I am the youngest of two girls, born in Los Angeles to parents who did not think it was possible to have children. My mother was a proper, educated, and elegant woman, the daughter of a Hollywood minister. My father was the kind of man who could do anything—he grew up on a ranch in Arizona, and tried his hand at trick riding, carnival performing on the Bed of Nails, drumming, mining, became an automotive foreman, and by the time I came along, had settled into the daily grind of life as a salesman. My parents met in Alaska. My father was working as a photographer for a construction company, and my mother, not finding any suitable men as an elementary school teacher, took the bus from Los Angeles to Alaska, wearing high heels and a hat. I like to think she struck gold in the Yukon. Both my parents were charming, fun, and had a wicked sense of humor. Though my parents supported my artistic leanings, my mother strongly suggested that I become a dental hygienist. Contrary to my mother’s wishes, my dreams led me to New York City and the world of fashion and art.

After a decade of traveling the globe as a fashion editor, I married, had my daughter Charlotte, and found myself back in Los Angeles so that my husband could pursue a graduate degree. I had another child, Henry, and began to stumble around trying to figure out what to do with my life, outside of being a mother. After a few failed attempts at a new career path, I took a photography class, and never looked back.

One morning, my husband woke me up to the words, There is a garage sale across the street. That was enough to make me rise out of bed as if it were on fire, and high tail it to someone else’s junk. The stars must have been aligned as there were three sales on my block: the first provided a small print of Whistler’s Mother (the real title is Arrangement in Gray and Black, Portrait of the Painter’s Mother), which got me thinking about the idea of portraiture, strong compositional relationships, and the evocative nature of unassuming details. The next sale provided a leopard coat, hat and fabric, and a chair that looked very similar to the one in Whistler’s painting. At the final sale, I found a painting of a cat, and I knew I was on to something.