There’s a moment in the creative process that I love most.
When an illustration is still just an idea, a small line on the screen, and I can already imagine it on a shirt, a bag, or a swimsuit.
And when the final product arrives, it feels as if the illustration itself is saying:
Okay, I’m out in the world now. Just… please don’t wash me at 90 degrees.
This is what it looks like behind the scenes.
Everything starts with a small spark.
Sometimes it’s a bird I notice near home, sometimes a character that appears out of nowhere, and sometimes just a feeling that wants to become visible.
I open my iPad and start sketching. No rules, no plan. One line leads to another, color adds personality, and the image slowly takes shape.
Once the idea settles, the refining begins.
Cleaning lines, adjusting colors, making sure what looks good on screen will also work on fabric. At this point I’m already thinking about the product itself.
Does this illustration belong on a shirt? On a bag? On shoes?
Each item carries the illustration differently, and that relationship matters.
Then comes the printing stage, where technology meets the artwork.
Different products require different printing methods, and choosing the right one makes all the difference.
This is where the illustration leaves the digital world and becomes something real.
Before anything is finalized, I check mockups, sizes, colors, placement.
Sometimes a small change transforms the whole piece.
And then the best moment arrives.
Opening the package. Holding the finished product.
Seeing an illustration that once lived only on a screen become something someone will wear, carry, and take into their everyday life.
Art doesn’t have to stay on a wall.
It can move, travel, and live alongside people.
That, for me, is the real magic.
Some drawings are created with intention.
A clear idea, careful decisions, a moment when everything comes together and I know it’s finished.
But there are other drawings.
Drawings that start casually.
A small line while waiting for something.
A sketch with no purpose, no client, no destination.
Sometimes not even meant to be seen.
These unplanned drawings often surprise me the most.
For a long time, I believed every drawing needed to justify itself.
It had to be “good.”
It had to be “worth something.”
It had to make sense.
Over time, I realized how limiting that thought can be.
When every drawing has to be a masterpiece, something closes.
The hand becomes careful.
The line tightens.
The joy disappears.
But when I allow myself to draw without expectations, something opens up.
Mistakes become character.
The line relaxes.
The drawing starts to breathe.
It’s surprising how often these quiet, unplanned drawings are the ones people connect to the most.
Not because they’re perfect, but because they feel alive.
There’s something freeing in knowing that not everything has to be a highlight.
That there’s room for the in-between, for the small, for the simply existing.
Maybe that’s where something truly honest happens.
There isn’t a clear moment when a drawing is officially “done.”
No bell rings. No box gets checked.
And yet, there is a moment.
For me, it’s not when there’s nothing left to fix,
but when I stop wanting to fix it.
When I look at the drawing and realize that any further change wouldn’t improve it,
it would only make it different.
It’s a quiet moment.
Not dramatic. Not exciting.
Just an inner sense that says: this belongs to itself now.
At first, it was hard for me to recognize this moment.
I always felt there was more to do.
Another line, another color, another small adjustment.
Letting go felt harder than continuing.
With time, I learned to listen differently.
Not to my eyes, but to my intuition.
If I can sit with a drawing without my hands itching to change it,
if it doesn’t ask for more attention,
if it feels complete without explanation,
that’s usually the sign.
Sometimes I give it time.
I step away for a few days and come back.
If it still stands there, whole and unapologetic,
then it’s ready.
Letting a drawing go into the world can be a little scary.
Once it leaves me, it’s no longer just mine.
Others will see things I didn’t intend,
connect to it for reasons I never imagined.
And that’s exactly where the magic begins.
A drawing that’s ready to go out into the world
is one that no longer needs control.
It’s ready to live on its own.
