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On the top floor of my grandparents’ house there was a room with nothing but white walls and my grandpa's painting materials. As a family tradition, every Sunday, he allowed me to paint whatever I wanted on the walls, to my greatest excitement. I remember painting a tall, almost life-size tree and writing my name on its bark. On New Years, my grandfather painted the walls white again and, each year, we had a new blank canvas.

Being an only child I have always spent a lot of time by myself. All of my friends have siblings and don't understand that I actually like spending time alone. When I was 11, my parents got divorced and our small household shrank from three to two. I had to find ways to cope and process things on my own. I found that through art. 

My grandfather’s painting room was my first introduction to the emotional power of art. I was a calm and quiet child. On the outside, that is. Inside my head, it was never quiet. Drawing and painting were active meditation for my overactive mind. I painted away my troubles whenever I was upset. I never felt alone with a paintbrush in hand. I could spend 8 hours quietly creating the perfect drawing. Quickly, I started bringing art supplies with me everywhere I went: on trips, this became as essential as bringing clothes. 

I was lucky to have art as a creative outlet and coping mechanism from a young age, because I was going to need it. I have a vivid memory of my 15th birthday or, as I call it, The Incident. My mom wanted to bring the whole family together for dinner: my dad's side and hers. I was against this idea. Since the divorce, both families had never been together like this and it made me feel weary. Sitting at the head of the table, one family to each side, I felt divided. As arguments started, and hurtful things were said, I broke down crying. It was like being split in half, in front of a table of 25 people. 

I arrived home and locked myself in my room, headphones on, pencil in hand, and drew what I always do, almond-shaped searching eyes. Something about that drawing made me want to share my art with the world. I wanted to bring others the healing joy it brought me. Since then, I have tried to make the best of my artistic passion. 

Last year, my grandparents decided to sell their house. For me, it was like saying goodbye to my childhood, and to the part of me that used art to escape reality. Staring at those empty walls I would no longer be painting over, I realized I wasn't a little kid anymore. What used to be my escape from the world eventually became what brought me back to it. I do not want to hide behind my art, I want my paintings to live out in the world, just like me. I will always hold dear to my heart the memories of that little girl standing on tiptoes to add different shades of green to her treetop. But I’ve grown tall now, I can see well beyond that tree, and into the vastness of the world.

Helena Faco Soares Lavatori Correa's personal essay won third prize in the Eleventh Annual Humanities & Sciences Undergraduate Writing Contest. Helena is a Sophomore majoring in Design at the School of Visual Arts. She was born and raised in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.