On Creative Composting and Soaking In.

In this season, my creativity doesn’t look like finished mosaics or long focused days in the studio. It looks softer, quieter, more like composting.

Not in the literal sense (though my kids would be thrilled), but in the sense of gathering, absorbing, and letting things settle, slowly breaking down into something rich and fertile.

Lately, I’ve been soaking things in.

Daily beach walks with my children, the air already thick with heat even in the morning. Twigs and shells gathered like treasure. Bird prints scattered across the sand, delicate and temporary, erased by noon. A jellyfish pulsing in the shallows, a tiny crab hiding in the sand. A manta ray once, washed up and still. Castles and dams made of wet sand, collapsing and rebuilt again. The sharp glint of a sardine’s scales, now becoming a small mosaic study. Sunrise light casting everything in gold.

This past month, we also celebrated San Juan, the summer solstice. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the beach came alive. Families gathered with folding chairs and coolers, sharing slow dinners by the sea, feet buried in warm sand. Fires were lit after sunset, small and large, flickering against the dark. We wrote down what we wanted to release; old fears, tired habits and burned them in the flames. To fully leap into something new one must also jump over the fire. There was something ancient, almost pagan and grounding about it all. A ritual of letting go, of trusting that what’s no longer needed can become fuel for what’s ahead.

Even though I haven’t been “working” the way I used to define it, and my studio hours are scattered, unpredictable, that doesn’t mean I’m not creating. I’m learning to trust that this quieter rhythm, this soaking is just as essential as the making.

Because before anything can take shape, it needs to decompose. Ideas, textures, impressions, feelings they all sink in. They settle and ferment. They transform. They feed what comes next.

This is creative composting. The in-between time. The pause that nourishes the next act of making.

It’s not glamorous. It’s not measurable. But it matters.

So if you find yourself in a season of noticing more than producing, know that it counts. You might be gathering exactly what your work needs next.

What about you?

What’s composting in your creative life right now?

What are you quietly collecting?

Let me know in the comments – I’d truly love to hear.

On slowing down to create: a reflection on art, motherhood & change

For the past year, my life has been a mosaic of change - motherhood, an international move (with lots of unexpected life admin) and the quiet in-between moments of transition. As I step back into my new studio, everything feels both familiar and new. My hands remember the rhythm, the weight of the hammer, the gleam of glass. The act of creating, piece by piece, mirrors my own process of re-finding my rhythm in the new surroundings. 

The move to the Spanish coast has changed the way I see light, texture, and time. I’m surrounded by vibrant colours of orange grooves, the bright sails of the boats at the sea and the play of the hard shadows. The pace here is different, the air is heavier with salt, and the stones under my feet feel ancient. But in the studio, the process remains the same: cut, place, adjust, repeat. The beauty of mosaics is in its patience, and this season of my life has deepened my respect for slow creation.

As I settle into my new studio space, I’m letting inspiration guide me - textures and shapes  from the Spanish coastline, the warmth and brightness of the Mediterranean light, and the quiet joy of returning to my craft. I’ll be sharing more of my process, thoughts on patience in art and life, and new works as they come to life. If you love slow, handmade art, I’d love to have you along for the journey.

Thank you for being here whether you’re new or have followed my work for years. If you want to see behind-the-scenes glimpses, sign up for my newsletter (Hammerlist) or follow along on Instagram. Here’s to the beauty of things coming together, piece by piece.

On workshops

This summer I have been invited to give a workshop to 12 participants over the course of three hours. As fun as it sounds, if you know a little bit about my particular way of making mosaics my cutting process is quite elaborate as I work with a hammer and hardie. I love giving one-to-one mosaic classes that focus on mastering this ancient technique but it won’t yield the results within just a couple of hours.

After much deliberation I have developed a new workshop format that works quite well in a limited time frame, still allowing the participants to leave home with a nice piece but also ticking all the boxes for me personally as it allows a lot of freedom and a bit more abstract artistic approach to the subject.

I enjoy teaching immensely and I hope to develop more of these workshops in the near future and share the joy of making with more wonderful creative people around me!

On the Art Community.

Between 25th and 29th of May DOMO (Deutsche Organisation für Mosaikkunst) hosted the International Mosaic Days. Mosaicists from all over the world travelled to the beautiful spa town of Bad Dürkheim, in the Rhineland-Palatinate district. With its seven mineral springs, a spa park, and plenty of Eiscafés and wine bars, Bad Dürkheim is a vibrant town with a summer atmosphere about it. Its people are friendly and welcoming, bratwurst doesn’t disappoint and local Riesling is on point. Also fun fact: Bad Dürkheim it’s a host to the largest wine festival in the world that takes place in a parking lot under the largest wine barrel in the world.

The five day event kicked off with the opening of "The Order and the Chaos – Culture & Patterns from a Contemporary Perspective” a juried exhibition combining fine art and mosaics. With 60 participating artists, the large hall of the 18th century Burgkirche served as a perfect backdrop for displaying a variety of mosaics answering to the following questions:

“Ever since people have lived together, patterns have accompanied life – be it in cultural, religious or everyday coexistence. Spaces, objects and surfaces are designed. It corresponds to the primal need of human beings. What does this do to society? Does it bring order to a feared, chaotic world view? Are there instructions or meanings that resonate in the design? Is it an expression of a group, a culture or a society? Or is the design the result of all of this? How are we linked to patterns and cultures?”

