The real magic of New Year was never in the fireworks-it was always at my mom’s table. This artwork captures our Georgian supra exactly as I remember it: overflowing with dishes she made with so much love. I used to dance around that table, barely able to sit still, watching her bring out plate after plate. While everyone else waited for the sky to light up, my celebration was already happening-in the warmth of our home, in the smells of her cooking, in the care she put into every little detail. For me, Mom’s table was New Year. Always.
