Every maker starts somewhere. Start here.
Your creativity deserves a place to grow.
When I sit down with a paintbrush, scraps of paper, or a fresh notebook, I’m reminded that creating doesn’t need to be complicated. It doesn’t matter if I’m pulling out watercolors, flipping through old magazines for collage, or simply jotting down notes in the margins of a junk journal — it always comes back to the same feeling: this little spark of curiosity that says, “what if?”
That’s really why I’m here. Why I wanted to start sharing courses, notes, and spaces for others to gather. Because for me, creating was never about the perfect end result. It was about the quiet joy of experimenting, the surprise of where ideas take you, and the comfort of knowing you don’t have to “do it right” to still make something meaningful.
I’ve never had a degree in design. I didn’t grow up with fancy tools. But I’ve always had that tug — that instinct to cut, stitch, sketch, or splash paint across the page. At some point, I realized the work we make isn’t just about the materials we use. It’s about what we allow ourselves to try. And that’s where everything changes.
Because here’s the truth: you don’t need perfect supplies, or years of training, or even a plan. You just need the courage to start, and maybe a cozy spot at the table.
Why courses?
People ask me sometimes — why courses? Why not just post tutorials or keep it casual? And the answer, at least for me, is about intention.
Courses create space. They carve out time that says, “this is for you.” They give permission to pause, to learn, and to make something at your own pace.
But more than that, I think courses build community. When we share in the same lessons, we start to notice not just what we make individually, but what we can learn from each other. The same brushstroke looks different in every hand, and that’s what makes it beautiful.
For me, putting courses out into the world isn’t about being an expert who has it all figured out. It’s about saying: here’s what I’ve learned, come try it with me.
I think we’re all craving more spaces that feel genuine. Spaces where it’s not about perfection, but about connection. Where it’s okay to play, to fail, to laugh at a crooked line, and still feel proud of what’s on the page.
When I picture what we’re building, I don’t see a classroom. I see a table. Paint-stained mugs, scraps of paper, tools scattered around — and people leaning in, trading stories, showing each other what they’ve been working on.
That’s why I want to keep making, teaching, and sharing. Not to prove anything, but to invite people into that feeling.
What it means to me
Creating without limits isn’t just a tagline for me. It’s a way of showing up in the world. It means giving myself permission to follow ideas wherever they lead — even if they’re messy, even if they don’t make sense at first.
It means remembering that inspiration can come from anywhere: a walk in the park, a scrap of packaging paper, a memory that surfaces when you least expect it.
It means that creativity isn’t reserved for the few who went to art school or have expensive equipment. It’s something we all carry, waiting to be tapped.
And it means that when we share our work, we’re really sharing a piece of ourselves — and in doing so, we invite others to do the same.
Why I’m still here
So why am I here, after all of it? Because I believe in the power of small steps. In the courage of picking up a brush for the first time. In the joy of flipping through a notebook and realizing you’ve filled more pages than you thought you could.
I’m here because creating has given me peace, focus, and joy in seasons when I needed it most. And I know I’m not the only one.
So if you’re reading this and wondering whether you belong here — you do. You don’t need fancy tools, a degree, or a big idea. You just need that spark of curiosity. Pull up a chair. There’s room for you at the table.