Reflections on my Self Portrait Challenge


{Once a week for 10 weeks I drew my self portrait; this is a slideshow of all 10, in order}

This past June I was in London for a speaking engagement. I hadn’t been to London since 1998, so I took a week to explore the city for the first time in 18 years. I love museums and I love portraits, so naturally one of the first places I visited was the National Portrait Gallery. While I walked the different rooms of the Gallery, I noticed how many of the portraits were artists’ self portraits. I’ve been an artist for almost 20 years and a working artist for 10, and I realized that day that I’d only drawn a portrait of myself maybe two times in the past 17 years, and the last time was many years ago. I couldn’t stop thinking about that fact for the rest of the day.

Part of how I make my living is drawing other people’s portraits — mostly for books. But the idea of drawing myself filled me with anxiety. I try to look at my anxiety as something calling my attention, so later that day I asked myself: What was I afraid of? What if I attempted to draw a self portrait a week for several weeks in a row? How hard could that be?

I went back to the apartment where I was staying that evening and began drawing the first of the series of self portraits in my sketchbook (it’s the first in the video above). Each week for the 10 weeks that followed, I made 10 self portraits (all of them in my sketchbook) and posted them on Instagram. People were instantly curious about my process: was I looking in a mirror? Was I drawing from memory?

The first thing to know is that I cannot draw myself from memory! At least not accurately. I am someone who can draw a likeness, but only from looking at reference. In this case, I took a picture of myself with my iPhone each week and looked at that while I made each portrait. Some weeks I attempted an accurate, proportioned portrait, and some weeks I focused more on my feelings, and one week I allowed myself to go super messy and almost abstracted. I created the least technically correct portrait the week after I returned from two weeks in France in early August, when I was hit with the worst jet lag I’ve ever experienced. It might be the most accurate portrait I drew the entire series! One week I even drew myself as Marie Antoinette after visiting Versailles in France. I was traveling a lot this summer, and so there are portraits from London, Austin (Texas), Paris France, Antibes France and Rock Hill (New York); and of course, my home, Portland, Oregon.

The best part of the experiment (which is now officially over; I feel done) was pushing myself to do this thing that previously scared me. I learned that I could do it, not once or twice, but many times over. And each time the result looked different! In the end, the drawing part ended up being fairly easy for me. The hardest part was actually posting the photos of the portraits on Instagram. It felt incredibly vulnerable to both draw myself and then to share those drawings with my 115,000 followers. “Wow, so interesting how you see yourself!” people would comment. What does that mean??, I’d think to myself.  And then one week, something like “Maybe next time you could smile.” Maybe this isn’t about posing for the camera, I thought. Somehow sharing my self portraits felt like the most vulnerable thing I had ever done on the internet (and I’ve shared some pretty vulnerable things on the internet, including writing some very personal essays on this blog). It was like every week I said, Hey, everyone, look at me! And look at how I see myself! And look at how badly I draw myself! And that felt so raw. Of course, many of my followers instantly understood the rawness of the project and were enormously supportive and encouraging. Many of them acknowledged that this is not something they could ever do, or that they’d be scared to try.

I have always liked the saying, “Do one thing every day that scares you.” (no one really knows who said this, but it’s widely attributed to the great Eleanor Roosevelt). Thank you to everyone who followed along and engaged with my project. You made it less scary.


On Traveling Alone



Five years ago in 2011, when I was 43 years old, something really cool happened: my art career started to take off after five years of concerted effort, and I began to have a bit expendable income for the first time in my life. When something like this happens, especially without a long track record, it can be a bit of a conundrum. On the one hand, I feared that my success might be a fluke, that it could all go “poof!!!” at any moment. On the other hand, I wanted to spend my “new” money on the stuff that my 43 year old self had not up-until-then been able to enjoy, especially before it went “poof!!” again (which thankfully never ended up happening, or hasn’t yet, but I had no idea at the time).

It was no secret then — to either my followers or my family and friends — that I had wanderlust. Much of the work that made me that expendable income was incidentally inspired by this wanderlust: portraits and landscapes of an imagined Nordic land, folk inspired Scandinavian drawings and patterns, and the like. So the first thing I did with the expendable income was to begin to scheme, and then pay for, my first trip abroad in nearly seven years. I decided I would go in real life to the places I had been pining after in history and design books and photographs I found on the internet — the places that were on the top of my bucket list: Scandinavia and Iceland. For the record, I do not keep a written bucket list, but I did have one in my mind, and Sweden, Denmark, Finland and Iceland were at the top.

