About being a sponge, playing, and the ever-changing rhythm of creation

The past few weeks have been intense with work. I did an Open Studio Day that was the perfect opportunity to showcase my art to a small group of visitors in the cozy atmosphere of my living room, where my studio or workspace keeps shifting, expanding or contracting depending on the needs of the piece I am working on at any given moment. The Open Studio Day was a great success, culminating in the sale of several artworks. Selling a painting is the ultimate recognition of an artist’s work. It means valuing the effort, originality, dedication, and talent of someone who pours their soul onto the canvas, leaving a piece of themselves with every brushstroke. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Following the Open Studio Day, I attended a week of Art Camp in Thailand, one I had already experienced the previous year. I had a strong feeling that once again, it would be just as surprising, re-energizing, and inspiring. Honestly, words fall short when trying to describe the impact that these types of events have on an artist… I simply can’t thank the organizers enough for inviting me once again. This time, we worked with discarded materials and trash found at the beach. Pushing our brains to transform what we consider “trash” into art is no easy task, but it’s the best exercise to challenge our creativity and imagination. And playing—how important is it to play? Why do adults stop playing? At what point do we forget how fun it is to race each other, jumping from one point to another with a balloon between our legs? Children learn through play, and at some stage, we adults convince ourselves that there is nothing left to learn, so we stop playing and turn into the dull, gray people society expects us to be—because, heaven forbid, someone might think we are eccentric.

Anyway, playing, my dear friends, was absolutely amazing. My team won the competition, which included a series of brilliantly creative and fun games, culminating in a challenge where five of us had to keep our balance with our feet on a sheet of newspaper that was folded in half every 20 seconds. If you touched the floor, you were out. You can probably imagine the positions we had to get into when the sheet was the size of an A5 paper. Yes, try it—with your kids, or even better, with your friends. You can thank me later.

After eight intense days of being a sponge, absorbing every detail that helps me grow as a human and as an artist—immersed in an atmosphere where creativity is in the air every second, surrounded by artists from 26 different nationalities who are pure inspiration to me—I return to the rhythm of my sweet home in Bali, where the pace of life is set by my three little monsters, and creation is mostly guided by emotions that need to be released mixed with deadlines to finish commissions for clients.

This marathon ended with the opening of the group exhibition The Power of She on Saturday, where 20 female artists exhibited our works at Sadik Art Brokerage. It was a spectacular opening, with every detail perfectly arranged—including a DJ, snakes, performances, and what felt like half of Bali gathered outside because there wasn’t even a tiny gap left inside the gallery. And the best part? The exhibition supports a truly good cause: Bali Street Mums, an organization fighting against poverty and exploitation of disadvantaged women and families.

I realize that these intense periods of activity leave me completely exhausted, yet at the same time, so deeply fulfilled that I can’t even find the right word to describe it. Everything makes sense when art aligns with a meaningful cause, and all the effort is rewarded when you witness someone falling in love at first sight with your work, giving themselves permission to own it, and cherishing that love story in the intimacy of their home happily ever after.

And now, I tiptoe back into this beautifully unpredictable routine, with my heart overflowing from everything that has passed and everything that is yet to come.

About prices, Rothko, and owning original art.

Updating my website always feels like stepping into a labyrinth. Let’s be honest—most of us create art to express, to connect, to release energy so we don’t explode, to put into colors what we sometimes can’t put into words, and to pour a piece of ourselves into the world. Yet here I am, navigating the endless tabs and text fields to make sure you can finally see my artworks online. As an artist, it’s not exactly my favorite part of the process, but it’s essential. And so I am finally displaying (most of) my paintings—and their prices—and feels like letting my work take a deep breath in the open. And somehow to put the prices on the website, feels like I am exposing a piece of my soul to a transactional reality. But it is a transactional reality indeed. And I know I´m not the only one with this feeling. Why is it so hard for artists to put prices on their work and talking about the money a painting cost?

Maybe it’s because deep down, we fear that our work might be reduced to a fleeting image on a screen, rather than being fully appreciated as something that belongs in someone’s home, a living presence in their everyday life. Art it’s meant to live, to be experienced fully, beyond the fleeting swipe of your thumb, and that comes with a cost that you need to know, there’s no need for you to ask, there it is, in bold letters. One would never imagine going into a store and needing to ask for the price of every single article to the cashier, and even then, the cashier would simply say the price and that’s it, you’ll take it or leave it. 

Here´s the same, but with a massive difference, because if you’re taking it, you’re not simply acquiring “a painting”, you’re allowing yourself to a unique piece with a particular energy that has resonated with you and has moved something inside of you. Now imagine walking past that painting in your home, catching a glimpse of its colors in the morning light, or sitting with it in silence after a long day. That’s when it becomes yours. 

This summer I visited in Málaga a part of the remarkable Abelló Collection, where I encountered masterpieces spanning centuries. It was in this setting that I experienced for the first time a Rothko in the flesh. This black, red, black, you see in this image of course does not do justice to the original at all. I found myself standing there for what felt like for sure not enough time, but probably was more than half an hour, lost in its depths. Discovering new details in the seemingly bold colors the more I looked at them. There’s something about the way Rothko’s art speaks without words, holding you in a quiet, meditative conversation that is deeply personal. The depth, the energy, the way it fills the room and, somehow, a corner of your soul. Of course nothing could be further from my intention than to compare myself and my art with Rothko or with any other artist living or dead, don´t take me wrong.

My point is that owning art means having that privilege every day, on your terms, in your space. The privilege of living with something that moves you like that—seeing it every day, letting it seep into your life over time. It’s a connection that can’t be replaced or replicated by an IKEA print that has been replicated endless times. It’s a quiet kind of magic, one that can’t truly be measured. Except, well, it can, by the price you’ll find listed on my website. But the true value? That’s for you to discover, in the quiet moments when it’s just you and your chosen piece, for the rest of time.

Thanks for being here, for reading, and for supporting artists who dream of bringing a little more beauty into your world. 

Natalia