"HOW IT FEELS TO BE SCIENTIFICALLY ARTISTIC ME"
KEYA PARIKH
I sink my hands into the material of my ancestors, desperately trying to form any shape other than a deformed ball. I keep trying, pushing the walls of my pot in and out, grasping at the hope that I will be able to produce a piece resembling a functioning pot by the end of the class period. As my teacher warns us of the impending bell, I rush around the classroom: clean materials, needle pool in the bin, fettling knife in the drawer above, right turn, baby sponge in the bin, right turn, left turn, right turn, grab a sponge, wipe the table, rinse, right turn, breathe. Each of my steps is calculated to maximize the little time I have left. The bell rings almost instantaneously, but I am staring at my hands, redding, swelling, prickling. My thoughts immediately shift from ceramics and getting to my next class to the pain spreading across my palm and over my knuckles. My thoughts shift from my mishima design to the mysterious chemical formula that is causing painful irritation. I stare in wonder, and then I finally regain the consciousness to rush to my next class on the other side of the school.
In the evening, I make my way to my weekly Bharatanatyam class in the new studio. As I open the door, I’m greeted with the smell of sandalwood candles and the sounds of traditional swaras, or musical notes. As we begin the piece, though I wish to focus only on the artistic flow of the dance, I must instead focus on my hands, my angles, my legs, my feet, my back, my eyes, my neck, my breathing, all essential in telling a story to the audience. I drift into another world and immerse myself into the story, but I am quickly brought back to the accuracy of my movements by the taal, with which my teacher keeps the beat. I must be strong and complete each movement with intent and precision. My arms must be at a perfect 180° angle, same as my feet, my elbows bent just slightly, my back straight, no blinking.
My thoughts capture the essence of my being, torn between two planets of equal strength: one calculated with facts and certainty, the other drifting between the lines, open for interpretation.
STEM and art clash beautifully throughout various aspects of my life. While I often appear to fit the profile of a STEM - oriented girl, people are surprised to find that I am not part of my school’s HOSA club, or that I start each morning with ceramics. Yet within my STEM - based endeavors (Cybersecurity, FBLA) and my wide-range of artistic expression (Bharatanatyam Indian classical dance, Mock Trial, ceramics), I see various aspects of each represented in the other. Whether it is the rhythmic execution of Java code, the precise language essential to Mock Trial, or the chemical properties of glaze adding uncertainty into the firing process, my experiences and encounters allow me to analyze two contradicting planets drawn to one another not forcibly, but out of necessity. Just as we need the biological processes of our eyes to view the world’s artistic beauty, the symbiotic relationship between calculating and creativity is the basis for my understanding of my universe.
Yet within the gravitational pull of the two planets, I sense the shifting ties, a war over dominance, impact, remembrance. As the ground beneath me rumbles, and the foundation of my essence trembles, I struggle to remember that the equal gravitational pulls can coexist even at their greatest strength.
My universe has space for more than one planet.
In the evening, I make my way to my weekly Bharatanatyam class in the new studio. As I open the door, I’m greeted with the smell of sandalwood candles and the sounds of traditional swaras, or musical notes. As we begin the piece, though I wish to focus only on the artistic flow of the dance, I must instead focus on my hands, my angles, my legs, my feet, my back, my eyes, my neck, my breathing, all essential in telling a story to the audience. I drift into another world and immerse myself into the story, but I am quickly brought back to the accuracy of my movements by the taal, with which my teacher keeps the beat. I must be strong and complete each movement with intent and precision. My arms must be at a perfect 180° angle, same as my feet, my elbows bent just slightly, my back straight, no blinking.
My thoughts capture the essence of my being, torn between two planets of equal strength: one calculated with facts and certainty, the other drifting between the lines, open for interpretation.
STEM and art clash beautifully throughout various aspects of my life. While I often appear to fit the profile of a STEM - oriented girl, people are surprised to find that I am not part of my school’s HOSA club, or that I start each morning with ceramics. Yet within my STEM - based endeavors (Cybersecurity, FBLA) and my wide-range of artistic expression (Bharatanatyam Indian classical dance, Mock Trial, ceramics), I see various aspects of each represented in the other. Whether it is the rhythmic execution of Java code, the precise language essential to Mock Trial, or the chemical properties of glaze adding uncertainty into the firing process, my experiences and encounters allow me to analyze two contradicting planets drawn to one another not forcibly, but out of necessity. Just as we need the biological processes of our eyes to view the world’s artistic beauty, the symbiotic relationship between calculating and creativity is the basis for my understanding of my universe.
Yet within the gravitational pull of the two planets, I sense the shifting ties, a war over dominance, impact, remembrance. As the ground beneath me rumbles, and the foundation of my essence trembles, I struggle to remember that the equal gravitational pulls can coexist even at their greatest strength.
My universe has space for more than one planet.