A New Story Begins Above the Clouds: Cloud GirlToday, I received a manuscript I had been looking forward to reading—Freya’s new story, Cloud Girl, a project we are working on together through Moms’ Playground.

At first, I imagined it might be a short picture book, but I was surprised when I opened the manuscript. It is already 34 pages long and has grown into a wonderful fantasy chapter book for children.

The main character, Samantha, is a mysterious girl who has lived high above the world on the clouds for many years. She loves looking down at the beautiful world below, but deep inside, she is lonely. What she wants most is something very simple:

A friend.

One day, while floating above Long Island, Samantha notices a girl named Ji-Won at a school below. Although she is frightened, Samantha decides to leave the safety of her clouds and enter the human world.

But the world Samantha enters is very different from what she expected. She discovers a strange school where children’s freedom and individuality are restricted in the name of keeping them safe. Behind it all lies a mysterious darkness. Together with Ji-Won and another child named Brutus, Samantha begins to discover who she really is and why she has come to this place.

Each of the three children has a different gift. Brutus has strength and courage, Ji-Won has wisdom and the ability to think and plan, and Samantha carries a special light that can guide others through darkness. As their adventure unfolds, they begin to understand their own strengths and learn how much they need one another.

This is one of the things I especially love about the story. Not everyone needs to be strong in the same way. One child may be physically strong, another may be a deep thinker, and another may have the ability to bring light to others. The children struggle when they are forced into roles that do not fit them, but they begin to grow when they discover and use their individual gifts.

And now, my part of the journey begins.

Freya highlighted several scenes that she imagined as illustrations, while also giving me the freedom to choose other moments that I find visually inspiring.

Samantha among the clouds, endless skies, a glowing locket, forests and rivers, three children on an adventure, and the contrast between light and darkness—as I read, images were already beginning to form in my mind.

The story is not finished yet. Freya says she is approaching the climax, which means I don’t know the ending either! Perhaps that is one of the most exciting parts of beginning this project now.

While Freya continues writing the story, I will begin slowly creating its visual world alongside her.

This is the moment when words begin to meet pictures and, little by little, become a book.
​
I’m very excited to see where Cloud Girl takes us, and I hope to share parts of this creative journey here as the book comes to life.

Mr. Sprout’s Story — A New Picture Book in ProgressRecently, I started working on the illustrations for a new picture book, Mr. Sprout’s Story, written by my friend Emilia Zielinska-Bien.

At the heart of the story are a tiny plant named Mr. Sprout, a four-leaf clover, and three siblings. The story begins when an older brother leaves for summer camp and asks his sister to take care of his precious little plant. One day, a four-leaf clover unexpectedly joins Mr. Sprout in his jar of water—and from there, things do not go quite as expected.

I won’t share too much of the story yet. I think it will be much more fun to discover what happens when the finished picture book is ready.

For the illustrations, I plan to focus less on the human characters and more on Mr. Sprout and the four-leaf clover themselves. I want to give these little plants personality and emotion, almost as if they were characters in their own right. Using watercolor, I hope to capture the delicate transparency of water, tiny roots growing inside a glass jar, soft sunlight, and the quiet beauty of new leaves. I would like these simple elements of nature to become a small, magical world seen through a child’s eyes.

Writing a story for children as an adult is not as easy as it may seem. It requires more than simply using easy words or creating a cute story. In some ways, we have to leave our adult perspective behind and return to the curiosity, worries, imagination, and wonder we once had as children.

I think Emilia has successfully done just that. Through the simple experience of caring for a tiny plant, she has created a story about responsibility, mistakes, worry, trust, and the love between siblings. What I especially appreciate is that these ideas emerge naturally from the story rather than feeling like lessons being taught.
Now it is my turn to create another layer of the story through pictures.
​
I’m looking forward to seeing how Mr. Sprout and his little four-leaf-clover companion will gradually come to life in watercolor, one illustration at a time.

​
Lately, I have been preparing for December with a sense of excitement.

This coming December, I will be holding an exhibition at the Emma S. Clark Memorial Library to showcase the picture book stories of "Moms’ Playground" alongside my illustrations.

