When I think of Makers, I think of my grandmother. She was a powerful Maker. Most things she made were transitory. She grew her family's food and put it up, She made a fire everyday in the wood cook stove and made dinner. She made sure her family ate, even if it meant she was hungry. She made clothes and made them clean. She made medicine, and made us feel better when we hurt. I remember once she pulled a bumblebee out of my hair with her bare hands. It stung us both, but in that act, she made it clear that I was sacred and loved. When you know that, nothing can hurt you. That kind of thing stays with you as long as you live. Something else she made that I still have are her quilts. When she was young, they were perfect, hand stitched, with colors carefully chosen and coordinated from the old clothes she cut into geometric patterns. But after she lost her eyesight, they were crooked and possessed a different beauty. Her quilts still hold magic. If I am having a bad day, I can wrap myself in one of them and feel the comfort of her love. No amount of money can buy that. This painting is about the making of a home, a nest, and the most important thing we can make and often the least appreciated, which is love.