Amber Opphile's Illustration

    I remember looking through an old Pokémon book, and thinking that I just wanted to draw just like that. I remember picking up that pencil for the first time and drawing what I saw. I remember my grandma saying how talented I was, and I remember how much I loved that sketch. Since then, I’ve been drawing. I couldn’t have been more than four and fascination struck me. I don’t know where that sketch went off to, but I do know it’s what caused me to start drawing.

 

    Over the years, there have been plenty of people who told me I could never make it as an artist. In spite of that, I’ve kept going. I’ve had my bad times, gave up for a year or two because I felt like I wanted to die. I had suicidal thoughts for a long time, even as I managed to make vent art. Even though those thoughts lingered, there was one thing driving me all the way up until I found Ringling. I had to prove them wrong. I couldn’t let my own family, my enemies, and my own friends drag me down with them. The legend in my hometown goes as this: “if you were born here, you’ll die here. No exceptions.” No matter what, I have to prove that legend wrong. I can’t end up like my parents. Stuck in a town that will be a ghost town within a few generations. There is nothing in Newcomerstown, Ohio for a free soul like me. I won’t be caged.

 

     All my life, I’d been told what I had to be: a doctor, maybe a veterinarian. How about one of those people who just sit at their desk and take calls all day? I have Fibromyalgia. I would never make it as one of those people who stand all day, and I had anxiety to the point I would never be able to take calls, either. Besides, none of those jobs have been my passion, at all. I have always wanted to use my art because it makes me feel better. Whether I’m going through a hard time, or I’m looking to chill out, my art has always been there. See, I was always the kid in the back of the classroom. I have always been and still am the quiet kid that doesn’t really talk much but cares a lot. I refuse to give up on what has never given up on me. I would rather die than to give up my art.

 

     It wasn’t just the passion for drawing. It wasn’t just the reward I got from looking at my improvement. My art saved my life several times throughout my life. When I felt like killing myself, I resorted to focusing my emotions onto drawing. Eventually, I picked up writing to express myself and then I drew what my characters expressed to add to the feeling of belonging in another world, completely my own. When nobody was there, my sketchbook was. When my parents were fighting and I had nowhere to run, my imagination set me free to a place I could break free from the loud noise. When the bullies were too harsh with their laughs and insults, I could run to my imaginative worlds, where anything was possible. I could draw my character defeating my demons. I could write about it, too. When my friends betrayed me, my art lifted me up. When I was told I was lazy, I turned it into a sketch. When I was alone for my birthday, I was with my characters. My drawing and writing kept me alive when I felt like the world was going to crush me. When nobody told me everything was going to be okay, I relied on my work to save me. When I couldn’t trust my allies, my relatives, strangers, and my enemies, I could trust the characters I created and designed For that reason, I will always be the quiet kid in the back of the classroom, drawing. Even if it kills me.