Looking back, the beginnings of Moms’ Playground were quite humble.
While our children played at the playground, a group of moms who loved art and writing found ourselves chatting and suddenly had a thought:

"What if we created a picture book for our children ourselves?"

It didn't start with a grand plan. A conversation shared while waiting for our kids at the playground became the seed, and that tiny seed grew until it finally blossomed into a book.

That is how the first Moms’ Playground picture book, ***Our Treehouse***, came to be.

I still vividly remember the joy I felt last year when the book was first released and subsequently introduced and exhibited at my local library. I was especially grateful that the library selected *Our Treehouse* to be part of its permanent collection.

It was a truly special experience for me to see a small story we created together—born out of love for our children—become a book that now sits on a library shelf, ready to meet other children and families.

Perhaps that is why I feel a different kind of emotion now as I prepare the second story for Moms’ Playground compared to when we created the first book.

​The Second Book: *Mr. Sprout’s Story*

Moms’ Playground is currently creating its second picture book, ***Mr. Sprout’s Story***.

This book tells the story of a beautiful world seen through the eyes of a boy who lovingly tends to a small plant.

The boy places two small sprouts—Sprout and Clover—side by side and cares for them diligently every day. Soaking up the sunlight, watering them, and observing the leaves change ever so slightly become sources of small, daily joys for him.

But one day, Clover begins to wither and fall ill.

The boy worries.

"Am I doing something wrong in how I care for them?"
"Did I make a mistake?"

As time passes, Sprout, too, faces a crisis. Yet, the boy, determined to save this tiny life, refuses to give up easily. He assesses what is needed, waits patiently, continues to care for the plant, and does everything within his power, step by step.

When Sprout finally revives, the joy the boy feels goes far beyond the simple satisfaction of successfully raising a plant.

Rather than a manual on how to grow plants, *Mr. Sprout’s Story* is a pure and beautiful tale that follows the heart of a child who has come to love a tiny living thing.

Sometimes, we learn how to love by caring for something very small, and we realize the preciousness of life through the fear of losing it. We also discover that even when everything seems to be going wrong, if we wait and continue to care, we can once again find that little spark of green.

Through this book, I hope children can experience a beautiful world where—even with just a tiny plant—they can feel worry, patience, and love, and ultimately rediscover hope.

So, *Mr. *Sprout’s Story* is, perhaps, the story of a tiny sprout, but at the same time, it is the story of a child who, for the first time, loved a small living thing with all their heart.

​Work is currently underway on Moms’ Playground’s **second picture book, *Mr. Sprout’s Story*.**

This story is about a tiny sprout named Mr. Sprout.

By following Mr. Sprout’s journey—starting as a small seed, encountering the world, and gradually growing—we wanted to show the immense potential and dreams hidden within even the smallest, most fragile beings.

“A tiny sprout with big dreams.”

True to this short phrase on the cover, the book tells the story of a small being growing in its own unique way. Viewing plants and nature through a child’s eyes, it captures themes of growth, patience, curiosity, and hope with a tone that is both heartwarming and gently humorous.

I am creating this book in collaboration with Emilia Zielinska-Bien. Rather than a simple division of labor where one person writes and the other illustrates, the process of exchanging ideas and imagery to build a shared world mirrors the very spirit of how Moms’ Playground began.

​And another story: *Cloud Girl*

At the same time, I am also preparing a new picture book titled ***Cloud Girl***.

*Cloud Girl* is a collaborative project—written by Freya Nikiforakis and illustrated by me—that centers on the themes of kindness and imagination.

It is still a bit too early to reveal the book in its entirety, but both the story and the illustrations are gradually taking shape.

I expect to be able to share a clearer picture of what *Cloud Girl* will look like before long.

I, too, am very excited to see how this little story, which begins above the clouds, will ultimately come together.

From the playground to the library

As I prepare for this December exhibition, I find myself frequently thinking back to the beginning.

The casual conversations mothers shared while watching their children play,
the lighthearted thought, "Shall we try making a book, too?"
and the time spent drawing and refining the story, page by page.

Back then, I never imagined that those moments would turn into a book, lead to another, and eventually be showcased as an exhibition in a library.

