Treasure Boxes
Homemade presents. The best, right?
Before I became a professional painter, I used to make gifts all the time for my friends and family. Yes, for the holidays, but also anytime of year, just for fun. Candles, magnets, pillowcases — and my favorite of all, boxes. I’ve been fascinated with boxes since I was a little girl. I loved having a special place to put treasures. There’s something magical about opening a lid and finding a tiny world inside.
This holiday season, I felt myself reaching back toward that part of me — the girl who just wanted to make things for the people she loved. I wanted to do something special for all of you who support my work, season after season. I feel so much gratitude for this community, and I wanted to make you a present, just like I used to make for my friends. So this year, I made a set of treasure boxes. (They’re technically more like cigar boxes, but I don’t know anyone who smokes cigars, and “treasure box” feels infinitely more magical.)
Not just any boxes, but the kind you keep near your bed or on a sunlit shelf. The kind that hold a ring you inherited, a shell you pocketed on a walk, the note someone you love left for you years ago. I’ve had boxes like that my whole life — quiet containers of meaning, reminders that beauty can be small and deeply personal.
Attaching each painting to a wooden box felt like bringing two parts of myself together: the child who loved tucking things away, and the artist who spends her days trying to offer the world a little more beauty.
These boxes are not mass-made. They’re not slick or manufactured. They’re heartfelt — made one at a time here in my studio, with the spirit of Mount Tamalpais and the California landscape woven into every brushstroke. Each one carries a view I love, a color story from the coast, and a sense of calm that I hope you feel each time you open it.
My wish is that these treasure boxes become part of your life in the same way mine have become part of mine: a place for the small, important things. A place for meaning. A place for magic.