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A portion of Dylan's winning essay:
Living in Amarillo, you see an immense expanse of space, flat and far-reaching in every direction. No trees grow to hinder your view, and yellow grass—from which the city derives its name—is the only thing you can see beyond the steam of the power-plant and fiberglass refinery. The city’s most prominent feature apart from the dry landscape is the seemingly rigid and one-sided view that its people stand for. To some, the city is like a prison, conforming to a certain ideology that makes the ambitious thinker or the restless romantic shudder. He runs full speed for any sign of life beyond the sea of yellow. It’s hard to see any color in a place where everything seems monochromatic; however, being an artist I’ve found a way to see more than just the yellow that surrounds everything. You just have to scratch the surface, and pay attention to detail. Sometimes I feel as though I was born with the goal of searching for such depth. I've been drawing ever since I could pick up a pencil; my mom would give me a pad of paper to sketch on in the back seat of the car, and my creativity sparked from there.
I’ve lived all my life in this small city where little is offered in cultural differences or artistic values, but I’ve gained more of a sense of what diversity and thought could bring to it. In elementary school, I never learned to work with a group. No one did. At Amarillo Montessori Academy, every student was taught to think creatively, at their own pace. A 2nd grader could work on 5th grade work if he was capable, for there was no uniform curriculum in the class. We weren’t held by social conformity and standards which normal schools develop such as the division between ethnic cliques; each of us was a rivulet that flowed away from the mainstream. There was no paradigm to follow and fall short of, or prejudice to divide us.
Most people who know me would be shocked about how radically different I am now from the way I was as a young child. They would describe me as a quiet, soft-spoken guy who never gets in trouble for any reason whatsoever. How could anyone but my family imagine that I’d been suspended from kindergarten—twice? To ensure that I had absolutely no way of getting in trouble, I was placed in a box; a cardboard barrier was set up around my desk to inhibit distractions from my work. Later I was moved to a desolate corner because I talked through the wall that separated me from my classmates, always expressive and outgoing.
My teacher, Mrs. Stratton, was a lady who always made new experiences a lesson. Her role was to present new activities for us to try, giving us free reign to complete them using materials and learning games suited to a child's interests. The school provided the students with a moment of free-time after recess in which we could draw, paint, and sculpt paper. Everything was a visual learning experience there.
I remember once in 2nd grade when Mrs. Stratton taught us about the camera. She had everyone tape up all the windows and doors— every crack—to make the room completely dark; all except a tiny pinprick of light. She set up a screen in front of the minute hole and told a few of the students to go outside and move around. To everyone’s bafflement, a very subtle image was formed on the screen like a motion picture, upside down. Through the tiny hole of light, we were able to see the world outside that room in a totally different perspective.
But when I moved to a public school in the middle of 3rd grade, I could never have been prepared for the complete culture shock I experienced. I was exposed to a new light, for I’d been sheltered from competition and regulated standards of education. I was new to a vocabulary of demeaning phrases and insults, racism and profanity. Oh, no, I wasn’t prepared—I was entering a foreign country with a language barrier. How could I be ready? It was as though I’d lived all that time in a camera, looking through that tiny hole. There was a social lack I had to gain.
The high school I attend now is the poorest and most ethnically diverse in the city, a palette amidst schools which are predominantly white. At Palo Duro High, I can hear 5 or 6 different languages spoken at the same time in the hallways, I see hardship, racial prejudice and self-deprecation because of cultural differences and economic class, and the spectrum of these separate truths gave me a chance to look at the world in an artistic way.
Color separated from a prism— a spectrum separated—
Saturated flags and standards aloft in their hands . . .
My creative bent never changed, even as I found myself transformed by my
vision.
I began to use my art gift as an outlet to understand myself and the differences I saw, bursting forth my talent as I did so. As a volunteer project, I painted a mural for the Palo Duro Migrant Program office. My senior year, I helped the school to establish an art club to provide the students with a means of expression and involvement in art. I stay after school for studio nights for the club to help students with techniques and work on my senior portfolio. As I built power and talent in my work over the years, I won dozens of medals and awards. Several of my pieces have been exhibited in the Amarillo Art Museum. In the state-wide V.A.S.E. art competition, one of my pieces traveled through museums in Texas for a prestigious award it received called the Gold Seal Medal. I was the only student in my region to achieve the honor, but I always painted for my love of art. The true glory is in the painted canvases and framed drawings hanging on my wall.
