Hello, my readers. I am so happy to welcome you to my studio today. I appreciate you being here. I want to take a moment to share a story about visiting a small art store as a child—a memory that has stayed with me my entire life and helped me through some of my most difficult moments.

(Just a quick note: this post is not sponsored by Blick! It’s just a place that holds a very special piece of my heart.)

As a child and into my teenage years, I attended a small local art school. My teacher did everything she could to make us feel inspired and fall in love with art over and over again. I loved her and that school so much. In her studio, I was probably the most real version of myself—the real Victoria —without hiding anything or worrying about looking silly.
Usually, my classes started around 5 PM, and in late autumn and winter, evening would already be settling in by then. The street lamps would turn on one by one. One day before class, I needed to buy a new paint set. My mother gave me the money, and I headed to the tiny art store right across from the studio.
I walked over as the evening fell, the streetlights glowing and rain dancing outside, and I found the exact paint set I was looking for. I paid for it and couldn’t wait to get my hands on it. When the salesperson handed it to me, I opened it just to smell it. That scent, combined with the distinct aroma of the art store—the best smell in the world—has stayed with me my entire life.
I took it and ran back to the studio. As I walked into the hall, the mix of evening light and shadows felt like a surreal world. Then I stepped into the main room, where a huge, wall-sized window faced the rainy, illuminated street. Inside, easels were arranged around a still-life composition waiting for us. (That is probably why still-life remains my favorite subject to this day.)
That evening was a highlight of my artistic journey. If you know me, you know that my life hasn’t always been easy—far from it. Whenever I faced an unimaginable situation and didn’t know how I would survive, that evening came back to me. The smell of the art store, the soft light and shadows of the studio, the rain falling outside on an autumn evening—that memory kept me strong and kept me moving. It became my safe place where I felt anything was possible, where I was completely myself.

It was a feeling I thought I would never experience again—until last Sunday. We were having a rainy day here in Atlanta, and my husband suggested we go to Blick (he knows how much I love that store). So, we got in the car with our two fur babies and drove through a heavy rainstorm. The streetlights were just turning on as evening set in.

As I walked inside, every single memory of that childhood evening came flooding back. I walked through the aisles, touching the supplies and breathing in that beautiful, familiar smell, and I started crying. (Thankfully, no one noticed. It would probably look a bit strange to see a woman crying while touching paint tubes!) There were so many years in my life when I couldn’t afford a single art supply and would literally dream about having anything at all. I didn’t want our time in the store to end. I was completely overwhelmed by the memories and the wonderful feeling that I had somehow recreated that perfect evening, right here in Atlanta.

Why am I sharing this story with you? Because as artists, the experiences we hold close to our hearts end up pouring into everything we create. I want to remind you that no memory is “small” if it anchors you. That feeling of peace or inspiration you might be searching for could be waiting right around the corner—perhaps even on a rainy evening in a local store. Hold onto your safe places, let them fuel your journey, and never forget why you started. Never stop dreaming, and never stop creating.