My kitchen often doubles as my work studio. There is a pad of sketch paper and a mechanical pencil that just live on the table. Whether I'm eating breakfast, opening mail or throwing on a jacket before leaving, there is always that pad of paper. There is a window on the other side of my kitchen table that lets the light pour in during the summer, and lets me watch how rapidly the weather can shift in the fall and winter. That front room feels like the heartbeat of my house, its where Coolidge sleeps, where we play, where he gets dried off after coming in from the rain, its where I curl up with new books or old favorites, where I make dinner for friends or talk about the day with my partner. It feels natural then, that this would be where I draw and cut my images. The moments I always try and capture are the small ones I sometimes find myself taking for granted. A front room filled with shoes which means the family is all home, the moment your dog looks up at you during a walk, or the exact moment a parent comes home and gets to say hello to their child. These are the moments I've always felt safe and loved, the moments that have felt like home - no matter where I am.
We all have different stories and most likely different definitions of home. What I love about making these images is that they are just snapshots of a moment - the viewer gets to determine the meaning and the story behind them. But I like to think that as these images get sent out as cards, perhaps hung in someone elses kitchen, held in someone elses hands, there are these little bits of home being sent all across the country.