The Way I Work (and the Feeling I’m Following)

Today, I feel good.

There’s a kind of energy rising that I haven’t felt in a little while — not the rushed kind, but the steady kind. The kind that says, “I’m ready now.”

And I know enough about myself to recognize this rhythm:
I create in waves.

Sometimes I’m deep in it — drawing every day, ideas sparking, hands busy, pages filling.
Other times I drift into stillness, and the making slows. I used to fight that.
Now, I try to let it be what it is: part of how I make.

It’s not inconsistency.
It’s seasonal.
It’s alive.
It’s me.

What I’m learning is that my art is not just a style — it’s a feeling.

I’m not chasing perfection. I’m chasing atmosphere.
I want my illustrations to feel like a sigh of relief. Like the scent of warm bread or lavender in a sunny window.
Like a forgotten letter found in a wooden drawer.

There’s a choir of colours I return to again and again — dusty greens, soft lavenders, worn browns, parchment gold. Together, they sing something quieter than words.
That’s the language I’m trying to speak.

This summer, I feel myself leaning into it more.

I’m still figuring out what my version of cottagecore looks like.
Not the Pinterest-perfect one. Not all lace and sunbeams.
But something that feels lived in — slightly crooked, a little wild, always warm.

It’s a world in progress. A style that’s still becoming.
And that’s okay.

Because I don’t want to pin it down too tightly. I want it to grow with me.

Thanks for being here while I figure it out.
It means more than you know.

With ink on my fingers and stories still unfolding,
Sam

I come back to my art the same way I come back to the garden — in handfuls, in pauses, in seasons — when I’m ready.