These spreads are from my very first sketchbook; it covers my senior year of high school, the summer before college, and part of my initial year at Yale.
The three color photographs were taken by my Grandpa Berrett at a Thanksgiving dinner. The last minute preparations are almost what I enjoy most about the holiday—my father carving the turkey by the sink; my mother busily managing the mashed potatoes, gravy, and the multiple pyrex dishes popping out of the oven; and me, luckily in charge of stirring the caramelized potatoes so that the sugar doesn’t burn (perhaps this task alone instilled within me a fondness for cooking).
Everyone else hovers around the kitchen island, beginning to chatter and waiting to eat. (As you can see from the above picture, my Grandma Berrett’s hand sticks in, trying to help stir the gravy, whilst my mother maintains steady conversation. I, of course, seem to look onto the scene with silence and contemplation.)
Every time, I am in New York, I always stop at 
