Brad Eberhard's studio, in the garage of the Lincoln Heights house he shares with two friends, sits at the top of a narrow, perilously steep street, with a spacious view across what is, with all the winter rain, a vividly green hillside. A spare and comfortably tidy space, with a worktable, several shelves of books, a pair of vintage armchairs and an upturned milk crate coffee table, it is a congenial setting for an abstract painter with a taste for color and a propensity for philosophical inquiry.
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