It took me a long time to find the kind of art that truly lights me up. I wandered through pen-and-paper illustration, comic book coloring, and concept art—trying on different roles that never really fit. Some days I wondered if I’d ever find the thing that felt like mine. I burned out chasing deadlines, bringing other people’s visions to life, and numbing myself just to get through another day of work. For a while, I thought maybe

The Spark Was Gone For Good

My parents still don’t believe this is “real work,” and sometimes I catch myself questioning it too. I can play the extrovert for gallery shows and client calls, but the truth is I thrive best in solitude, tucked away in the quiet of my flat. That bubble can be safe, but it can also get lonely. And while I may not feel like a naturally “creative” person—my strengths are more in structure, process, and execution—I’ve learned that needing reference, overthinking ideas, or leaning on others for inspiration just makes me human.

It doesn’t make me less of an artist.

What changed everything was letting go of perfection and rediscovering play. For years I scrolled through Instagram, watching others create with ease while I felt stuck, waiting for the “right moment.” But it turns out there is no right moment. The shift happened when I gave myself permission to show up anyway—to paint without expectations, to experiment, to get it wrong.

One step at a time, the joy returned.

I picked up gouache, a medium I had never touched before, and let it surprise me. I painted vibrant flowers, colorful Italian houses, and quiet forests. Slowly, painting became more than just making art—it became self-care. With every brushstroke, I could breathe again. I started to notice the small things: the way light settles on a petal, the way water reflects the shifting sky. In those details, I found calm, mindfulness, gratitude.

Painting isn’t about chasing perfection.

It’s about slowing down, being present, and allowing joy to guide me. It’s about trust—that the spark doesn’t live in some grand, untouchable vision, but in the simple act of showing up, of letting myself play, of finding peace in the process.