My now wife, then girlfriend, had a full time job managing the marketing for a major art college. She didn’t have the time or the inclination to join me for travels. So I had no choice: I would go all alone. Over the course of weeks, I set a date, booked plane tickets and reserved several accommodations for a 23 day solo adventure.

I realize now that I am in some ways the perfect travel-alone candidate. I am true introvert in that I have always been someone who enjoys time alone. I get my energy from being alone. I love doing things by myself. I find time alone enormously peaceful. On the other hand, I also love people. I am not afraid to strike up a conversation with a stranger. And I am getting braver the older I get about asking strangers for directions or help when I’m confused or lost.

And multiple solo trips to New York City prior to ever traveling abroad alone had taught me one important thing: I like making my own decisions about what to do, where to go and and how long to spend in a place when I travel. I enjoy wandering through cities without negotiating turns without another person. If I walk into a museum or shop and feel bored (which sometimes happens) I don’t spend much time and can move on without having to worry if I’m cutting my travel partner’s experience short.  Conversely, I adore spending ample time in places that do intrigue me — all without worrying whether my travel companion is feeling unineterested. I love eating when I’m hungry and skipping meals when I’m not. I love buying things without feeling like I need approval. I love going bed early without apology after a day of walking.

So I had a feeling that I would enjoy month long trip by myself to a foreign country. I just had no idea how life changing it would be. The following year, in September of 2012, I boarded a plane bound for Reykjavik Iceland, the first leg on my journey.

Just to be clear: I was definitely scared. In the week before I left, I was having such intense butterflies in my stomach that I couldn’t fall asleep at night. What if I got lost? What if no one spoke English? What if, what if what if? As with most things that scare me, I just told myself, you’ve got this, Lisa. Just do it.

And so I did. And it was the most memorable, glorious twenty-three days of my life so far. Nothing — no solo trip since then (and I’ve taken two) —  has matched it. And I doubt anything ever will. For one, I visited some of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been (places I’d been dreaming & reading about and watching videos of for years). And it was a true vacation: I shopped, ate, lurked, wandered, took pictures, hung out with a few locals, slept, and wandered some more . I felt an enormous sense of freedom, one unlike any I’d ever felt. I was so inspired visually. It was hard to contain the overwhelm I felt, the best kind of overwhelm you can imagine. I can’t believe I’m here, seeing this. It’s like a dream.

Sure, a few times I got lost. And I even had two panic attacks, one in Copenhagen at a train station and one trying to find a bus station in Stockholm while dragging about forty pounds of luggage. That trip required ten airplane flights, countless bus rides and a handful of trains. The travel part of travel is always the hardest. But overall, I survived unscathed.

Since then I have traveled to different places in Europe four more times, twice with my wife and twice by myself. All of the trips have been fantastic, but the solo trips are special in their own way. When I travel by myself, I am making the most of my time, because I am seeing the things that are the most important to me. Sure, I don’t get to experience things with other people (aside from a few times when I hang out with people I know who live in those countries), which for me only means that I take in the experience more fully, because I, alone, am responsible for enjoying and remembering it.

People ask me a lot about traveling alone, especially as a woman. How is it for you? Are you scared? Do you get lonely? While I do occasionally get scared, I am getting used to being scared, which, over time, makes me less scared. During my latest solo trip to the South of France last month, I felt the least scared or intimated since my solo adventures began five years ago, and I don’t speak or understand a lick French beyond Bonjour! And Merci! and a few other words and phrases. I chalk that up to experience. Doing scary things over and over makes them less scary. And, no, I never get lonely.

It is not lost on me that traveling is a privilege. Travel costs money, even when you do it on the cheap. I am also very lucky to be married to someone who not only tolerates but encourages me to do the stuff I love and to pursue all of my passions, even if it means being away from home for periods of time. I think for many women, the idea of going off alone to travel is a much more complicated thing because the person they share their life with might not understand or support the idea. I also don’t have kids or a horribly expensive mortgage. Taking time away from work is the hard part for me. I feel so lucky that the travel part is easy.

