Cassandra Stump

I often retreated to my pencil and paper when school got stressful, because I knew that for the few hours I left myself to draw, my mind would turn off and I would be at peace.

Art is so embedded in my identity that I don’t know where it ends and I begin–instead, we’re simultaneously one. I took my artistic abilities for granted for much of my childhood and often hid my projects from others. For me, art was incredibly intimate; it became my visual diary–my heart on paper. It wasn’t until high school that I started to recognize my abilities as more than a pastime hobby and something meant to be shared with others. 

I enrolled in Studio Art in my freshman year, taking the class just to be with my friends so we could qualify for photography class the following year (needing Studio Art as a prerequisite).

Long story short, I remained in that Studio Art class with the same teacher for the entirety of my high school career. If it weren’t for my high school art teacher constantly displaying encouragement and praise for my artwork, I don’t think art would have become as much of my public identity as my own first name.

Now, art has become my lifeline in every tough situation I find myself in. I have a hard time expressing my emotions physically, whether it be through tears or smiles; it often makes me uncomfortable. Art has officially become my physical display of emotions. No one will ever know what I’m truly feeling unless they open my sketchbook and see the blood bled from my brushes and pencils.

Art has been there for me through the happiest and most gut-wrenching times of my life, providing me with an outlet to understand the heavy thoughts and emotions I was feeling. I hold it all in until every last drop of betrayal, hurt, love, heartbreak, and joy has covered the canvas, and only then can I truly let out the pent-up breath I had been suffocating on.