Week One: First Week in Washington, DC

I like to draw squiggly lines; lines that blend and criss-cross. With each stroke, they manifest into a thought or an emotion that creates a better sense of the world. The transition from my thoughts, to my hands, to a sheet of paper establishes an organic order expressing my individuality. A circle is a line that has no beginning or end. It represents a union of infinite points that come together as one form. This past week I encountered a magic circle. Picture it: The majestic hills of Maryland, one small road leading me out of civilization and immersing me in the branches of nature. I’m standing in a circle with the rest of the interns and I’m pulling on a rope that is carving into the palm of my hand. At the same time, I can see the rest of the interns; pulling on the same rope, the same expression of anguish, pain, and exhaustion paints their faces, as we try to tighten a sailors knot along the rope. Afterwards, I held that knot that we created and envisioned the struggles that each of us have faced and will face as we continue along our own paths. We each pulled in our own direction, with only the knot to connect us; yet that tie, that knot is our own manifestation. The knot being a bundle of squiggly lines, criss-crossing, no longer representing my own individuality, but the communion of our efforts converging into a greater work of art.

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