The first thing I did was paint the floor pink. Is that a great color for a studio floor? It scuffs and stains easily, and it’s slowly being consumed by the splashes and splatters of other colors, but pink is my foundation. It lifts every other color as a primer on every painting I create and, beneath my feet, it lifts me up every time I put brush to canvas. It took some work to get here though.

I was in the middle of earning my master’s degree, working a full-time job in a related field, and was wound so tight I mistakenly put my textbooks in the fridge and the milk on my bookshelf (it spoiled). The next day I grabbed a small canvas and a brush and started painting, something I’d done a lot when I was younger but lost touch with when I started pursuing my career. It was the first time I felt relaxed in months. So I kept doing it. Eventually, I started selling my work and built a bit of a name for myself.

In 2017, my partner and I had an opportunity to live in Europe for a year. He was able to work remotely, but I wasn’t. This was the moment of no return. I couldn’t keep my job, but I couldn’t let this experience pass me by either. I took the leap. I quit my job, sold everything I owned, and left Canada. I woke up every day grateful for my new life, but also fearing I’d made a mistake leaving my stable, well-paying job. I continued to paint while away, sent commissions back to Canada, and developed a business plan. I drifted further and further away from my previous life. Meetings were replaced by walks through the cobblestone streets of Edinburgh, staring at a bottomless inbox was transformed into admiring Turkish rugs in Istanbul, and professional development meant a trip to the Musée de l’Orangerie in Paris to see Monet’s Water Lilies. I could feel myself shedding my old life and embracing a new one, even as it terrified me. When I returned home, I was a full-time artist, an entrepreneur, and forever changed.

Four years later, my art practice grew large enough that my partner left his job and we now work together at Amy Dixon Art.

Today, I focus on landscapes painted in acrylic. Home is a recurring theme in my work and it can be a difficult subject to capture as it means something different to everyone. Home is the majesty of mountains and the pattern of our tea towels. It's the ferocity of the sea and the chip in our coffee mug. Home is large and small, organic and manufactured. It's many things, but it's never one thing.

My current studio is located in Edmonton, Canada. The floors are pink, the walls are white, and your eyes will be assaulted by color as soon as you step inside. With two large windows on the far side, it’s a bright and cheery space. It exists in the eye of a hurricane, and it’s important to have a space that can be both inspiring and can take a beating, because it absolutely will. One half of my studio is where I paint and package orders. This includes a large workstation equipped with everything you need to mail a painting or a print. A large shelf divides the studio in half. The other side of the studio is outfitted with a long desk attached to the wall where prints are trimmed, but also where I do admin work. This side of the studio also holds my wide-format art printer and, most importantly, a bright yellow couch where you might catch me taking a nap to recharge on long days.

My space isn’t all business, though. I am mother to an ever-changing number of plants which is determined by whether I’m able to keep them alive. My most treasured item, though, is a compass from my grandfather’s boat. He was a fisherman, as was my father, and keeping it near me always reminds me of where I come from. I’m an artist, but I’m also the daughter, and granddaughter, of fishermen.

Reflecting on my studio for this article reminded me of how far I’ve come. The artist I am today is the one I only dreamed of being ten years ago painting in the corner of my kitchen, which led me to move my bed to my living room and turn my bedroom into a studio. While traveling, I painted on balconies, off the side of a couch, or on rooftop courtyards. As important and useful as my studio is today, it’s also a home, and both of these things can be found in spaces large and small. It isn’t the square footage, it’s what you do in the space that matters. Art isn’t concerned with square footage.

Amy Dixon is an Edmonton-based visual artist. Finding early inspiration in the mountain and ocean vistas of her childhood home in Nova Scotia, she is drawn to natural beauty and place in her art. In 2009, Amy exchanged raging Atlantic waters for vast prairie skies when she settled in Alberta, where she has since been captivated by the yellows, blues, and pinks of western summers as much as by the comforting stillness of the Rocky Mountains.

Before transitioning to full-time artist, she held positions in Community Development and Marketing with private and non-profit organizations. Using her education and experience, she contributed to bettering her local community, a value she maintains as a professional artist.

Amy has spent considerable time traveling in order to inform her art and perspective. She has lived in nearly a dozen countries across Europe, where she was able to explore the impact of art throughout history, but also discover the natural wonders of the places she visited. It was this experience that gave her the final push to leave her corporate position behind and embrace artistry full-time.

Amy’s work is a constant evolution as her desire to explore Canada and around the world continues to shape and influence her craft.