It was a finger-painting of a rainbow in a sunny field drawn on old-school construction paper back when I was in pre-school. It was rolled up in an dusty shoe box atop a cob-web infested closet and had hard water stains on the edges from a leak caused by Hurricane Andrew that had long ago been patched up. It was so delicate that when I rolled it open, it started ripping at the edges. My first masterpiece had not been well-preserved. But I couldn’t bare to throw it away. Instead, I took it home, cut it up into a dozen salvageable pieces, découpaged the heck out of the resulting slivers and remounted it on a bright, shiny new canvas. I brushed on an extra layer of shine for good measure. My resurrected work of art proudly hangs above my dining room entryway, happily awaiting a complement from anyone who comes to visit. I can’t wait to find my next artistic treasure to bring back to life and the resulting magic that happens when the budding artist I was back then meets the evolved artist I’ve become.