My Passion for Art

By Uchenna Ofodile

“Artist don’t make money until they’re dead,” he said. It was a harsh though for a child to stomach, but in a one utterance my father dented my dream of being an artist. I should have cried, but I did not. I just retreated back to the safety of my room. Back to a reality of infinite possibilities.

I use to sit in my room and draw until the moon waved me to sleep. When I dreamed, my drawings came to life and I could not wait to wake up so I could draw again. I was quiet, but the pencil chronicled my internal dialogue. It narrated, while the paper listened. With each line I was transported from boredom to a majestic realm of pure amusement. I could be myself. The paper never judged, even when others did.

It all began my freshman year of high school. I signed up to take draw 1/draw 2 and eagerly waited for classes to begin. The first day came with angst; however, my nerves settled when I entered the art room and met my teacher Ms. Adney. With bleach blonde hair and a sandy complexion, she uttered a few words before giving the class the assignment of capturing a collection of fruit, along with a dingy wine bottle and a cow skull. The task, along with the material called charcoal were new; yet I soon found an ally in the this new material. When pressed firmly to the paper, it achieved rich hues, but when held lightly it created soft tones. It demanded precision. Stimulated by the opportunity, I soon accomplished my first still life.Thus my background as an artist guided progression in my new class.

Furthermore, after my freshman year, I continued with draw 3 and AP Studio Art/ 2-D Design. Draw 3 followed the same structure as draw 1/draw 2 but AP Studio Art told a different tale. An artistic spring of ideas united by the will to create, the class blazed with raw talent. Vitalized by the sheer talent, my eyes gleamed at the chance to learn from my peers. Soon enough, subtle touches in their work quickly translated into mine. However, I remained loyal to my true passion: abstract impressionism.

Moreover, the class’s focus was to create 24 pieces: 12 inspired by topics given by my teacher and the others inspired by a concentration of my choice. Never was there a better time to follow my passion for abstract impressionism than now.

I worked tirelessly on completing my new project. Even when my ideas stagnated, I always had a pencil at hand to scribble a few doodles in my notebook during class. A project like this tested one’s drive. I would be in trouble. I spent the first week drafting concepts and listing themes and finished my first portrait a week later. It was a catharsis. Agony, grief, conviction; the face of a woman painfully staring into my soul. Heavy eyes: a testament to her cruel fate. Her crimson skin, burnt violently, faded to teal as the heavens shined brightly above.

In short, my success with art in high school is best demonstrated by my passion for art. Its has always come naturally to me so it never felt like classwork—it was like drawing Pokemon.