Winnebago Studios is a rabbit hole to navigate. The warehouse turned artist facility is a seemingly impenetrable block, unmarked save one tarp listing its name. Inside, unlabelled personal studios stud concrete hallways littered with random work. The place is desolate. Tucked behind a corner sits Studio Z. From the outside, it’s the darkest, smallest unit in the complex. How could life thrive in this most ignored spot? Faint music begins to answer as the door opens to a bright space housing diatoms, quartz, seed pods, and conch shells in generous shades of teal, emerald, and scarlet. The room is an eden, and its gardener, Rachelle MilIer, a warm welcome.