It starts with a spark, a silent thrill,
A shape, a shadow, a line that stills.
Not just beauty—but a kind of yes,
A quiet joy you can't suppress.

A curve in glass that catches light,
A photo soaked in morning white,
A sculpture balanced, bold and free,
A canvas of art’s gentle sea.

Each piece a voice, a mood, a song,
A place where human hands belong.
Not meant to hide, but to impart
A gift that warms the soul and heart.

To collect is not to own or claim,
But to welcome—heart to frame.
To live with what once lived in thought,
Now shaped, now shared, now finely caught.

It’s walking past and smiling wide,
As sun through stained glass shifts the tide.
It’s dinner framed by works that gleam,
And quiet mornings warmed by dream.

No two the same, no wrong or right—
Just what delights you, sparks your light.
A dance of forms, a curated grace,
That turns your home into a place.

A place that speaks of who you are,
Of where you’ve looked, how you see stars.
Of what has stirred your soul awake—
The things you choose, the joy you make.

This is the life of the collector’s heart:
To build a world made rich by art.
Not for applause or grand display—
But for the way it makes you stay.

Stay in the moment.
Stay in the glow.
To live with art
Is to let beauty grow.