*Salt Bath,* Mixed Media Collage, Japanese Paper, Acrylic, Faux Pearls, and India Ink, 60” x 48”, 2025

Welcome to in the studio with Komikka!

It feels like forever since I’ve written to you! Honestly, I’ve been bombarded with so much newness. Behind the scenes, I’ve been preparing for a YouTube launch, rebranding, designing, writing *Shakes head* doing everything but making art at my usual pace. Things have felt slow in the studio, but fast everywhere else, and I never want to force conversation, hence the delay, but I’m glad I'm back.

Still, I didn’t want to step back from writing simply because I felt overwhelmed. Writing is one of my most beautiful expressions, and it’s important for me to share the “in-between,” not just the polished finish. Also I thought it was super valuable to write about those shifts that happen in the background not just as a person, but how those internal shifts show up in a creative space. In some ways I feel that I’m a broken record, but isn’t that how change truly manifests aren’t you supposed to recognize your cycles. Give them attention so that they are finally realized and somehow we can wiggle out of them, just a bit more.

What do I offer?

This question came up in the name of rebranding… ummm, what do I believe I offer and how can I put all of this into some type of concise, written format that will be an honest presentation of what I am trying to build? What do others get from me? What do they see in my art absent a written statement? What do they get from my conversations? While before this didn't matter as much, because art really was a vomiting session of life experience regurgitated as layered collages, wrapped in beautiful ribbons of ink and delicately sought after paper, if one is starting a business that requires others, well one has a realization that being of service is incredibly important. Has my art been selfish? These are just rapid-fire questions that I have tossed around. Whether intentionally or not what is happening here… yum so juicy when that question comes up. Kudos to all the entrepreneurs in my life, figuring out how to stay authentic and yet still blossom I think something magical happens when something is on the verge of breaking, or fully stepping into the unknown. Like even, what is the benefit of making beyond my own desire to create something. And even if there is more to it, is this what is riding in the forefront, the mare of the herd? The lead fish in front of the school.

sea walnut, comb jelly *(Mnemiopsis leidyi)*

giant Pacific chiton, Gumboot Chifton, (*Cryptochiton stelleri)*

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on what it means to grow in this area too. What if offerings change as we do. Do they become more particular or more expanded? Do they start to fit the mold of particular group i.e. loyal collectors, or do they become more universal. What does it mean to shift for collective, or shift and include more of the collective? The scars that come with maturity and wisdom and the strengthening of muscles one adapts to living and the ability to keep living requires such discourse. Growth feels so delicate and fragile, like learning to walk in new shoes or speak a new language. After just learning how to walk in said shoes or how to twist the tongue in certain ways for particular sounds it then asks for more. It’s intimidating to show up in that vulnerable state, and most of the time that is what life is asking of us. The state of infinite student.

I asked a friend what they think I offer others, and their answer moved me deeply. They said I bring art into reach, that I humanize fine art, making it feel achievable. They also saw a kind of vulnerability in me that creates space for others to be fully themselves or at least start to question what that even means. That touched me, because it reminds me why I show up even when things are messy: growth is more rewarding than simply repeating “the work.” Growth is the questioning.

So now here I am sitting in a vegan spot in Santa Cruz talking about, for lack of a better word, wandering, and if I want to glamorize it, stepping into the void allowing unfolding. When I allow myself to grow, conversations deepen, love expands, devotion expands, awareness expands. It’s intimidating. Yes, but only because it requires me to be brave enough to admit my ignorance. I don't know everything… I don't even know what I think I know. I know only bits and pieces and that is also incredibly beautiful. There is all this growing pain, but never has growth not been rewarded in some way and never has admitting ignorance not presented a perfect opportunity to learn something. There is also always the reminder that my best is always enough. Once the vision of growth has blinded, expectations start to enter the chat and leaves so much room for fear.

Okay Okay Let’s Get Serious About The Art

Because fantasy writing has become so essential to my processing, my art is shifting too. No longer so detrimental, in a way now it can finally fail. Now real boundaries can be tested, because attachments have shifted. There was a time I thought drawing was the only thing I was truly good at, or at least I had invested so much time to acquire some type of skill that was valuable. So I added more value to it. It deserved it. These were all the years of art school, all the late nights all the material pressed into something halfway recognizable. But it wasn’t until I took courage in other creative outlets did, I get brave in my visual representations. The care didn't stop but the pressure did, which invited the community to not care too much either. Another offering, Not long ago, everything I created felt black and white and now its color, texture, and new stories are emerging. Ways, and roads, with many crossings. The colors are different, the poses are different, the spirit is different. But so very exciting and in some ways infantile in its emerging.

