I grew up as a graphic designers daughter. I say that as if that’s something that defines me and in truth, it does.
Because of my dad I studied art and enjoyed endless hours on inDesign creating and sketching and designing. I’d sit beside him at work on a Saturday morning on a Mac and we’d eat bacon barms in comfortable silence.
Yesterday my dad came home and I gave him a hug and he smelled of his familiar solvent-y ink-y smell. I said to him that I can still smell it on his clothes but yet when I go to his work I can’t smell it in the air anymore. My dad said he can’t smell it at all anymore.
As a child I used to love that smell and I suppose even now I still do.
My grandma is an artist too. She would spend hours painting in all different media and would have them dotted about her house while they aired and dried. I don’t know whether she sold them or kept them but they were all so good. Painting, drawing or CMYK and even more recently shades of Pantone I have always loved colour and art.

My painting of an apple as a present for my dad for his birthday last year.