Imagine…

…a strange rectangular-shaped chunk of fired clay with a miniature grotesque face on one end, and miniscule oval shapes in each bottom corner, three stubby lines carved into each. You remember that this was supposed to be a Chihuahua.

…a wrinkled watercolor filled with every color in a 5 year old child’s rainbow, and flying pinks, half-painted, half-penciled.

…a piece of pink construction paper with popcorn glued onto it in the shape of a heart. You’re a bit horrified that this has been in your closet for years.

This was a fraction of my childhood art, pieces that had been stuffed in the top shelf of my closet and left there for years. I grew up painting, drawing, and apparently gluing popcorn onto pieces of paper. From early finger paintings to children’s classes at the Bemis School of Art, I was in love with creating.

I am now an art major in my fourth year of college, but one who took quite the roundabout route to get here. In high school I immersed myself in art, for a month even spending all my lunch and free periods in the art room, painting a life-sized cow sculpture. But upon entering college, I forced myself to let go of art, believing it to be impractical. I became a sociology major (then a budding interest of mine, and now a passion) because at least there are no “starving sociologist” stereotypes.

At first I stayed out of the art school, but desperately sought other avenues for artistic expression. I entered informal art shows across campus, joined and left an inactive art club, and finally began taking art classes with an art minor as my excuse. That excuse, along with excellent classes, professors and persistent friends, led me to where I am today, preparing to graduate at the end of four years, instead of three, to complete an art major.