Bolete

I had my 27th birthday dinner at the fabulous and brilliant Bolete Restaurant back in early September.

Mom’s House.

My mom's house, immaculately decorated according to the seasons and always sparkling clean, feels like walking into a magazine spread.

Late November.

These images and the time they were recorded feel like ancient history, on the second of the new year. The world is cold and it's colors muted.

Self.

As I have mused before, I suspect that one's sense of how to construct space is handed down, absorbed even, from those in our lives that shape us. I am no exception to this. In fact, I may be a shining, gleaming example of this.

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