I went from living and painting in a spacious, bright, open-plan loft that felt so big, to a corner in our co-op apartment that doesn’t get much light. The transition was uncomfortable — I slowed down, I felt confined. While I work, I do not see the colors with the same intensity as before. It’s taken me over a year to understand this, and frustration has played a big part in that timeline: the colors, in all their extraordinary enthusiasm, are present while I paint, only slightly foggy and dim to the eye. It’s quite perfect really: faith in my work is the answer. Honor the process, revel in the patience, and know the result of my labor lives in the moment my work moves out of my space and into the light of a new home.