My mom always said she didn't know what she wanted to be when she grew up. Turns out neither do I.
I spent a long time being useful in corporate environments — the kind of work that rewards thinking in several directions at once. At some point I realized the maker in me deserved its own space. So I gave it one.
I make things. Not one kind of thing — all kinds of things. Birds rendered with patience feather by feather. A tulip in four parts. A soap bubble that lasted exactly long enough to paint. Once, a gull in a tie. None of it is in a box. Except for the diorama.
This is where those things live. Come in. The door was open.