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Indeed, it was the realm of disorder and messy studios and true art—a place where I could express the world like I saw it, in colors and strokes unrestrained by expectations or rules; a place where I could find refuge in the contours of my own chaotic lines; a place that was neither beautiful nor ideal, but real.

No, it was not so clean and not so white and not so nice. ___ REVIEW Perhaps the most prominent facet of Bobby’s essay is the use of imagery.

With the top applicants from every high school applying to the best schools in the country, it's important to have an edge in your college application. Because to me, there was only one "it," and "it" was a little less than two thousand miles west, an unassuming little office building located amidst a cluster of similarly unassuming little office buildings, distinguishable from one another on the outside only by the rusted numbers nailed to each door.

These are 10 Harvard application essays and profiles from students who made it in. Inside, crude photocopies of students' artwork plastered the once white walls.

Apart from surface manifestations altogether, this realm was simultaneously one of austere simplicity and aesthetic intricacy, of departure from realism and immersion in reality, of intense emotion and uninhibited expression.

It was the realm of lines that could tell stories, of colors and figures that meant nothing and everything.And I can't tell you exactly when or why my attitude changed, but eventually my own lines began to unabashedly disregard the rules of depth or tonality to which I had once dutifully adhered, my fervor leaving in its wake black fingerprints and smudges where once had existed unsoiled whiteness.It was in this studio that I eventually made the leap into a new realm of art—a realm in which I was neither experienced nor comfortable.I suppose this is strange, as the rest of my life can best be characterized by everything the studio is not: cleanliness and order and structure.But then again, the studio was like nothing else in my life, beyond anything in which I've ever felt comfortable or at ease. My carefully composed sketchbooks—the proportions just right, the contrast perfected, the whiteness of the background meticulously preserved—were often marred by the frenzied strokes of my instructor's charcoal as he tried to teach me not to draw accurately, but passionately. But thus was the fundamental gap in my artistic understanding—the difference between the surface realities that I wanted to depict, and the profound though elusive truths of the human condition that art could explore.ESSAY As a child raised on two continents, my life has been defined by the “What if…? What if I had actually been born in the United States? What if we had stayed in the USA and had not come back to Bulgaria?These are the questions whose answers I will never know (unless, of course, they invent a time machine by 2050). When my mother said “We are moving back to Bulgaria,” I naively asked, “Is that a town or a state?Country: Bulgaria High School: Public school, 30 students in graduating class Ethnicity: White Gender: Female GPA: 6.0 out of 6.0 SAT: Reading 730, Math 760, Writing 800 ACT: n/a SAT Subject Tests Taken: Literature, World History Extracurriculars: Tennis player, coordinator and volunteer in the Youth Parliament (non-governmental organization), class president and member of the student council, editor in chief of the high school newspaper.Awards: Essay Competition finalist in Sustainability Debate, third place in Literary Essay Competition, first place in Bulgaria si ti!Late evening rays streamed through these sprawling glass panes, casting a gentle glow upon all that they graced—paper and canvases and paintbrushes alike. The instructor sometimes talked, and we sometimes listened.As day became night, the soft luminescence of the art studio gave way to a fluorescent glare, defining the clean rectilinear lines of Dillon Art Center against the encroaching darkness. Most of the time, though, it was just us—children, drawing and talking and laughing and sweating in the cluttered and overheated mess of an art studio.

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