As soon as we stepped into my apartment we were greeted by the thick scent of paint. Sekani flicked on the light and I took in the studio that was my home. It was filled with sketchbooks, canvases, paint, brushes. There was a folding screen dividing the room, almost hiding a dresser and bed. A small, cluttered table was pushed against the wall near the kitchen. In the center of the room sat a stool and an easel with a half-finished painting. “This is my house—my home,” I said. There were so many paintings on the walls and even more…