When I was growing up, there was a lot of money around me because many of the kids I knew were children of Wall Street bankers and wealthy businessmen.
While my parents did well for themselves, I by no means lived in a mansion or rode around in a Rolls-Royce like some of my peers. I developed an interest in drawing and painting early on. While my classmates were considered jocks or cool kids, I was known as the artist in school.
I felt a sense of pride in being different, and my teachers and parents encouraged me to pursue my artistic interests. That is where I truly discovered art and began to consider myself an artist. We lived in Paris for four years before moving back to the states. I was really, really lucky. The early teens are such formative years: I was so impressionable. I was a sponge for culture and started finding inspiration all over the city. I was heavily influenced by European art and design, and I discovered the work of London design studios, which were doing design that I aspired to.
When I moved back to Greenwich at age 15, I was desperate to return to a city and be part of a creative community. To go from Paris to a small town in Connecticut at that age would be challenging.
It all comes full circle I suppose. But just when I thought there was no one in Greenwich to relate to, I met my now-husband, Johnny. He was a fellow artist who also wanted to move to New York City. He and I made our way into the city as fast as we possibly could by taking painting classes at Parsons after school. We rode the Metro North train into Manhattan, took painting classes with continuing education students, and then took the train back home. After that experience, we both made up our minds to graduate high school early, attend Parsons together, and start our careers as soon as possible.
