I was thrown into art lessons at an early age, and through them, I learned to draw circles, then spheres, and eventually (god forbid) to color and breathe depth into those spheres. Don't got me wrong—I love my parents (I am definitely coming from a place of privilege)—but years of these lessons had taught me nothing beyond how to make something "look good."

To me, "looking good" meant it seemed visually alright. Passable. Someone could look at my work and perhaps offer a compliment. With that skill, I breezed through middle and high school with the reputation of being the artsy kid.

But with creating soulless pieces of art came a lack of passion. I didn't enjoy creating for the sake of creating, and the only time I would finish a piece was when it served some utility (i.e., flyers, marketing assets). I painted because I was good at it. I drew because I was good at it. And I was on track to become a graphic designer because I knew I was good at it. But without passion, I lacked direction. By the time I had reached university, I was distraught. The identity I had been tied to for so long—the "art kid"—had fizzled out, and I couldn't find a reason to keep creating. A once-coveted hobby had become something I actively avoided because it was a constant reminder of my identity crisis.

I find purpose and identity to be intertwined values—two of the primary drivers that get me out of bed every day. Reasons to justify my existence in this vast, content-saturated world. But as I got older, I realized I had never questioned the purpose of my works themselves. What audience were they serving? What kind of emotions did they visually invoke? What message was I trying to convey, and did it align with my values? The previous reasoning of "oh, this looks good" suddenly wasn't enough. Everything else had to follow suit.

Asking questions was hard. How could I breathe meaning into my projects after trusting my gut intuition for so long? But this sudden difficulty had reinvigorated a burning passion to find the answers to my questions. I wanted to understand my core values as an artist and find ways to produce works that resonated deeply with me. I sought to create with intention, not just skill, and produce art that truly connected with my evolving sense of self—works that could help others and leave the world better than it was before. To be an intentional human, creating both for myself and for the benefit of others.

So the next time I compliment a fellow artist, rather than saying their work "looks good", I'd prefer to say, "it looks intentional."