It was around sunrise, and the fragrance of a brand-new can of spray paint hung in the air like smoke from a fireplace. My cousin vigorously shook its container, allowing a vivid cadmium red to run across the concrete wall of the military base — frightened, I used to watch the soldiers train from my apartment balcony every morning. We shouldn't have been out, no one dared to roam the streets during the 2011 Egyptian Revolution, but my mother's family was hell-bent on being politically engaged. I strolled down the road through the fog, anxiously examining the hundreds of overlapping artworks. Panels were foregrounded with places I no longer recognized, displaying undertones of insurrection and chaos as violent as the colors that were sprayed. My stomach turned as I saw a stained hand reach out in front of mine, handing me an identical can of the same cadmium red sprayed so vigorously moments before. As a nine-year-old child, the rebellious act of spray painting a wall was only showcased in the thriller movies I'd watch with my father. Overwhelmed with excitement and angst, I grasped the can from my cousin’s hand, chilled by the metal, and began to cover our section of the wall with the blood-red paint. My eyes widened as I stood in awe, realizing how I, too, in a world filled with chaos, could make an artistic statement.

Ever since that moment, a red filter has overlaid my perception of the world, enabling me to appreciate this radiant color's intricate depth and complexity. I began to notice the vibrant hues of autumn leaves as they transformed into a stunning spectrum of maroon and gamboge. I marveled at the breathtaking beauty of crimson sunsets that painted the sky a fiery glow. My love for red became a constant companion to me. But most importantly, red was how I felt while I created my art pieces.

My love for art had always been a secret passion, something I’d kept hidden from everyone. Whenever I had issues and couldn't verbally express them, I always found myself with a paintbrush in my hand, moving it with every emotion I would feel in that moment. It was my coping mechanism; the best part of it all was that it didn't matter how my artwork looked, it was about the process. But that all changed when I found myself in 8th-grade art class for the very first time. 

“The color red represented my inner fire and passion, and as I used it more in my art, I began to embody those qualities myself.”

On the first day of class, our teacher asked us to do a self-portrait. I was instantly overwhelmed as she listed all the necessary characteristics my art needed to include. Surrounded by students who seemed to be born with an innate talent for art, I felt like a fish out of water. I told my parents I didn't want to take the class and that I wouldn't excel in it, but they insisted that I give it a try. The other students seemed to take off like a shot, but I was left behind, struggling to process the requirements that were asked by her for the assignment. As the other students whispered around me, I felt more inadequate than ever before.

For the next two years, I endured art class, always feeling like I didn't belong. I stopped trying around my classmates, convinced that I would never measure up to their talent. But deep down, I knew that I had a passion for art that couldn't be ignored.

So, I began to paint in secret. I locked myself in my room and let my creativity flow, ignoring the rules and expectations that had held me back in class. I had a particular fondness for the color red, using it in all of my spontaneous works. From buildings, faces, fruits, and everything in between, I slashed it across my canvases, creating a bold contrast that drew the viewer's eye and evoked a sense of passion and intensity. Through my use of red, I was able to convey deep emotions and connections that bound the elements of my pieces together.  My paintings of prominent red strokes expressed my energy and vitality. My subtle use of red came from a state of intensity and intimacy. Bit by bit, my emotions stopped confining; rather, I was able to truly delve into the color’s potency, one canvas at a time.

As my confidence grew, I began to share my art with others. I discovered that my unique approach to art had value and that people were drawn to the raw emotion of my work. I realized that my love for art was not just a coping mechanism, but a true passion that had the power to connect me with others in a way that verbal expression never could. And so, I continued to paint, exploring new techniques and pushing the boundaries of my creativity, knowing that my art had the power to touch the hearts and minds of those who saw it.

The color red represented my inner fire and passion, and as I used it more in my art, I began to embody those qualities myself. Red became my signature, my calling card, and my way of standing out in a sea of artists. I was no longer afraid to show my work to others, knowing that it was a true reflection of who I was and what I had to offer. I found that people were drawn to my art, and the more I shared it, the more I realized that many resonated with it the same way I did. My love for red had become a symbol of my strength, my resilience, and my unyielding spirit. And through my art, I knew that I could make a difference in the world, one bold stroke at a time.

 Cadmium red is the color I held on to the most, and I've surprisingly always carried it with me. Red became a lens through which I viewed the world and reveled in its intensity. Red was more than just a color; it was my gateway to a world of creative expression and a symbol of my boundless potential. I'll never leave my artistic endeavors stuck in a monochrome society in which its demands fall beyond its blatant black-and-white spectrum.

Falling in love with the color's intricacies amidst a war is bitter-sweet. Nonetheless, the sensation of the can in my hands, spraying the cement wall that started it all, has left me with the gift of an everlasting self-portrait.