted before in my life. The simple thought of splattering color on a canvas, what I thought was a risky and irreversible action, made me tremble. But there was no going back. Dad wasn't picking me up until 4 anyways. I struggled trying to remember what my teacher had instructed me to do just seconds ago. Something about not being so tense and intimidated, to just relax and let go. I took a deep breath. A variety of unusual objects were placed on a satin tablecloth, but it was a simple vase full of brightly colored flowers that caught my attention.
My brand new white canvas waited in front of me impatiently. Kind of like life when you think about it. Blank and intimidating. Full of endless possibilities, just waiting for you to splash it with color. And it was in that room, a studio hidden from the bustling city of Madrid, where I found it.
It was in those common colors with common names, that when mixed suddenly became extraordinary and unknown. It was in that feeling of power. In how easily a flow of ideas could transfer to a paintbrush, and slowly begin to exist. It was in that smell of paint, in the tapping of my feet in time to the rhythm of the music. In the joy I felt just by being there, surrounded by people who shared my passion, slowly becoming an artist myself. In all the things I learned in that studio, and how I came to apply them to life.
Years later, I would see it being discussed over family dinners, mentioned in the cover of self help books, and on the cheesy Spanish soap operas my mom loved so much. I would sometimes see people argue that it was impossible to find, that it was an illusion we were all doomed to hope to achieve. Others would state that one could find it eventually in life, that it was synonymous with success, while others would say that money could simply buy it. I realized that in reality, it has no substance, no significance, until us humans give it a unique meaning.
That afternoon, I came home with a wet canvas and a smile across my face. For me, happiness was as simple as a vase full of pink flowers, and success meant the feeling of accomplishment I felt when signing my name on that canvas. And although some may say that pursuing an education in the artistic field may not lead me to a certain and secure future, I am definitely up to take that risk.