Sometimes I still sit and reminisce, thinkin' 'bout all those paintings I made way, way back in my early twenties, when I was terrified of color, had no idea who I was (both as an artist and a woman), and didn't have the confidence to push myself beyond the limits of my self-appointed confines. An art manager approached me when I was 23, and I quickly began doing gallery showings, only my work was dreadfully boring. Average pieces to go with average waiting rooms in average office buildings. Sometimes I cringe just thinking about it. Still, it was a great learning experience, and it put a few extra dollars in my pocket. Here's to wrinkles, bad joints, and 9pm bedtimes. Those things might not be 'bout it, 'bout it, but they come along with a badass map showing you where you've been and who you are. Here's to my twenties and bad art and regrettable decisions. I've got no use for any of you, but thanks for ride here. My paintings in my first gallery showing...way, way back.