Artistry: Otherwise Known as the Escapism of the Human Soul by Leslie

Leslieof Peoria's entry into Varsity Tutor's February 2019 scholarship contest

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Leslie of Peoria, AZ
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Artistry: Otherwise Known as the Escapism of the Human Soul by Leslie - February 2019 Scholarship Essay

My dream has already begun.
In my dreams I am haunted by the spiced ochre murals of ancient Egypt and the dazzling mosaics of Pompeii. In dreaming, I see Persian tapestries woven in golden thread and The Magi Chapel in the Palazzo Medici Riccardi of Florence, indescribable in its majesty. If only, I could shake the withered hands of these ancient artists and whisper in their age-wizened ears, “You were not forgotten.” For isn’t that the inescapable tragedy of artists, to be forgotten in life and venerated in death?
I have marveled at Picasso, and Botticelli, and Rembrandt, and O’Keeffe, but I have never marveled at the financial stability found in mahogany desks and beige walls. By majoring in art, I am able to walk amongst the great artistic masterminds of the past. The beige-walled halls of college institutions no longer bore me, but offer a safe environment for creative endeavors. In the glass-bottle shade of technicolored daydreams, I am able to reflect on the beauty of pursuing art as a career. Like the artists that have come before me, I must examine the striking intricacy of the human soul and breathe life into paper imaginings. College allows me to do just this; college is a place where the antique painted history of mankind breathes from urban walls and yellowed textbooks. It is an artist’s dream. And there is no force on earth as ardently invested in the portrayal of mankind’s splendor as an unencumbered artist.
An artistic soul is so rarely encouraged to blossom in a world brimming with pragmatic weeds, weeds that hold no innate beauty in their functional designs. I am no age-wizened scholar draped in delicate silk, but I am a voice. A voice clothed in knowledge and equipped with a dream realistic in its striking ingenuity; a voice that shouts against the void. I suppose it’s true that artists are dreamers; I’ll add my name to the list.

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