That is why I hope this exhibition will be more than just a display of finished artwork on a wall; I want it to show how a small idea transforms into illustrations, a story, and finally, a book.

The journey began with *Our Treehouse*, continued with *Mr. Sprout’s Story*, and now, another story—*Cloud Girl*—is beginning to emerge.

There are stories yet to be finished, and new ones yet to be born.

Perhaps that is the very thing I most want to share through this exhibition:

that a picture book isn't created overnight, but is built up over time through small thoughts, illustrations, and the connections between people.

I feel truly grateful and amazed to see how the little story of "Moms’ Playground"—which started at a playground—is growing little by little. I am slowly preparing for an exhibition at the Emma S. Clark Memorial Library this December, where I can share the drawings and books I’ve created so far, as well as the stories that lie ahead.

The second *Moms’ Playground* book, *Cloud Girl*, and the December exhibition are all gradually taking shape.

I plan to document this process here on the blog, step by step.

“Our Treehouse” – A Community-Built Dream Begins to Shine

Last year, I formed a creative circle called Mom’s Playground, a group of artists and mothers who wished to keep their artistic dreams alive while raising children. It was a space where we could support each other, exchange ideas, and challenge ourselves to continue creating.

From this circle, our very first collaborative project was born: the children’s picture book Our Treehouse.

Since its publication, the book has been warmly received. And now, I am incredibly proud to share that the original paintings from Our Treehouse are being exhibited for the entire month of November at Emma S. Clark Memorial Library. Even more meaningful is the fact that the book has officially been selected for the library’s Children’s Local Focus Collection, a curated group that highlights the work of creators from the community.
​
When I heard the news, it felt as if a beam of sunlight had reached our small but heartfelt Treehouse, lighting it up from within.

The Moment When Words Became Paintings
​
Working on Our Treehouse opened a new door for me. I discovered that when a story is written with genuine imagination, it becomes almost effortless for the illustrator’s brush to find its path.

The author of this book, Emilia Zielinska-Bien, has a unique gift: her writing is vivid, visual, and deeply resonant. Each sentence paints a scene, and each paragraph carries a quiet emotional rhythm. Her writing is not loud or sensational. It does not rush like a video game or glow with fast-paced excitement. Instead, it offers stillness, reflection, and a steady sense of wonder—qualities that stay with a reader long after the pages close.
​
As I read through her manuscript, I found myself naturally sketching. The images appeared in my mind as clearly as though they had always been there. Through this process, I learned that creating art is not a solitary act; it is the building of a shared dream—much like constructing an actual treehouse, one wooden plank at a time.

A Treehouse Built Together
​
A treehouse is a symbol of collaboration. Children gather materials, offer ideas, and help each other until a special shared space finally takes shape.
Our book was made in exactly the same spirit.

Every illustration, every scene, every small detail was built from a combination of our perspectives, strengths, and imaginations. We supported each other whenever we felt unsure, we filled in each other’s gaps, and we celebrated every small success. Eventually, the Treehouse we built became more than a setting in a story—it became a real creative home where future dreams could grow.
​
I want to express my deepest gratitude to Emilia. Her vision is rooted in teaching children about cooperation, kindness, and the joy of creating something together. She believes that inner values—though invisible—can be built, strengthened, and cherished just like the beams and railings of a treehouse.
Through this process, she has shown us that new Treehouses, both literal and metaphorical, are always possible.

The Library That Made Our Project Shine
​
Although this exhibition is part of the library’s annual program for local artists, our project received exceptional care and attention thanks to Rebecca, the library’s enthusiastic and dedicated curator.

Her support has been invaluable. She approached our work with respect and genuine excitement, treating it not just as artwork, but as a meaningful community story. Meeting her has been a stroke of luck, and I am grateful that she helped our Treehouse shine even brighter.
​
Libraries are often described as homes for stories. But in this moment, it felt like the library became a home for our story too.

A Display That Sparks New Dreams

​This exhibition has become more than a simple display of original paintings.

