I have worked in many studios over the years; our kitchen, a neighbor’s garden shed, my mom’s wood shed, our Airbnb apartment, the City’s local Art center, my friend’s foundry, and currently in a greenhouse attached to our home.

The greenhouse, a narrow, rectangular space with a defused glass wall facing south, and built 40 years ago by a gardener starting an orchid business. It has a sink, and 15-foot high ceilings and is small enough I can reach everything from my worktable. The compact size determines the dimensions and materials of my work, useful parameters in the artist’s boundless world.

I set the greenhouse up as a mosaic studio. Jars full of colored glass, pebbles, river rocks, and recycled jewelry crow in a recycled bookcase. My red toolbox sits in a corner and boxes full of hardware, glues, finishes, and cement products are stacked on the floor. My artwork hangs on the walls interspersed with nature’s treasures; a dolphin vertebra, a shell from El Camino de Santiago, and pieces of driftwood. A black and white photograph of an Indian woodcarver has followed me for years. He works in a state of bliss and sets my daily intentions.

My studio is a refuge, a place to create and listen, to let my hands move and set my soul free. When light and flow fill my space, art happens and I am fully alive.