Every painting is a reflection of where I am in that moment—not just technically, but emotionally. This chart isn’t about choosing sides; it’s about pausing to notice where I’m leaning and why. By naming my current artistic preferences, I’m creating space to grow while honoring the season I’m in.

After my interview with Kelogsloops, something he said stayed with me—how in high school studio art, he was encouraged to reflect on exactly why he loved certain artworks. That one habit helped him stay grounded in his journey as an artist. Later, I stumbled on a forgotten sketchbook from 2021, tucked away during my time in Singapore, where I had unknowingly done the same thing. This blog shares that exercise—a map I didn’t realize I had drawn for myself, and one I now return to when I feel unsure of my artistic voice.

I always thought Feng Shui was about balancing the whole house—something universal everyone could apply. Growing up in Japan, I saw my parents adjust our home to offset “unlucky” directions, especially near the entrance. But I never knew each person actually has their own lucky directions, based on their birth year and gender. I definitely never thought about using Feng Shui in my art studio—until recently. And once I did, it completely changed how I see and feel in the space.

Lately, I’ve felt lost—not in painting, but in creating content just to reach people. I set ambitious goals for YouTube, my podcast, and social media, only to find myself chasing numbers instead of meaning. Seeing another artist's journey made me realize I’ve been caught in the same cycle—shaping content around visibility rather than authenticity.

But today, I painted just for the sake of it. No overthinking, no pressure. I let myself return to the emotions that first drove me to create—the quiet sadness I felt after my son was born, knowing he would have to face his own struggles. That moment of reflection brought clarity: I want to share my art, my process, and my truth—not just what might perform well.

It’s time to reset. Thanks for being here through this. Now, back to painting.

As I sat at the table surrounded by colorful origami paper, my three-year-old son eagerly watched me fold intricate designs from an Origami World set I found at Blick Art Shop shortly after our move from Munich to Washington State. Each fold became a lesson in patience and creativity, as I struggled to create vehicles while he cheered me on. His joy reminded me of the beauty in small victories and how art can connect us across generations, transforming moments of frustration into opportunities for growth and bonding.

Today, I want to talk about something I know many of us struggle with—balancing life's changes as both an artist and a parent. Recently, I went through a major transition myself: moving from Munich, Germany, to Washington State, USA. What a journey! As an artist, I'm usually in the flow, creating 15 to 20 artworks a month, including studies. But September? It was a different story. With the chaos of moving, I only managed to finish two pieces. Isn’t it fascinating how life can suddenly shift our plans, no matter how well we think we have it all under control?

Life has a funny way of offering support when we least expect it. Whether through art, parenting, or sharing our struggles, opening up can lead to surprising, practical help. A personal experience before my move taught me that vulnerability—something as simple as sharing a heavy moment with a friend—can offer comfort and unlock new ways of thinking. Sometimes, it's not grand advice but small gestures, like a pack of spicy candy, that provide just the right tool to cope. This story reflects how being open can shape our art, parenting, and emotional well-being.

This post is my creative blueprint for 2024! I’m diving into the key elements that inspired me during my recent art-filled exploration. From Klimt's shimmering gold leaf and transparent fabrics to vivid skin tones and bold brushstrokes, I’m gearing up to weave these influences into my own work. I’ll also be playing with abstract clothing, emotional depth, and unconventional colors. This is my personal art roadmap for the year—an exciting journey I’m ready to embark on once the move to the U.S. is complete!

No Surprises: How Depression Emerged from Letting Go of My Passion is about how a sudden loss of artistic passion triggered a deep depression in my life. Reflecting on my journey from art-filled joy to a dark period of personal struggle, I reveal how reconnecting with my creative self was the key to overcoming depression and finding fulfillment.

2023 was an exciting year as I attended workshops by renowned watercolor artists Agnes Cecile and Aine Divine at Benjamin Eck Gallery in Munich. These experiences deepened my artistic skills and fueled my creative journey.

Why do I paint my son so often? It’s not just because he’s the center of my universe. Painting him allows me to reflect on our relationship, work through my emotions, and find ways to repair and grow. Inspired by Becky Kennedy’s TED Talk on the importance of repairing parent-child relationships, I’ve found that art is a powerful tool for understanding and improving my parenting.

Attending Kelogsloops' watercolor workshop was a transformative experience. Through three days of focused learning on composition, skin tones, and abstract techniques, I found new ways to integrate subtlety and balance into my art. Read on to discover the valuable insights and tips I gained from this inspiring workshop.

The reason behind painting this piece started from my desire for a new challenge.

I had never before painted elderly individuals, nor had I tackled male subjects. Using Midjourney, I created a reference featuring an elderly Caucasian man in a kimono, accompanied by ikebana flowers. It was a quite a challenge, but I found joy in the process, especially as I reached the midpoint. Normally, I avoid painting drapery, hands, wrinkled faces, men, and flowers, so completing this piece felt like a significant achievement at the time.I named this painting 'Mankai 満開' because in Japanese, 'mankai' is used to describe the peak bloom of a flower. We typically don’t associate this with old age, but for me, it signifies that humans, can reach their peak with age—a time of success and wisdom.

Moreover, after finishing the painting, I realized it somehow portrayed aspects of who I am or could have been in a different universe. Growing up, ocassionaly I wished I had been born a guy. Raised in Japan, this painting seems to reflect my imagined life as a man.

Reflecting on the completed painting, I find it intresting how it has become like a self-portrait, capturing aspects of my identity and aspirations.That is exactly one of the beauty of creativity.

Inspired by a conversation with a dear friend, Joy, I embark on a journey to revisit a long-held painting project. Join me as I explore the symbolism of 'Ophelia' and reflect on the profound questions it evokes about loss, grief, and the human experience.

fter my son was born, I struggled with the realization that I couldn't protect him from life's hardships. My artwork reflected these fears, showing his innocence against a dark background. This symbolized the balance of light and darkness in life. Art helps me embrace vulnerability and find beauty in the journey of parenthood.