I believe humans get a profound satisfaction when we do things with our hands that don't involve typing on a keyboard. Looking back, that analog desk was the birthplace of...
It is the one thing we inevitably know is going to happen in life. It will be full of changes, whether we like it or not. Whether we are ready for it or not. Sometimes we drive the change; sometimes we are swept through a storm at sea, holding on as best we can.
How do we best deal with change when it feels like the tiles underneath our floor are cracking? We know they are old, and it really was time for them to go, but still, we have become used to the texture of the surface, the smell of the space, and the way it made us feel.
I see only two ways forward. Either we resist the change—trapped in nostalgia and making it hard to let go—or we can be one with the change. We can embrace it, let go of the fear, and take the momentum.
I wrote these words just as I was moving out of my beloved creative sanctuary in South Africa, IKU Studio. For two years, it was more important to me than my home. It was where I could create, connect, and live out my creative dreams through waffle makeover parties, art exhibitions, and illustration workshops.
My life has always been a bit of a "gypsy soul" journey. We moved around for four years, trying it all—farmhouses, remote mountains, and beach houses where our dogs were perhaps a bit too wild for the neighbors. Once, we lived on a wild Protea farm on 200 hectares of private land. It was super dreamy, but it turns out the connection to the trees was much better than the connection to the World Wide Web. We lived a "007 life" for a while, driving 15 km on bad dirt roads twice a day just to chase a Wi-Fi signal until the Volvo finally packed up.
The studio was my anchor through that chaos. This year, I even created an analog desk to make space for painting, drawing, and abstract work. I really think we should all have an analog desk—a place for things that don't happen on a screen.
I believe humans get a profound satisfaction when we do things with our hands that don't involve typing on a keyboard. Looking back, that analog desk was the birthplace of the sketches that are now becoming my wallpaper collections. It was the moment the pixels stopped, and the soul started.
Leaving that space was nostalgic. I only got to enjoy my purple studio for two months; the yellow lounge felt like a constant ray of sunshine. I love yellow—sometimes it’s a difficult color to design with until you just go for it.
With color, it is like that. It takes you on an emotional storm and asks to be used. No need for permission. I know there are color codes, but there are also emotional ones. Those are stronger. In Thailand, yellow is a royal color, a happy color. My work now lives in that intersection—where the emotional codes of my Thai heritage meet the precision I learned over fourteen years in the design industry.
Change rarely comes in a linear, perfect form. It is chaotic. And I feel it almost has to be—otherwise, we get too resistant. Here is what I do to stay grounded when the tide pulls:
Accept the Chaos: Don't try to make it pretty or nice right away; you will soon get exhausted.
Be Honest About Your Needs: I don’t care where my clothes are, but I need to know where my four different teas and my lip balm are.
Anchor into the Vision: For my new adventure, I decided to get a proper metal sign. The atelier was still "becoming," but the sign was the beginning—the vision of the stories I wanted to explore.
Find Routine: For me, it was returning to the yoga mat. Fifteen minutes of routine can help you move mountains—or at least a lot of moving boxes.
Once you have finished one season, you set sail for a different adventure. It isn't that scary once you are on the boat, as long as you have eyes on the moon and a compass in your hand. What is your next season of becoming taking you?
