I remember it clearly, the scent of wax and paper, the thrill of possibility. I was six when my grandmother came from New York to visit us in San Rafael, California, carrying a simple box of oil pastels that felt like treasure. I still have them.

That moment never really left me.

Standing before a blank canvas today, selecting colors in the studio, I feel the same quiet anticipation. That sense of possibility, curiosity, and something waiting to be discovered.