We didn’t start with a studio.
We started with a corner.
A small, uneven table. A few brushes that had seen better days. Paints we stretched longer than we should have. And hands—tired, hopeful, and stubborn enough to keep going.
There were days when nothing sold. Days when we questioned everything. Was it the colors? The designs? Or just us?
But still, we showed up.
We painted through doubt. Sanded wood late into the night. Learned how to shape, carve, and build frames that could hold not just art—but meaning. Every scratch on our hands became part of the story. Every mistake, a lesson we carried forward.