Behind yellow doors—is where she creates. Where she bakes, cooks, sews, knits, writes, sketches, colors and paints. The world is her canvas just waiting for a story to be told.
Some days it is the story of a crisp fall evening, as a cool breeze dashes through the windows, and the smell of a home made apple crisp cooling on the counter swirls gently through the air, grasping on to the breeze as they sail through the house in unison.
Sometimes the story is of a girl who bit of more then she can chew, as she tirelessly sits in her living room under the dim light of the lamp, knitting stitch by stitch a blanket nearly two years old, but still unfinished.
There are times it is the story of a girl young at heart, shaping and molding play dough beneath her hands—creating—over and over again, for no particular reason. A girl of nearly thirty who still wants to play.
Sometimes it’s the story of a meticulous perfectionist, peering out from behind a pad of paper, sketching, erasing, shading, perfecting, letting no detail go unnoticed, no pencil stroke forgotten.
At times it becomes the story of the girl, who sees limitless potential in the world around her. Who dreams of a world where the most vibrant colors are streaked across the sky each sunrise and sunset, and who leaves no object unturned in the search for her next canvas. A girl who owns not one pair of pyjamas that haven’t met her paint smudged hands, or been used in a pinch to clean a paint soaked brush, leaving a colourful fingerprints and brushstrokes captured in time.
More often then not, it is the story of the girl who sees the beauty of her family, and wants it captured timelessly on paper, jotting, scribbling, the moments that take her breath away, and wanting nothing more, then to pass on the emotion, the beauty, and the reality that is hers.
Behind yellow doors, is where she creates. Behind yellow doors, is where she draws inspiration. Behind yellow doors, there’s a story to be told.