I used to sit by my grandmother at night, watching her as she watched soap operas; I was entranced by her childhood as a goldsmith's daughter, the delicate way with which she handled her hand-sewn clothes, and the knack she had for finding beauty. Because of this, I stopped making art the summer she developed dementia — without her leading me through it, I started to question if beauty still existed. But slowly, I regained my love for art, using our mutual love for it to communicate with each other what we couldn’t through words. In every sense of the word, she is now miles away. I would like to think that she is still finding beauty, waiting for the day she can share them with me.

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Awarded Silver Key in 2023 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards