STUDIO WORKS

I grew up in a house saturated with art. It often felt like we lived in a painting – colorful, dramatic, a little surreal. The walls were painted deep hues of orange, maroon, teal, and mustard yellow, often in the same room – foils for my father's canvases of soft abstracts and sinewy nudes. It was unlike the homes of any of my friends in our rural college town, a fact that was not always comfortable for my younger self. Dad was a professor of fine arts, my mother a lover of books and stories. I am their amalgam.  (Continues in Posts)