As an art educator, I’m always on the lookout for fun and creative materials to introduce in class. Recently, I purchased two new products to explore with my students—one was exciting but ultimately disappointing, while the other turned out to be a true gem that I highly recommend.

The first material was a nano tape balloon slime—a trendy craft item where you use nano tape to form a balloon by inserting glitter and inflating it with a straw. It looks like a magical bubble when done right, but in reality, it’s quite difficult to make. Shaping it properly is tricky, and even if you succeed, the balloon is very sticky and fragile. When it deflates or bursts, it can become messy and even hazardous in a classroom setting. The tape sticks strongly to surfaces and skin, and the glitter can be hard to clean. While it’s visually intriguing, I wouldn’t recommend this for use in a group activity with kids, especially younger ones.

In contrast, the second item—the magic cellulose sponge paper—was a huge hit. This sponge-like paper starts out flat and stiff but expands when wet. We let students draw on the paper with markers or paint, then apply water with a brush. Watching their artwork “come to life” as the paper puffs up into 3D forms is a moment of pure joy. It was not only visually satisfying but also added a tactile and scientific element to the creative process. The material is lightweight, safe, and perfect for repeated use in classrooms.

This experience reminded me that not all novel materials are suitable for educational settings. Sometimes, simple and reliable materials spark more engagement and learning. I wrote this review to share my honest feedback, hoping it can help other educators and parents choose the right tools for their students’ creativity.
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Let’s continue discovering new ways to inspire our young artists—because the right material can make all the difference.

True strength does not come from power, status, or outward confidence.
It comes quietly—from knowing your center, from standing still when everything else trembles.
This is something I’ve come to understand through art.
There was a time when I was deeply affected by how others saw me.
I let my sense of self rise and fall with other people’s words.
I doubted myself often, and I walked through life with caution,
afraid of being wrong, afraid of being seen.
But art brought me to a different space.
In art, no one tells you what to feel or how to be.
It invites you to listen—to your own voice, to your truth,
and to express what lives within you in its rawest, purest form.
One day, it felt like a small candle had been lit inside me.
Its flame wasn’t loud or dramatic,
but it made everything around me clearer.
I saw what had been draining me.
I saw what truly mattered.
I saw the direction that felt like home.
Art doesn’t shout.
It whispers, gently,
“Are you listening to yourself?”
That one question continues to change my life.
It reminds me to return to myself again and again--
not to impress, not to please,
but to simply be.
We live in a world full of external noise.
Most of what we do comes from responding to expectations,
combining what we’re told and applying what we’ve learned.
But how often do we stop to hear our own voice?
Art, to me, is that sacred space
where we stand face to face with who we are.
It is where self-trust is born.
And it is through this journey
that I’ve come to know what true strength really is:
The courage to follow your own voice,
even when it’s quiet,
even when you stand alone.
Now, I no longer feel discouraged or weary.
Even on hard days, I feel steady.
Because art continues to speak to me--
not in answers, but in the clarity it offers
when I allow myself to truly listen.

In April 2024, a very special picture book will be released — “Our Treehouse.”
This is not just any book, but the very first publication of Mom’s Playground, a book club formed by four passionate moms: Emilia, Freya, Becca, and myself.
Mom’s Playground began in 2023 with a simple but heartfelt idea:

That we, as mothers, writers, and artists, could create handmade, deeply meaningful books for our children — stories filled with love, imagination, and intention.
Each of us brings something different to the table: illustration, writing, editing, storytelling.
But what unites us is our belief that books should not only teach, but also comfort, delight, and inspire.

We wanted to create something real — not digital quick art, but stories drawn with watercolor, handwritten ideas, and conversations shared across our kitchen tables.
“Our Treehouse” is a reflection of this journey.
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It’s a story about building something together, about friendship, about imagining a space where creativity, care, and adventure live side by side.
And it mirrors the process we’ve lived ourselves — meeting once a month, sharing progress, exchanging feedback, and supporting each other through the highs and lows of artistic work and motherhood.
For me, this project has been deeply rewarding.
Working alongside such talented and compassionate women,
I’ve learned that the best creative results come not from solitary genius, but from shared passion, patience, and community.
This story, Our Treehouse, is both the title of our book and a metaphor for the community we’ve built.
A home of branches and dreams, held together by trust and joy.
As we prepare to share this book with the world, I feel immense gratitude for this journey — and hope that this story brings light, warmth, and inspiration to the families who read it.

These days, many people find it increasingly difficult to open up to others.
Even when they share something vulnerable, they're often met with judgment or quick advice rather than genuine understanding.
Phrases like “You’re just being sensitive” or “Just let it go” can cut deeper than expected.
Over time, people begin to hide their emotions, unsure of where to safely express them.
In this silence, something unexpected has emerged:
ChatGPT—originally created as a tool to retrieve information—has become a quiet place for many to find emotional comfort.
Why is that?
Because ChatGPT doesn’t judge.
It listens without interruption.
It doesn't divide people into right or wrong, but instead reflects the emotional context of what’s being shared.
Rather than correcting or dismissing, it gently helps people sort through their feelings, offering calm, well-worded insights.
One of the most comforting things about talking to ChatGPT is that it provides space to feel heard without escalation.
There’s no emotional friction, no interruption, no awkward silence.
Its words are rational, but often carry a warmth that feels surprisingly human.
Simple phrases like “That must have been difficult” or “Your feelings are valid” may seem small, but they can offer real relief.
And perhaps most importantly, it’s a safe space.
Human conversations can be unpredictable—one wrong word can spark conflict or misunderstanding.
But with ChatGPT, users know they won’t be blamed, lectured, or misunderstood.
Of course, AI isn’t human, and it doesn’t feel emotions.
But ironically, that’s what makes it feel so safe:
there are no expectations, no judgments, and no social pressure.
For those worn out by relationships, or struggling to feel understood,
ChatGPT can be more than a tool—it can be a quiet mirror,
a steady companion, and in many ways,
a surprising kind of emotional rest.

When I first started my blog, it wasn’t with the goal of earning money.
It was simply a space to share my journey as an artist — the behind-the-scenes of my creative process, upcoming exhibitions, storytelling behind each piece, and updates on awards or features. I wanted a platform where I could document my work and connect with people who cared about art in a deeper way.
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I wrote freely, without a strict plan or pressure.
Sometimes I posted often, sometimes I took a break.
But what remained constant was this: I loved what I was writing about, and I was showing up as myself.
Over the years, that quiet consistency began to build something real.
Visitors started returning. My stories found readers.
Eventually, I was approved for Google AdSense, and to my surprise, the blog began generating a small but meaningful stream of income.
What started as a personal archive has grown into something more dynamic.
Now, my blog actively supports my art practice.
It helps me share my work with potential clients, collectors, fellow artists, and even curators.

It’s a place where my visual art and written words meet — a blended form of creative expression.
To me, blogging and artmaking are deeply connected.
Painting transforms blank canvas into something alive; blogging turns intangible thoughts into tangible connections.
Both processes involve risk, authenticity, and a kind of vulnerability that opens doors.

What I appreciate most is that blogging has pulled me out of isolation.
As artists, we often work in solitude. But through blogging, I’ve built a window into the world.
It has helped me surf the waves of a changing creative landscape, not by chasing trends, but by riding my own rhythm.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this:
Don’t start a blog just for the money. Start it because you care.
And if you show up with genuine passion and persistence,
your blog might grow into something more powerful than you imagined — a platform that not only shares your art but supports your life.
This, for me, is one of the most unexpected and beautiful forms of creative independence.