I see the world like an artist: sensitive to color, light, and composition. Some people may notice the rain or the temperature or the squawk of an annoying bird, but I notice how light plays with the environment. I notice how different the same bench looks at sunrise, in the middle of the day, and at dusk. I notice hundreds of colors in the bark of a tree, not just brown. I notice how the angles of buildings are like a game of ping-pong, leading the eye back and forth. I notice how these angles tell a completely different story when viewed from another perspective. When I began to see like an artist, it was as if I gained another sense. Frederick Franck in The Zen of Seeing attests to this when he explains, “I have learned that what I have not drawn, I have never really seen, and that when I start drawing an ordinary thing, I realize how extraordinary it is, sheer miracle.” Truly, there is no greater feeling than realizing that a grape is not round and a tree is not symmetrical. Yet these imprecise realities of the world are what makes every grape and tree uniquely beautiful, which is vastly different than pretty. To me, art is the ability to find beauty in a world of parking lots and trashcans. André Gide once said, “The great artist is one whom constraint exalts, for whom the obstacle is a springboard.” Artists make trash into treasure, the ordinary into the extraordinary, facts into fiction, and textbooks into fantasies.