The Story of Us: The Day an Art Studio Changed Everything

If you’ve been following along for a while, you know that so much of my life, my earrings, my paintings, my travels, this blog, somehow always circles back to color and creativity. But what some people don’t know is that my relationship with Ty does too.

We met in one of those unexpected, right-place-right-time ways that only makes sense in hindsight, a connection that felt both brand new and strangely familiar. Our story isn’t dramatic; it’s steady, grounding, and built on small moments that became something really meaningful.

But there’s one moment I always go back to.
The moment where everything really clicked.

The Moment I Knew

When Ty and I were still getting to know each other, he invited me to come visit him in Nashville. I remember feeling that mix of excitement and nerves, not the overwhelming kind, but the kind that tells you something important is unfolding.

He was still filming on tour when I got to Nashville, and the timing was a little unpredictable, so he wasn’t sure he’d be home right when I arrived. He left a key for me so I could let myself in and get settled until he got back.

I wasn’t expecting anything unusual. Just a quiet townhome and some time to unwind after traveling.

But as I walked through the house, I noticed a pair of glass double doors leading into a sunroom-style office, windows wrapping around the perimeter. And taped to the doors was an envelope with my name on it.

Inside was a handwritten note, the kind that makes your heart skip a beat. It said, “This is just the beginning. When someone puts so much into reaching a goal, good things are bound to happen. So happy and proud of you.” He wrote about being proud of me for taking a risk, how good things were coming if I just believed in myself, and how blessed he felt to have met me.

And when I opened the doors, I realized just how much intention had gone into this moment.

The letter read: “This is just the beginning” and encouraged me to pursue my passion as an artist.

He had taken half of his editing studio and turned it into a little art studio for me.

An easel. A canvas. Paints. Brushes. Everything set up and waiting.
Not just any supplies, the exact kind I used at home.

And here’s the part that still gets me:

A few weeks before, he had visited me in Salt Lake City. At the time, all I had was a tiny little art corner in my living room, nothing fancy, nothing staged. Just a small setup where I squeezed in time to paint whenever I could.

What I didn’t know was that he paid close attention.
He noticed the exact easel I used.
The brand of the canvas.
The type of paints and brushes.
All the little details I never realized he was observing.

What I love most is that we never even talked about my tiny art space. I didn’t point it out, explain it, or share details. He just observed it quietly, the way someone sees a part of you that you didn’t even realize you were showing.

And then he went home and recreated it, piece for piece, in that sunroom office before I ever arrived.

It wasn’t extravagant or showy.
It was thoughtful. Intentional. Personal in a way that felt rare.

I stood there in his home, in complete awe, overwhelmed in the best possible way, realizing that he hadn’t just told me to “make myself at home.”
He had created a space where I instantly felt at home.

And in that quiet moment, I knew there was something different about him.
Something steady and sincere.
Something real.

After he came home, he took me to the art store to get even more canvas, Nashville, June 2019

Why I Wanted to Share This

I’ve thought about this moment so many times over the years, especially now as I build this blog, Living in Color. So much of what I create, whether it’s earrings or paintings or blog posts like this, comes from a place of wanting to notice the small, intentional gestures that make life feel meaningful.

And this story is one of mine.

It wasn’t a grand event, a big trip, or some dramatic turning point. It was a thoughtful act of paying attention. It was someone seeing the parts of me I didn’t even realize I was showing, my tiny art corner in Salt Lake City, the supplies I loved, the way creating helps me breathe and quietly making room for them.

It reminded me that love doesn’t always announce itself.
Sometimes it’s waiting behind a pair of glass doors with a note and an easel.

Sharing this now feels important because it’s so intertwined with how I try to live creatively:
by paying attention, by making space for joy, by honoring the things that light us up.

And if you’ve been on your own journey to rediscover your creativity or your courage or the parts of yourself you’ve tucked away, I hope this story nudges you to bring a little of that back.

Studio 2020

Creating a Life You Feel at Home In

Looking back, that sunroom became a symbol of something bigger. Not just the beginning of our relationship, but the beginning of a life where I was encouraged to create, explore, and grow.

It’s a reminder that the right people don’t just fit into your life, they expand it.
They don’t dim your color, they make it brighter.

Whether you’re in a season of new beginnings or deepening the life you’re already living, I hope you find people (and places) that make you feel seen in the most authentic, unexpected ways.

A Little Note Before You Go

If this story made you smile, or brought up a memory of your own “moment you knew,” I’d genuinely love to hear it. Stories like this are what make this space feel like a real community.

You can:
• leave a comment,
• share this post with someone who might need it,
• or subscribe to my email list so you never miss a new story or creative update.

Thank you for reading and for being part of this colorful little corner of my life.
There’s so much more to come. 🫶

Ty and I in my new (bigger, upgraded) studio, 2022

Completed studio in our new home, 2022