As a scratchy Janis Joplin piped through the house, her mother recognized something that must have ranked slightly left of boredom the day she came home to discover Stefany had dismantled the entire ceiling fan in the guest bedroom to return it completely consumed by intricate hand-painted images. Not only was the furniture precisely rearranged to allow the outline of her body to lie directly below, she had dusted off the old record player from the attic and set it up on a crate not quite indigenous to the home.

As an only child with unrestrained energy, Stefany’s parents were constantly negotiating ways in which to keep their little one entertained.
They hurled sporting goods, musical instruments, colored pencils, pastels, and paints in every direction. There was nothing she didn’t find amusing about a pipe cleaner or Popsicle stick, and felt a papier-mâché mock-up or beauty school dummy head was the most dramatic way to present the protagonist in a book report for the tomes she would only sometimes read.

As she faked her way through piano lessons on the family’s baby grand and used her ‘Muppets’ drum set as a step stool to heave herself onto the pull-up bar installed in the doorway, she swiftly departed from the field of music after sinking her foot through the bass drum. Though music never quite stuck, she will occasionally launch into a set of conga drums with her iPod, but will never subject anyone to the sounds that make even her dogs dismiss the room.

Her mother is probably most affectionately pleased that the Deco-Page phase was but a fleeting one, ending only seconds before Stefany felt the dining room table would look better covered in match books, concert tickets, and foreign currency. Once old enough to hold a hot glue gun and re-wind the thick yellow extension cord correctly, there was nothing she felt looked finer permanently tacked to something else exceptionally inappropriate, later leading to her bedazzlement of cow skulls. And there was no form of life unavailable for pink feathers and glitter either, a chapter that dominated her college years.

Always encouraged by her mother to be expressive, Stefany’s father chanted things about business strategies and retirement plans. There was a strong persuasion to tether the right brain to the left, though Stefany will still say she brawls with that delicate balance. She studied Advertising and English at Florida State University, but found herself getting into Facilities Management and Corporate Real Estate. A seemingly natural progression, she laughs. Bored to tears designing Data Centers, she left to consult and later renovate residential homes. After eight combined years of sawdust and mold spores, there was little motivation to continue her lead-based paint and asbestos future.

Stefany finally sailed her middle finger at the world of construction management and began freelance writing, a huge passion and outlet, though downright humble because she typically charges by the glass or the course because she doesn’t cook. Repeatedly asked by friends to “paint me something” as guests would enter her home eventually realizing that the pieces displayed were by-products of her own insanity, she was suddenly encouraged by a dear friend to make art an essential part of her daily life.

Stefany’s influences vary. She studied Art History in high school and still clutches her note cards produced to once study for tests that she will never bring herself to purge. She clung to the vivid colors of Matisse, the meaning of Frida Kahlo, and the depth of Caravaggio, though she is most influenced by those who surround her personally. With an unwavering need to ‘touch’ her inspiration, she gains momentum from the local and familiar creatures that are probably unaware.

Stefany admires Rocio Rodriguez’s intellectual references and the sizes of her specimens. They also share an unmatched appreciation for Ketel One and bourbon. Her jewelry fetish propels her to appreciate the environmentally savvy style of jewelry designer Kathleen Plate with Smart Glass. And she’s mesmerized by the mixture of mediums Brian Kirchner integrates into his full-bodied pieces that require the brawniest of anchors to transpire a surface.

Stefany greatly salutes the endless support her mother has undoubtedly distributed over the years; the lengths her father continually stretches to infuse a keen business sense; her high school Spanish teacher Patricia Zdravkovich, who not only belted out “Estefania, a la veranda!” for chatting too much in class, but for making Art a dynamic part of the curriculum; and Barbara Hamby, her college poetry professor/Author who constantly ended her critiques with “Tighten!” And she was never quite sure if that meant her words, her grip, or her bra strap.

And can’t you tell… she’s writing this in the third person?!