Fine artist. Teacher. The woman behind every page.

For years, I built something I was proud of. I grew a Procreate course business from nothing into a team of fifteen people, 80,000 students across the world, and a life that looked successful by every measure I'd been taught to care about. I was an entrepreneur. I was productive. I was shipping, scaling, optimising. And somewhere in the middle of all of it — I stopped making things just for me.

I didn't notice at first. The business kept growing. My calendar stayed full. But something underneath had gone quiet. I'd built a company around art, and I'd forgotten to make any. The joy that started everything — the feeling of a pencil on paper, of watching something come alive under my hands — had been buried under deadlines and deliverables and the endless performance of being a founder.

One evening, I sat down with a blank botanical page and some colored pencils. I wasn't filming it. I wasn't posting it. I wasn't doing it for anyone. I just started coloring a flower. My shoulders dropped somewhere in the first five minutes. I forgot to check my phone. The noise in my head — the one that runs constantly when you're building something — went quiet. I colored for an hour. And when I looked up, I felt like myself again.

That was the beginning of Wild Flowers. I didn't build this to teach you art. I built it because I think a lot of us have been so busy creating lives we're proud of — that we forgot to actually live inside them. And I think coming back to something slow, tactile, and beautiful — something that asks nothing of you except your presence — is one of the most radical things a woman can do for herself. You don't have to be talented. You don't have to be experienced. You just have to show up. I'll guide you through the rest.