Every piece I make is a doorway. An invitation into a space that feels. Its value is in its submission.

*The Witnessing,* Mixed Media Collage, Japanese Paper, Acrylic, Spray-paint, Faux Pearls, and India Ink, 60” x 48”, 2025

View from a cafe looking at *Capitola Venetian Court,* Capitola, California

I’ve been learning more about the importance of effort. I’ve always said effort is a display of love, but lately I’ve been reshaping what effort means. It’s not just about showing up when I don’t want to; it’s about understanding that effort itself is part of the creation process. Effort makes room for newness, clears away stagnation, and births new textures.

I’m being tested in my effort, in my ability to keep trying and stay the path. I feel vulnerable, curious, and willing. Not long ago, I told a friend my purpose was to “observe in awe.” Yesterday, I said, “If only I could just stay in awe. Not only would I be in my purpose, but everything would feel so magical.”

Today, I realized the depth of that excavation and the courage it takes to remain a student, to stay creative, and to stay transparent. Art is happening, but art itself isn’t as important as what stirs beneath it. Before, lessons came through surrender while making. Now, making feels like the least important thing on my plate. In fact, it is the plate that is important. While before art making felt like the finale after a long journey, the sweet moment of celebration, a victory.

It’s strange…sometimes making becomes an escape. Sometimes it feels like falling into old patterns. Or maybe the way I show up in creative spaces is dancing with me. That shift is both exhilarating and annoying, and it requires that I not use art in the ways of my old.

These are the conversations I want to have with the mad scientists of the art world, the ones that expose and comfort the inner worlds of people who create not just for money, but because there is simply nothing else for them to do.

Museum Trip To De Young

I recently returned from a remarkable trip to San Francisco, a city that revealed itself as an unexpected source of renewal. The visit reaffirmed much at a time when the art world feels weighed down by broader societal and political tensions. I had perhaps underestimated how profoundly art and politics feed into one another, but this trip made the connection undeniably clear.

Conversations with fellow artists were deeply grounding. There is something uniquely restorative about artists gathering, sharing achievements, struggles, inspiration, and perspective. These exchanges reminded me that the act of creation is sustained not only by solitude but also by community. What I mean by this is, I didn’t realize how crazy I felt. Art had became less friendly over the years, not the beauty of creating it but everything else that surrounded it. And oddly enough it was comforting to know that everyone was feeling it and it was just me. I had been carrying around this covert attachments and emotions that I felt I couldn’t put down because if I did that I would expose that somehow art had gotten quite hard. There were times i just wanted to throw everything away. Start a new way of expressing, start from scratch. Visiting San Fran was the hug I needed, that said “ yeah, some times I feel like that too.” Oh how great.

The De Young Museum was another highlight, exceeding all expectations. Coming from such enriching dialogue into an environment where composition, material, and ancient traditions stood alongside contemporary explorations was transformative. The exhibitions, particularly those honoring the Indigenous peoples of California and beyond, were powerful. The dialogues between modern abstraction, contemporary practice, and historical traditions illuminated how art does more than reflect its time; it preserves, interprets, and connects eras.

What struck me most was the enduring relevance of works created decades ago. They stand as reminders that art is not only expression but also record, a moral and cultural timekeeper. Museums such as the De Young underscore how essential it is to revisit art frequently: to better understand the world, to witness how politics and creativity intertwine, and to recognize art’s role in weaving together the tapestry of human life.

*Mother, Springhouse (Oakland Plantation Series),* Richard Cleaver, 2005

*Laure (New General Chart for the West Indies of E. Wright’s Projection,* Firelei Baez, 2021

*At Five in the Afternoon,* Robert Motherwell, 1950

Closing Thoughts

All of this was to invite you into this space of “student Komikka”, the toddler stage of learning new walks, new languages, new ways of existing. It’s not always organized, but it’s always alive.

Thank you for witnessing this journey with me. Thank you for allowing me to grow in your presence. Until next time!

Link leads to available works.

With love and devotion,

Komikka