I recently participated in a Maker's Market, where I dedicated a good amount of time to creating a new display unit (adding basic carpentry to my list of skills!). There were two shelving units on either side of the space: one dedicated to the Monochromes, the other to Aether. After finishing the setup, I stepped back and couldn’t help but notice the striking difference between the two collections—such different personalities. The Monochromes offer a totally modern vibe, with clean lines, smooth textures, and bold colors, while Aether feels earthy and ancient, textured and raw.

As people stopped by, it was fascinating to see how they interacted with the work. Some focused solely on the Monochromes, others were drawn to Aether, and some bounced between the two. I found myself wondering, “Am I too inconsistent in my work? Should I have a more defined style for my brand?”

Earlier this year, I took a deep dive into my artistic identity, asking myself what I wanted for both Cloud Commons and myself. Part of me felt I needed to present like a brand because that’s what I came from in my previous career. But I’ve come to realize that Cloud Commons is more of a boutique—potentially even an atelier—where exploration is key. This realization gave me permission to approach my creations as art, not just products.

The clean lines and bold colors of the Monochromes made sense as my first collection, given my design background. Many pieces followed that aesthetic at first, but over time, I felt constricted by the emphasis on perfection. I started to let the ridges from throwing on the wheel remain visible, embracing the marks of the artist’s hand. These imperfections made the pieces feel more human, more personal.

There’s a part of me that loves creating minimalist, modern objects—vibrant colors and geometric shapes. That part of me is ruled by my OCD. I like to think of it as a superpower; it helps me pay close attention to details, striving for symmetry and geometry, creating objects that fit together almost like puzzle pieces. But that kind of perfectionism can also take a toll. Over time, I felt the need to break away from reproducing the same precision again and again. Enter ADHD, with its craving for freedom of expression and spontaneity, pushing me to seek balance.

Embracing my OCD allows for perfection and predictability, where bold lines and structure create a sense of mastery. But on the flip side, my earthy, rustic work—embracing imperfections—is a way to challenge that perfectionist tendency. It lets me explore a more relaxed, organic approach, and ADHD fuels that drive to explore multiple ideas simultaneously. The balance between these two aesthetics represents the duality that many with ADHD experience—thriving in both structure and freedom, in both chaos and control.

This year, I reconnected with myself and listened to what my spirit wanted and needed. I realized that I could embrace both aesthetics: the clean, modern designer’s eye and the raw, unfiltered, imperfect creations. They are both a part of me, and together, they tell a fuller story of who I am as an artist.