I grew up in a house with two parents who are both professional sculptors and artistic painters. The appartment where we slept was much smaller than the studios where they worked. And both were full of art. Paintings, sculptures, clay, wood, old stuff, chisels, hammers, saws, brushes, you name it. Sometimes me and my brother were models for something one of my parents worked on. Most of the time we were just making things, reading, playing and being bored. But we were always, always surrounded by living art.
At the time I never realized how different that was from how most children grow up.
I hope I can transfer some of the feel of what I experienced. And perhaps you can look a bit through their eyes too, by looking at their work and art.