But if you are someone who wants to travel and can travel by yourself, and you enjoy being alone, I really encourage it. I am not alone in my love for solo travel. Every time I scroll through Instagram, another one of my female friends is traveling alone. Seems like every time I turn around my friend artist Elizabeth Olwen is traveling by herself somewhere in the world (often at the same time as me). My best friend Jen Hewett travels solo almost every year. We joke often that we should “meet up” on our solo travels.

I also imagine solo travel isn’t for everyone. You have to like being alone for long periods of time in very unfamiliar environments. You have to be able to advocate for yourself when you are in a pinch — when you are lost, or unsure which train to get on, or when you’ve lost your ticket or it isn’t working in the machine, or you’re not sure which line to get in, etc etc. You have to learn to navigate cultures where men may talk to you inappropriately or, conversely, ignore you. Dealing with these kinds of situations isn’t rocket science, but you have to be comfortable protecting your personal space, asking strangers for help and being slightly vulnerable. The good news is, most of the time people are very kind.

For me, the freedom that comes with solo travel outweighs all of the stuff that is sometimes uncomfortable. I love seeing new sites: architecture, cathedrals, boutiques, museums, vistas, historical monuments, nature. And so planning and tackling days of sightseeing on my own is one of my greatest pleasures. What do I want to see today? Do I just want to wander? Or go to this museum? Maybe I’ll try this restaurant? I have so much energy, maybe I’ll walk the entire city! And I can do all of this without anyone else’ approval or permission or negotiation. Pure bliss!

“I guess I’m too selfish to travel well with other people,” writes author Alice Steinbach. While I do love to punctuate my solo travels with travels with other people, I feel similarly. Where is my next solo trip? I am not exactly sure, but I’m already scheming. Stay tuned.



On Racism and Silence



This is a post I should have written a long time ago. Every time I’ve sat myself down to write these words over the last two years, I have either become despondently depressed or overwhelmed with fear by what to say or how to say it. Sure, I talk about this topic on my personal Facebook page with my mostly agreeable friends and family, and mostly by reposting other people’s words, but, really, I’ve been mostly silent.

I decided over the weekend that I wasn’t going to be silent anymore. Why is it that I speak out easily and openly on this blog and social media about acts of homophobia? Sure, I’m gay, so some might argue that’s “personal”. But I am just as enraged about the killings of black people by police. So why don’t I speak out here about that?

I realized it’s because I don’t have to. And for a long time it felt easier not to.

I realized my silence is an expression of my privilege. My silence is my message.

And here’s the thing: I don’t want that to be my message.

Also, this issue really isn’t about my feelings. My feelings of “fear” about what to say as a white woman (hey, let’s be clear, white women typically don’t like to ruffle anyone’s feathers) have zero significance in relationship to the disproportionate killing of black men by police — killings which are a direct result of centuries of insidious racism in this country.

So here’s what I’ve got to say:

Racism is the most pervasive problem in the United States of America. Racism is inexorably linked to poverty, the achievement gap in education, mental health problems and violence. Everyone is harmed by it, and yet we allow even the most blatant expressions of it to go ignored and unpunished.

Don’t think the targeting of blacks by police is actually a problem? Here are some facts. And here are some more and some more.

Let me be clear before we go any further: I support and respect police officers. Police officers serve a necessary and important role in our society, and most of them do honorable peace-keeping work. Not all police officers commit acts of racism. I am devastated by the shooting of officers in Dallas. This is about the disproportionate and widespread instances in which white police officers have committed acts of violence against black men. This is about the lack of punishment for those police officers. This is about the lives of black people in this country.

I began to understand institutionalized racism and white privilege deeply for the first time about seventeen years ago when I was in my thirties. I worked in a non-profit organization in the Bay Area that did change work inside of high poverty public schools in California — with the goal of closing the achievement gap between children of color and their white counterparts. As part of my job, I went through intensive and immersive trainings with my fellow staff members around race and privilege. We studied and engaged with the work of Tim Wise and Peggy McIntosh, among many others (many, many more anti-racist teachers and programs exist today). A very diverse group of people, we talked and we talked about race and privilege from all perspectives. There were arguments, horribly uncomfortable moments, and tears. We developed programming to help the teachers and leaders we worked with also have conversations about race and privilege, and we engaged with them too. It was the most important work I’ve ever done. And it opened my eyes and changed how I understand my experience living in this country as a white person.

