Emily Schiebal’s redbrown hair falls straight against her green floral print blouse. Rain pounds on the single-wide trailer converted into an art studio. We sit at the kitchen table, Emily sipping on some hot chocolate while I take a taste of water. A beekeeper’s suit hangs on a wooden mannequin next to an old upright piano. She’s nervous. “I’m used to hiding behind my husband,” she tells me. “He’s such a prolific artist. It’s easier to hide behind him.”