In my life with Maria, there are few boundaries between work and art and life. Our lives are my writing, my pictures, my books, our home, our windowsills, her videos, photos are also our life. Nowhere is this more true than our farmhouse, a beautiful classic and sturdy home built around 1800.

The house is really a gallery in many ways, Maria is the curator. Every morning, the windowsills, walls and colors reflect the artist’s view of the world, India is all over our living room, we have a Frida Kahlo bathroom, and now, a New Mexico kitchen is taking shape.

We both loved the colors we saw in New Mexico, but Maria absorbed them in a particular way. She spent all weekend – I was laid up with a cold most of the time – furiously painting the walls. Yellow on top, soft green on the bottom, red trim on the window sashes.

She got one coat up, has one or two more to go, She has an amazing amount of energy when she gets focused, and in a week or so, it will all be done. She moved the stove, counters around, spread tarps all over the place, and hopped up and down all day painting the ceiling trims and the upper sections of the walls.

The new colors have transformed a room that was a bit drab, it is warm and inviting. We are leaving the old white cabinets the way the are (we will paint them over in white), they have a classic look.

But when I looked at the kitchen sink, I thought this is a work of art all in itself, another corner of the farmhouse that is changed, that reflects our art and work, and the colors of our lives.

I love the fact that  creativity is woven into our lives and our work, there is really no distance between them. I think the role of the artist is to give some meaning to life, and I think our house does that for us, perhaps for some others.