Growing up, my school never provided art classes. I went to a small, private, k-12 academy for my entire education, which cut the creatives program when I was in the third grade. By the time they hired another arts teacher, I was already near graduating. Because of this, my mother touted me as being self taught. Any time I was introduced to someone new, she’d gush that I learned it all on my own, that it was a miraculous, natural talented. A good boost for the ego, yet useless in helping me grow my skill. Despite this, more than a few times she questioned the validity of art as a career for me. Art school is expensive, and she was worried it’d be a waste of money to peruse a passion that wouldn’t last. I wound up taking a night class at a community center to taste the feel of a real art studio. I was told that I’d have to get used to learning the right way, or I’d never survive the full 4 years. After forcing myself to attend classes for months, hating every moment of it, I started to agree.

When I finally got to University of Tampa, I was a little disappointed. Digital Art in 2017 was the closest thing UT offered to my desired career path. I was stuck taking woodshop and drawing with charcoal in a dimly lit back room. Although, one of my most prominent traits, for better and worse, is going with the flow. I’ve always had a fear of rocking the boat too hard, or complaining too much about anything, so I stayed quiet and continued my major. Although I wasn’t creating the kind of art I prefer, I found ways to enjoy aspects of everything I was doing. Time isn’t wasted unless you consider it a waste, and even now, there are things I learned that I contribute into my personal work. Being complacent has a lot of drawbacks, though. I hone in on my work feverishly, but struggle in the networking aspects. My professor praised my work, but even after 2 years on campus, no one knew who I was, and I had no idea how to extend my knowledge into the workforce.

The first time I felt like I was in the right place was when I met Santiago. Although his teaching was great, what I really needed to learn was the way he interacts with his students. The fact that he, and many other department heads, knew students by their art styles got me to pay more attention. I started to feel like I was surrounded by people who could nudge me in the right direction, and help me break out of my shell. Up until that point, people would question why I attended University of Tampa. When prodded on where I want to take my career, I’d get told I should have applied to one of the bigger colleges with a more diverse program. However, spending more time in Santiago’s classes, I started hearing how individual each person was, and how close knit the digital art community is.

From a young age, my goal in life constantly shifted. I’ve always been interested in character creation and video game design, but no one could give me the right answers. No one cared about digital art the same way I did, or even knew what it was. I’d get told over and over to go animate for Disney, or to make a popular mobile application, or to take up web design. Even still, I’m not entirely positive what I want to do. I know the gaming industry is hard for women to break into, and even harder to be taken seriously. Yet, I think video games are an art form, and one that’s ripe for creativity. Even if I don’t end up perusing that market, whatever I do, I want to explore themes of sexuality and diversity. I want my art to be part of a community of people who’ve felt lost the same way I have. I want to make something that, someday, will inspire a kid just like me to pick up a pen and draw.