In a summer design course, I pitched my idea for a glow-in-the-dark tennis court and set off to build a model. After selecting the material, I sawed, I sketched, and I painted. I excitedly tossed the brush into bucket, splashing water everywhere, and hastily snatched the Super Glue with my left hand, shaking the entire table.

I enjoy how objects feel in my hands because I can imbue my spirit into my creations just like an artist's signature on his work. As I tried to place the 2-millimeter-wide wood stick onto the model, I could sense my mental strength and hands' subtle motion converging into the model court.

I once asked Mr. Boone, my engineering teacher, whether my rough edges needed to be level. To my surprise, he said, "The roughness of the edge gives me a sense of intentional randomness, which I regard as the beauty of your work."

The practicality and the artistic elements in modeling are equally important. I had been hesitant to model my tennis court with sophisticated computer programs because they diminish the artistic elements involved with the construction. While building engineering projects, I would envision myself creating not just a robust model with precise parameters but also a beautiful work of art. While strict measurements allow us to replicate reliable products, the aesthetic appeal makes consumers want to engage with the products.

The careful composition of chemicals allows my court to glow in the dark, but people admire the glow for its beauty.