To this day, I think about race nearly everyday. Aside from my wife and family, the person I am closest to in the entire world is black. Because we interact and talk every single day, I am confronted with thinking about how this person I love experiences the world. And that, ironically, has been a great gift in my life — because it forces me to look squarely at her reality (not that I could EVER fully understand her reality) — as horribly awkward and painful as that is for me (and for our friendship), at times.

My wife and I talk about racism almost everyday now in the light of recent events, in the privacy of our own home, and two nights ago we talked about ending our public silence and becoming more actively engaged in addressing racism head on. We want to contribute to the eradication of racism in our country. We want to contribute to the conversation. We want to help change minds and hearts. Like many white people, we are overwhelmed by what to do.

I have spent a lot of time recently reading about and talking to other people about what I can do. I found this article on Salon particularly helpful. Here are some basic things it suggests:

  1. Talk to everyone about what is happening, even though it feels really uncomfortable, especially the people who are the most resistant or make you the most uncomfortable. Don’t know how to talk about race? Practice. Make yourself feel the discomfort of it.
  2. Check yourself. As white people, we benefit from the system we have created as the holders of power. No one is immune, no matter your pure, progressive intentions, thoughts and feelings. As Clodfelter writes, “If you’re doing work as an ally as a means of earning capital to counterbalance your white guilt or as a way of seeking accolades for how not racist you are, stop taking up space at the table.”
  3. Show up at events and rallies. Donate money to causes fighting racism. Participate in the conversation. Read what people of color have to say. Build your own awareness.
  4. Bear witness. Download the ACLU’s mobile justice app or similar tools and prepare to record police interactions if you find yourself witnessing an encounter.

This essay I am writing is not for the people who are already doing all of these things. This essay is for people like me who care deeply, but are unsure about speaking out — what to say, what to do, how to make a difference.

This essay is also for people who are spouting the words: “ALL LIVES MATTER.” Yes, all lives matter. Of course they do. But here’s the point of the phrase Black Lives Matter, eloquently explained by Kevin Roose:

“…the phrase “black lives matter” also has an implicit “too” at the end: it’s saying that black lives should also matter. But responding to this by saying “all lives matter” is willfully going back to ignoring the problem. It’s a way of dismissing the statement by falsely suggesting that it means “only black lives matter,” when that is obviously not the case. And so saying “all lives matter” as a direct response to “black lives matter” is essentially saying that we should just go back to ignoring the problem.”

Let’s not ignore the problem anymore. Let’s stop denying our privilege. Let’s begin to try to understand the complex layers of racism and where we fit in. Let’s express that “love” we preach with action to change.

Let’s stop being silent.

CATEGORIES: Personal Essays

What Makes a Good Life?



Two weeks ago I was on an airplane flying to the East Coast. I have my most profound creative and emotional moments on airplanes. I have come to learn I am not alone — that many people experience intense emotion and feelings of clarity while suspended in air. I have my deepest ponderings on airplanes. I have had some of my most weighty AHA! moments on airplanes, and come up with some of my greatest ideas.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the question, What Makes a Good Life? and on the airplane that day two weeks ago, I was thinking about it deeply (of course). So I took my pen drew the question in my sketchbook (top image, above) while we were flying over the United States, somewhere between Seattle and Washington, DC.

The next day in Rhode Island, our first stop on the trip, I photographed the spread, posted it on Instagram and asked my followers what they thought made a good life. You can see the results here. I also explained underneath the photo that I have been thinking a lot about this question lately, mostly because I am experiencing a new level of weariness in my life, which has lead to more labored attempts at creativity, less motivation and an almost constant state of anxiety about getting things done.

I need to come out of the closet and admit it: Hi, my name is Lisa and I’m fried. 

I have a thriving career, a solid, loving relationship, a close circle of devoted friends and a loving family — all markers of my own idea of some of the things that make a good life. I’m enormously grateful for all of those things. But lately I have also been experiencing unprecedented fatigue and malaise. That fatigue and malaise are, ironically, the result of the thriving career I mentioned earlier. I have spent the past six years working long days and with feverish devotion to build my illustration and writing career and take advantage of every opportunity that has come my way. And I have done it with energy, love and enthusiasm. And all of that work has paid off. But, as a result, I am now really tired. The kind of tired you can feel in your bones.

