Inspired by the inevitable and beautiful mist that covers a city that’s never bothered to be like anywhere else. Waking up in the early morning to the dull roar of a foghorn and a view of nothing, permission to not feel guilty about staying home, the consoling protective layer that makes light softer and sounds quieter, and everything that is partially whimsical, partially gloomy, completely relentless, hair-frizzing and ethereal, that pushes us inward. “Someone’s stolen Oakland,” she says dryly, draped in baggy sweats and thick socks, sipping coffee and staring out the window at where the bay bridge would normally be, cozy in a home literally inside of a cloud.
*Opaque introspective warm concrete grey.
