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When I was five years old, my mother left me alone at our yellow formica kitchen table with a box of Crayola crayons and a blank sheet of paper, hoping to keep me occupied while she folded laundry and made sure that my three brothers weren't getting into mischief. It didn't take long for me to draw all over both sides of the paper. Clutching my box of crayons, I set off in search of a larger canvas. 20 minutes later, my mother found me scrawling an abstract masterpiece across a large expanse of (formerly) white living room wall. She whisked me back to the kitchen table and directed me to form the letters of the alphabet. Ever since that day, the beauty and power of language has inspired me as much as the beauty and power of visual art.