The #1 question people ask me is some version of this: You do so much in your career and you seem to have so much energy! How do you do it? I have never really known how to answer that question, and my answer is usually some version of sacrifice! discipline! long hours! taking the best possible care of myself that I can when I’m not working!

But lately, I’ve been wanting to say, I work too much! I’m burned out!

Truth is, it’s time for me to work less, create space around the projects and travel I do commit to and begin to slow down. My happiness, health and quality of life depend on it.

Okay, back to the question I posed on Instagram. I got over 90 responses in the comments. So on my way back home (also on an airplane) over last weekend, I drew in my sketchbook the most common responses to the question What Makes a Good Life (as proposed my my Instagram followers). You can see a photo of that sketchbook above too.

What people didn’t say was working long hours! success! to-do lists! 

What they did say was relaxation! curiosity! mindfulness! rest! family! friends! (and on and on). I couldn’t agree more.

I would not change anything about the past six years of my life and the sacrifices I made. I am gratified by and grateful for my career, following, books, clients, opportunities, travel, new friends, everything I’ve learned — all of it.

But it’s also time for me to make a shift. I will be writing about and documenting that shift here. I am not sure it’s going to be easy. I am not sure I really know how to relax anymore. Or that I won’t want to fill up my new “free time” with more projects. So, this should be interesting! And probably a little bit funny. And I look forward to sharing my thoughts about how it’s going here.

Stay tuned for more, soon.

Happy Wednesday!


MCAD Commencement Speech




This past Saturday, I had the honor of giving the commencement address at Minneapolis College of Art and Design. This was a really amazing (and somewhat surreal) experience for me. That’s mostly because I never went to art college — not at MCAD or anywhere else. I am self taught, and didn’t begin my career till I was in my late 30’s. I am, for all intents and purposes, an outsider to the academic world of art and design. So it was such a privilege to be invited to speak at one of the top ten art and design colleges in the country. I am still pinching myself and feeling enormously grateful for everything that has happened in my life in the past 15 years that has led to this point.

The transcript from the talk is below.


First of all, congratulations! What you have accomplished is profound!

I would like to thank everyone at the Minneapolis College of Art & Design for inviting me to speak to you today, in particular to president Jay Coogan and his staff who have been truly wonderful to work with.

It is really quite an honor for me to be standing here in front of you today. For one, I never graduated from art school. In fact, I never went to art school. And so for me to be here in this academic gown, dispensing wisdom, is the honor of a lifetime.

The path I took to become a successful working artist was unconventional, and I am grateful for all of the opportunities I’ve had over the past 15 years since I began on this journey. I somehow managed to figure out how to make it as an artist. It took me a few solid years – likely much longer than it will take you.

And that’s because you are starting with a few things I didn’t have — enumerable skills, tools and relationships that will help you to build your careers with fantastic swiftness. Remember to cherish and take advantage of all of those things as you leave here today.

But also remember that the greatest challenges you will face starting tomorrow, have little to do with your talent. Sure, talent matters. It matters a lot. But I like to say that 10% of your career is your talent and ingenuity. And the other 90% rests on your energy and enthusiasm, your humility and perseverance, your professionalism and dedication to pushing through every bump in the road you will encounter.

While challenges are ahead (and that’s good news because without challenges, life is exceptionally boring), I have some very good news for you.

You are leaving one of the country’s greatest art & design colleges and entering the professional world of art & design at a time unlike any other in history.

There has never been a better time to be an artist.
There has never been a better time to be a designer.
There has never been a better time to be a maker.
There has never been a better time to be an innovator.

Never in history have there been more tools, more opportunities, more platforms, or more resources for creative people to build and sustain a career and to give back to the world.

Never in history.

The Internet has changed the landscape of opportunity for artists. How you make your work, how you share your work with the world, who will employ you, how you sell your work to feed yourself — all of that is vastly different than it was even ten years ago.

Ten years ago, I decided to leave my job and become a working artist. Unlike most of you, I was already in my late 30’s. I was self taught and had little idea what I was doing. I remember telling my parents that I was going to leave my career as a director inside a non-profit organization to pursue a living as an artist. They looked at me like I was absolutely nuts.

