When I was twenty and studying art in undergrad, I house sat for my parents one summer and built my entire senior show in their kitchen. I remember the feeling or horror one day when cutting out a shape with the jigsaw and accidentally making a slice into the tabletop that my mother had hand stained when I was an infant. Three decades later and I’m still making most of my work in the kitchen. I have a studio about fifty feet from the house in a shipping container – but the kitchen is oh so more comfortable. At least until Emmett, comes home and starts at his own art experiments precariously poised on top of one of my own almost completed billboard paintings.
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