In 2001, the art market was exploding. I had just graduated from Stanford, where I studied studio art. My fantasy of becoming an artist felt out of reach—I didn’t understand at all how to begin—so I moved to New York City to work in a gallery instead. My first job was answering phones at the Gagosian, the biggest gallery in the world. I soon wanted more in-the-muck experience, so I left to become a dealer at a smaller gallery in Chinatown in 2004.
In 2010, while on a work trip to Los Angeles when I was working at Hauser & Wirth gallery, I became reacquainted with my now-husband Eli at a mutual friend’s party. It was a whirlwind romance; we were engaged within a month of dating, and Eli moved in with me in New York. Then, shortly after we announced our engagement, Eli was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
His insurance was in his home state, Washington, so Eli moved to back there for treatment. Initially, I tried to continue to work in New York and regularly visit him. But because we were going to marry, I held no ambiguity about where I belonged. Eli’s spirit was so steady and solid; I felt even more deeply in love as he donned a wardrobe of hospital gowns. I knew I was miserable in the art world, but I wouldn’t have found the guts to leave if Eli hadn’t gotten sick.