It is an invitation.
​
Children who stop by may imagine their own Treehouse. Adults might rediscover forgotten dreams or a childhood memory long tucked away. As visitors walk past the framed paintings, I hope they feel a quiet inspiration—something gentle, yet strong enough to stir the imagination.
As long as this exhibition continues through the month of November, I hope our dream reaches someone who needs a place to rest, dream, or begin creating again. And maybe, inside this shared Treehouse, someone will start building the next story that will touch a child’s heart.

Our Treehouse is not the end of a project.
​
It is the beginning—the first room of a much larger house of creativity, built with community and love.
And from here, I will continue painting, writing, and preparing the next dream.


​Our Treehouse is available for purchase on Amazon, where you can easily view details and order a copy.
The “Read Sample” feature allows you to preview the book’s artwork and storytelling before buying.
Worldwide shipping is available, and Prime delivery offers a fast and convenient option for many regions.

Today, I finally submitted Our Treehouse to the local library’s community collection. It’s hard to describe how deeply moving this moment feels. Our book will now be part of the shelves, where someone might discover it, hold it in their hands, and feel inspired to create a story of their own.

Looking back, our first meeting was humble and simple. Last year, we gathered with one purpose—to enjoy writing our own stories. Once a month, we met to read what we had written, to share the illustrations we had drawn, and to laugh and reflect together. Slowly, piece by piece, we built something—like a real treehouse, but made of stories, art, and friendship.

Next week, we will hold a small celebration at the library café. It reminds me of the ending of our book, when Sarah, Jack, and their friends finish building their treehouse and sit inside, sharing sodas and snacks in joy. Though our treehouse cannot be seen with the eyes, it stands firmly in our hearts—warm, bright, and strong.

But this treehouse was never just ours. Along the way, we met people who supported our project with genuine warmth. Among them, I want to express my deepest gratitude to Miss Rebecca, whose kindness and professionalism guided us through every step. She embodies the spirit of community and the love of art and literature. Meeting her has truly been a blessing.

And to my beloved Our Treehouse members--Emilia, Freya, and Becca—I want to say thank you. Each of us was busy with work and motherhood, constantly pulled in a dozen directions. Yet, we kept meeting, month after month, no matter how tired we were. When it felt like there was no room left for dreaming, we still showed up—and that was how the dream became real.

At times, we shared a quiet fear: that our children might grow up without ever seeing a truly handmade story. In a future where books and pictures could all be generated by artificial intelligence, would they forget what it feels like to read something made by human hands? That thought chilled us. So we decided—we would write and draw ourselves, however imperfectly, and show our children that stories made by love still matter.

Our children watched us create. They saw their mothers writing, drawing, revising, and cheering one another on. Maybe that’s why they, too, began to love storytelling. They started inventing their own characters, writing their own tales, drawing their own little worlds. Watching that, I became even more convinced of the power of storytelling—it connects people, bridges generations, and heals hearts.

This project will not end with one book. Our treehouse will keep growing through second and third volumes, and through the creative voices of new contributors. I hope more groups like ours will form in neighborhoods everywhere—people who love stories, art, and the shared act of making something beautiful together.

Today, however, another message arrived. It was from a gallery where I have exhibited my paintings before—a place once known for full audiences and strong sales. This year, only one painting sold. The economy is slow; people hesitate to open their wallets. Artists and writers alike are struggling. But I believe this is precisely when we must hold onto hope and continue creating warmth in the world.
​
Our Treehouse is not just a book. It is a symbol of time shared, hearts connected, and courage sustained. And so today, quietly but with deep pride, I celebrate this simple truth: our treehouse has finally reached the library.

Through this project, I learned the true power of recording. Even the smallest moments of everyday life can become stories when written down, and those stories can, in turn, become someone’s comfort. If something we created with our own hands can gently warm another person’s day, then that, I believe, is the greatest reward of creation.

We will continue to write new stories. As the seasons change, new ideas will bloom, and new books will be born. I sometimes imagine a small bookshelf in the library labeled “Moms’ Playground Collection,” filled with the storybooks created by mothers like us. That shelf would not simply represent publication—it would stand as a testament to love, courage, and connection.
​
When that day comes, I want to say this: “What we made was not just a book. We left a trace of warmth in the world.”