I grew up under the watch of large, mysterious abstract canvases painted in ethereal, alluring color combinations like aubergine and golden flax, sienna and cerulean. The smell of oil paint and the tacky feel of the a drying palette piqued my senses. These are the nostalgic touch points of my childhood.

My father was a fine artist and our cedar-paneled basement was where he spun his art. Burlap paint-stained cloths thrown over card tables, a dark-wood easel, and makeshift repurposed finds furnished this space that I now recall so fondly.