But with discipline and a commitment not to give in easily, over time I made a successful career for myself. The Internet was at the time becoming a space for artists to share their work and build connections. I began to use the Internet as my marketplace, my testing ground, my community, my publicity hub, and my feedback loop.

When I was launching my career, the barriers which once held artists captive until they landed the right job or gallery show, won a prestigious award or fellowship, or secured the right agent or promoter, were beginning to fade. Those barriers are almost invisible now, except at the highest echelons of the art world, and even there, they are growing dimmer.

Gone now are the days of needing an agent, a gallerist, or a handler to make it as an artist. Yes, galleries and agents are incredibly useful and important, with enormous history, knowledge and support. They are simply no longer gatekeepers for success.

Also, gone are the days when you had to move to a specific place — like New York or Los Angeles — if you had any hope of making it or finding a decent creative job.

Gone are the days when you had to choose between being an illustrator or a fine artist. An editorial illustrator or surface designer. An animator or a graphic designer. Today you can choose to pursue and thrive at any number of creative pursuits.

The Internet has created a space in which brave people have forged new paths that previous art, design and illustration paradigms never would have allowed. The rules that once dictated whether a person would leave art or design college and become successful are becoming obsolete.

Instead, the Internet has created a space in which you have the freedom not only to create, but to market and grow your art or design practice however you like –without needing the permission or hand holding of someone with more clout or experience.

This freedom is enormously exciting. I am sure many of you are feeling that right now. The excitement that comes with the vast potential of a creative career in which you can make a difference in the world? There is absolutely nothing like it.

But as with most things that leave us feeling exhilarated, it is also likely leaving you feeling frightened. Some of you are frightened of failure. Some of you are frightened, conversely, of success – of your own power. Some of you are frightened of being ignored. Others of you are frightened of attention. Most of you are frightened of competition, criticism, or not being able to keep up the pace.

And, if you are not careful (and I am certain that most of you have learned this already over the past few years), all that fear can leave you feeling paralyzed or creatively blocked.

The fear cycle can be vicious.

So you must learn to confront your fear. And part of confronting your fear is understanding on a deep level that everyone is scared.

Every single one of you, on some level, is scared.

Take comfort in the fact that you are not alone.

Legendary artist Georgia O’Keeffe once said, “I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life – and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a single thing I wanted to do.”

I would hazard to guess that O’Keefe’s terror was connected to her deep commitment to putting new ideas and work into the world, not once or twice when it felt safe, but every single day she was alive.

As part of this next phase of your creative journey, part of your job when you get out of bed every single day is to tell your fears to piss off — or as the Buddhists might do, give your fears a giant bear hug.

You may even imagine that someday after you’ve got some years under your belt you will wake up and not feel scared anymore.

I’m sorry to tell you: that won’t happen either.

And that’s actually good news. Your fear makes you human. And fear is an integral part of the creative process. It’s an integral part of greatness. Of becoming great at something. Of being a great human being. Of becoming a great artist or designer.

And that’s because we cannot make a difference in the world without taking risks, without moving into new, uncharted territory, without forging new trails, without rubbing up against the status quo. Fear means you are doing all of those things. Fear means you are doing something right.

Develop a healthy relationship with your fear, and do not allow it to stop you from doing great things.

What a shame it would be if you hoarded all your ideas! What a shame it would be if you did not use your gifts!

It is, as writer Maya Angelou pointed out, in fact, your obligation to share your gifts. Fear, she said, “is not doing what you came here to do, out of timidity and spinelessness. The antidote is to take full responsibility for yourself – for the time you take up and the space you occupy. If you don’t know what you’re here to do, then just do some good.“

You leave here today with a rich education, you are entering the world of art & design at the most exciting time in history.

These are enormous privileges. Use those privileges wisely, and do not become complacent.

Show up every day.

Show enthusiasm.

Bring energy to your work and your working relationships.

Remain humble.

Grow the strength to persevere through every hardship, rejection or criticism.

Conduct business with professionalism and integrity.

Use your superpowers for good.

And last of all, be patient with yourself.

I hope you will each leave here today ready to let yourselves shine brightly, to share your tremendous gifts with the world, to be brave, to make a difference.

There has never been a better time to be an artist.
There has never been a better time to be a designer.
There has never been a better time to be a maker.
There has never been a better time to be an innovator.

I can’t wait to see what you create.

Thank you.