A Personal Note from Me to You

Today, I thought I’d share something a bit more personal.

In this class, I mainly teach a drawing technique called stippling, but to be honest, the technique itself isn’t what’s most important. What matters is that through this class—and others—you begin to explore different styles and eventually find your own unique artistic voice.

So, why did I choose stippling, a time-consuming and outdated technique? The simple answer is: I just love the texture of the dots. And, I think it also fulfills a part of me that leans toward being a little OCD.

*OCD, or Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, is a mental health condition involving repeated cycles of obsessive thoughts and compulsive actions. It can show up in different ways—like double-checking the gas multiple times out of fear of leaving it on, or constantly rearranging objects until they’re perfectly aligned. It’s more than just a preference for neatness; it’s anxiety trying to find order.

Stippling takes a lot of time, so my drawings often end up quite small. But I love looking down at those tiny illustrations, creating my own miniature worlds dot by dot. There's something peaceful and powerful in that.

About ten years ago, I started drawing as a hobby while working a full-time job. Eventually, stippling became a core part of my drawing style. I started getting commissions and, over the years, illustration became a bigger part of my life.

In the beginning, I was just creating for fun—drawing things inspired by my favorite movies or music.

But as I entered my 40s, I became more drawn to quieter, natural subjects. My work changed, and so did my interests. These days, I don't try to lock myself into a specific style. Instead, I focus on whatever excites me at the moment.

Most of my illustrations are hand-drawn, but I’ve also worked in graphic design for many years. So I often combine the two—coloring my drawings digitally or turning them into design pieces. I’ve also been deeply influenced by Japanese manga comics (different than Anime), so I don’t really fit into just “fine art” or “digital art.” That’s why I use the term illustrator—a title that allows me to float freely between both worlds.

Ideally, I’d like to always create with that sense of freedom and joy. But honestly? That’s not always the case. Especially when your art becomes your job, it’s easy to burn out.

There was a time when I lived solely off my illustration and graphic design work. And the pressure eventually took a toll on me. I started to lose creative motivation. I stopped making art for myself, and everything began to feel heavy.

Client work is something I truly value, and it’s taught me a lot—especially about bringing other people’s ideas to life. But when there’s no time left for personal projects, that spark begins to fade. And when that spark fades, the work suffers. It gets slower, duller, harder.

Still, once in a while, something beautiful happens. There are moments—when I finish a piece I truly love—where I feel a rush of happiness. It’s almost euphoric, like I’ve created something from my own little world. That satisfaction is unlike anything else.

Just last week, I had one of those moments. I finished a commission piece and felt truly fulfilled. It had been a long time since I felt that way, and it reminded me why I love doing this.

So, I thought it was a good time to share this story with you all.

A few years ago, I quietly went through a period of depression. I kept up with teaching this online class, but for about three or four months, I couldn’t do much else.

At the time, I was working entirely from home. After finishing a large design commission, I completely crashed. It was like my mind caught the flu after pushing too hard. It was incredibly difficult. Since then, I’ve changed some things to help prevent that from happening again.

The biggest change I made was simple: I added another part-time job outside of the house that involves interacting with people. It’s had a huge impact—not just mentally, but financially too. The extra income gave me freedom. I no longer had to accept every art/design job that came my way. I could choose work that felt right—jobs that matched my values, my schedule, and my goals.

That one small change made all the difference.

These days, I regularly work on illustrations for a literary magazine and take on book covers and interiors. Recently, I was asked to draw landscapes—a subject I had honestly never been interested in. I used to (falsely) associate landscapes with older artists. They were pretty, but they never appealed to me personally.

But when I accepted the job, I decided to go all in. I took a two-week break and traveled to both the ocean and the mountains to experience nature for myself. And wow—nothing beats actually being there. The clouds, the waves, the air—it all left a deep impression on me.

I used references for the basic shapes/composition, but once that was done, I put them away and filled in the details from memory—almost like automatic drawing. The results surprised me. By the third piece, I found myself feeling that old spark again. I was happy, genuinely happy, to be making art.

Once you feel that spark again, everything changes. Drawing becomes joyful. Time spent on art becomes precious and rewarding.

But when that feeling is gone, trying to force yourself to work is incredibly painful.

I’ve been through that many times, and I know I’ll go through it again.

So if you ever find yourself in that space, here’s what I recommend:

Don’t push yourself to be “original.” Don’t worry about being creative. Just draw something right in front of you. Use a postcard-sized sheet if you want. It could be a silver spoon. Food you like. Anything small and manageable. Just look at it and draw it without thinking too much.

With stippling, even a simple object becomes interesting. It’s like embroidery or coloring—meditative, forgiving. And before you know it, you’ll have a cool little black-and-white piece you didn’t expect.

For me, even when my imagination is low, I still need to draw so I don’t want to lose my technical skills. Strong technique can help carry you through uninspired times. That’s why I treat it like a kind of mental weight training.

I scan and save all those “exercise” drawings and sometimes use them in my graphic design work later on.

You don’t have to do that at home, of course. But I hope this gives you a new way to approach your classwork—and a reminder that your artistic journey will have both highs and lows.

And that’s okay. You’re still growing. You’re still creating. And that, in itself, is something worth celebrating.

Have a great rest of the night :)