When I think of the start of my artistic journey, I think of greeting cards. I was probably five or six, literate, but writing only with tremendous difficulty. My mom would sit me at the laminate kitchen island, colored an odd pale pink that doesn’t resemble any real stone known to man, and instruct me to make thank you cards for my aunts and uncles who had bestowed gifts on me, either for Christmas or my birthday.
The Market Always Has Room for New Artists
This was a lovely read and very encouraging. Thank you 🥰
Thank you for this, Chelsea. You don't know how much I needed this affirmation this week. <3