No woman is an island—and that includes me! Nurturance for my creative spirit goes all the way back to my mother, the original riot of color, and also to my paternal grandmother, my “Farmor,” a graduate of Parson’s School of Design in the 1920s. My high school art teacher, Helen Linz, got me to drop my teenage self-consciousness long enough to sculpt a (decent) female nude. Joan Anderson showed me how to still my mind before picking up a brush, and she called me a colorist. My dear cousin Reeve Washburn offers me endless friendship in art and life. Wolf Kahn, whom I never met in person, feels like a kindred spirit in the realm of brave color adventure. How grateful I am for each and every transmission I have received.