Visual art isn't my only means of expression: I love to write poetry. I write about love, life, and my observations of people. A talent show, for instance, reveals layers of meaning in each song I hear;
The spotlight shone to shade their faces—
their stage-fright, their fear—and became
The lights which sheltered their songs,
Bending radiance to cover them in beauty.
All danced for love, shouting for beauty,
Masking their flaws to cover themselves,
Revealing their songs.
They fear their own light, one beauty unfit, unloved . . .
And true beauty was lost in a lens.
For me, art and poetry are my voice. I participate in the newly-established poetry club at my school, where students read aloud their original works. Later on into the year, the club will look into publication of the poetry we’ve written.
As I worked to observe my environment, I was able to develop my own self-perception. By talking to immigrants at my school who come from African, Asian, and Hispanic countries, I’ve gained so much more than from any lesson taken in a class. My senior year, I won an essay competition for the Lion's Club International Travel Abroad Program, for which I'll stay in Italy during the summer for six weeks. There, I'll witness the artistic origins of some of the greatest thinkers in history, not as a tourist but as a thinker myself. The opportunity is a treasure.
Personal growth has always been my primary focus. Apart from art, I've become involved in volunteer and leadership programs at my school to gain sociability and confidence, including Student Council and the Speech/Debate Team. For my school's coronation ceremony I was awarded Mr. Palo Duro, the highest honor based on academics and citizenship. I serve as the vice-president of the National Honor Society, and help to lead service projects and meetings. My boy scout troop was continuously involved in trash pick-ups and food drives, and I served as senior patrol leader for two years. I organized a community service project to re-shingle the roofs of two storage sheds for the National Park Service to earn the Eagle Rank. When my little brother joined Cub Scouts, I became a Den chief for his pack, helping the kids with games and activities.
My junior year, I was nominated by my counselor to participate in a Rotary Mentor program, where I met with a professional artist to learn what to expect with the career. It allowed me to see the negative aspects of the artistic lifestyle; I saw what people meant by the term "starving artist" because my mentor hadn't fully established his gallery and was barely making a living to support his interest. At that point, I resolved to never let the determination to succeed escape me. I would pursue art, but not at my own expense; with sensibility and courage.
I love to read. Some of my favorite works include "The Divine Comedy", "The Poisonwood Bible" and "The Good Earth." Each story exemplifies a perspective that fascinates me, with themes of spirituality and human struggles. The Classics is by far my favorite section in the book-store, as I delve into complex themes that challenge my insight. In the Spanish Club--in which I served as vice-president--I learned to read and write Spanish, and in a tutoring program called PALS I went to various elementary and middle schools to mentor students. Two of the classes I was placed in were bilingual, and I learned to converse with Hispanic immigrants in them. It saddened me to see them struggle as they tried to measure up to the standards which American public schools face, trying ardently to rise above the glass ceiling of their disposition. In a world torn by cultural divisions and hatred, I learned that color and social class don’t build the foundation of a person’s character and ability.
To me, an art education defines a study of depth that surpasses any other opportunity because it deals with human expression and character. As I go through college, I want to achieve an education that will carry my mind beyond the expected boundaries of earning a degree. I want to be
an architect, to design buildings and houses and offer my artistic vision to society. I can think of no better way to make my mark in my community: the streets will be my gallery. Apart from the career I pursue, my goal is to continuously involve myself in volunteer work as
I've done in high school, establish an art gallery for my paintings, and write books.
Amarillo is like a vintage store that retains its treasures because their worth never fades. The people, like antiques, are beautiful because they look at their history and hold onto the memories that have been built there. Through art and leadership, I've worked to attain the
value of character. I look toward the future and wonder what new colors I’ll see as an artist. I guess it all depends on how far one looks; in the distance, at the endless yellow landscape . . . or past it, toward the beautiful morning sunrise that can’t compare anyplace else. I yearn
to follow the sun and see its beauty in other places, but I’ll always hold on to what I’ve gained from my hometown. I want to learn, and develop my personal picture.
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