lunARTicOn repeat beginning
Every line creates a boundary. Every boundary becomes a space. Every space asks to be filled with color.
This series started with a memory.
A child in front of her first computer, opening Microsoft Paint and doing the most natural thing in the world: drawing random lines across a blank screen. Not with a plan. Not with a goal.
Just random lines, wild, free, going wherever they wanted to go.
And then, filling in the spaces they left behind with color. As much color as possible.
On Repeat is me giving that child the brush back.
It is the child within me who made this series possible.
She is the one who dared to start fearless, unfiltered, unbothered by rules or expectations. But as the lines kept coming, something shifted…
The playfulness remained, and underneath it, layers began to surface:
personal stories, lived experiences, emotions that had been waiting for a form.
What began in innocence grew into something raw and deeply felt.
I won't pretend that creating comes easily to me. There is a part of me that always wants things to be perfect, a constant pull towards control, towards getting it right before it even begins. That need has stopped me more times than I can count. The questions that circle in my head, the fear of making something that isn't good enough - they are heavy things to carry into a creative space.
On Repeat asked me to put all of that down.
To hand over control. To let the lines go where they wanted and trust that something beautiful could come from not knowing. And what happened when I did, when I let go of the fear and the questions and the need for perfection, was more than I expected. It was a relief. A deep, quiet relief. Like finally exhaling after holding your breath for too long.
That is the journey of this series from the lightness of a child who just wants to fill the world with color, to the weight and beauty of everything a person carries.
And none of it would have been possible without first learning to let go. To release control. To trust that something worthwhile can only emerge once you stop holding on too tightly.
The inner child drew the first line and together, we filled in the rest.
Not looking back, but moving forward, hand in hand, into everything I've grown to be.
