The Art Studio

My studio isn’t what you’d expect. It’s not one of those towering lofts with exposed brick and mood lighting. I

It’s just a little room upstairs, once a home office, now the place where most of my art begins.  It has a large window that overlooks the cul-de-sac and the daily drama of package deliveries and morning walkers.

This is where I spend most of my time, usually with my tiny Chihuahua curled up nearby, supervising.

The walls are lined with bookshelves... some filled with illustrated cookbooks by some of my favorite artists, some with design books, and some with cookbooks I’ve actually illustrated (which still feels a little surreal). There are product samples too... mugs, linens, and other things I’ve designed for manufacturers. I keep them close, not for show, but as a quiet reminder: you did that.

There’s a hutch... Amish-built and beautiful, holding a tableware collection I designed, along with my art prints, favorite greeting cards, and a few candles I haven’t lit because they’re too pretty. On the desk, two iPads, two laptops, and a printer try to coexist peacefully. Some days they do. Some days they rebel.

And then there’s the sofa. The pause button. It’s where I sit when I need a break, sometimes to read, sometimes to watch something light, sometimes to stare at the ceiling and wonder if I’ve used the wrong shade of green for the past three hours.

The messy work... watercolors, paint splashes, brushes in jars... that happens in the big studio downstairs. But here, in this cozy upstairs room, is where most of the real magic begins.

It’s not glamorous. But it’s mine.

And I love it.