Patterns as the expressions of cultures. It made me think of all the dark days and how I originally felt concepting the Silence series. And how even this event has been moved a few times due to COVID. It was so freeing to be able to travel abroad. To stand there in front of a welcoming audience receiving an award made me feel appreciated and appreciative of all the effort that goes into organising such events. Making art can sometimes feel lonely and it was just what I needed: a lecture day jam packed with inspirational and practical stories, a full day mosaic trip which is my favourite kind of tourism. Sometimes to be better artists we need to open our eyes and ears, but most of all we need a community. 

And as I sat there watching a public mosaic being created out of smaller individually submitted mosaics, I felt moved, I felt energised, I felt truly inspired by the people that keep creating in spite of all the darkness.

On creating inspiration.

When I was a little girl I often started creative projects out of boredom. I do remember those days, especially between Christmas and New Year, when I had so much time on my hands and nothing to do. Suddenly I’d feel inspired to start a painting, a drawing or to make some decorations. All of it, really just to kill time. For a very long time I thought that creativity worked precisely like that: an idea pops in your head, a sudden urge comes over and you are able to spend the whole day creating. Ta daaa!

As an adult and full time creative I know that this could not be further from the truth. I do believe in inspiration, or if you heard the TED talk of Elizabeth Gilbert: a Damon, a genius or a divine entity working through us. But it will not magically “descend” on us, put our daily lives on pause, and give us a whole day to commit to creating. It is entirely up to us to make the best use of the pockets of time that we have available, and to make the best use of them. 

It does sound a bit strange, but inspiration often comes to me out of my commitment to my art. When I worked in an office, I had no time during the week for setting up my mosaic workshop and Saturdays were for running errands and seeing friends. Naturally Sundays became my mosaic days. The most annoying part though was that it would take me so long to get into the “flow”. By the time I was absorbed, lost in time, it was already time to clean up, and I knew that I had to wait a whole week to continue with my project. Sometimes I did a lot and sometimes I did very little. Sometimes I had other commitments and had to wait two whole weeks to get back to my project. But when I took the time to show up and sit down and prepare all the materials and tools, the inspiration came every time. 

If you're reading this thinking “I would love to make mosaics but I don't have time” or “I don’t feel inspired” think again. Make the best of the time you already have, commit to a small chunk of time that you can spare, and make it a practice. Just start, and I promise that if you commit and continue giving your best, the inspiration will come.

On the grounding aspect of mosaics.

When the initial lockdown happened in the Netherlands, I had just finished a new series of mosaics and I planned all sorts of events to accompany the new launch. All the work I’ve been doing for the past couple of months has abruptly lost its momentum, leaving me shocked, exhausted and just really disappointed. Within a couple of weeks: the exhibition, the workshops, some commissioned work and planned holidays with the family, all fell through. We have all been through this. We all had to come up with new routines and manage new ways of working that is, if we were able to continue to work at all.

After taking some personal time off to process everything that's been happening, I went back to the studio. Putting the finished series on hold, I decided to start fresh, allowing myself to let go of any expectations and to just create.

Mosaics helps me to learn and to practice the notion that when faced with uncertainty all we can do is to let go of our need for always being in control. After all, isn’t creativity a manifestation of change?

Come to think about it, it was only due to the COVID pandemic that I decided to join BAMM and participate in the BAMM Online Forum. And I’m so glad I did. The talks were so inspiring!

“Drawing on Time” a talk by Joanna Kessel and Dugald MacInnes focused on the mosaic practice as a commitment. I find their approach to mosaic making so thoughtful and humble. Joanna’ and Doug’s dedication and passion being unquestionably the main forces behind their work. At the same time the clear message that resonated with me is that there is no such thing as perfection, there are no absolutes. Serendipity can only occur when we are not in control of the outcome.

What if, as encouraged by Lillian Sizemore’s and Helen Bodycomb, we start seeing mosaics as a process rather than as a finished product? What if following Gino Severini's thought the mosaic potential and willingness already exist in the material itself, and it is the artist's job to invent it and to interpret it?

What I do know, is that creativity and uncertainty are and have always been interlinked, and that we, the mosaicists are already well-equipped to overcome uncertainty through mosaic art practice. It is only by allowing myself to sit in the discomfort of the unknown, I can let my work evolve, to develop and to grow as an artist.

My mosaic teacher used to say “one tessera does not make a mosaic”. A mosaic is a collection of carefully crafted pieces viewed simultaneously, where parts become a whole. While mosaic practice demands from us the discomfort of the unknown, at the same time it is also grounding us in the present, and it teaches us that everything that exists has its purpose, that we're all parts of a whole.

Do I paint over my mosaics?

Another question I hear very often is “are your mosaics painted?”

The short answer is: NO.
The only part of the mosaic I paint is the frame.

When I cut open a piece of stone or a marble and all the beauty inside is revealed, I choose the part of the material that I want to work with further. Natural stones are often very uneven in colouring and what’s on the outside does not necessarily appear on the inside. I regularly find surprises such as veins in contrasting colours, crystal mini-deposits, hidden rusty patches and all sorts of “extras”. The real fun is to find a piece in a perfect shade and then shape it into the form I want. I love to carefully inspect each piece in terms of colour, form and texture…. And that’s why mosaic making can be so time consuming!

Of course not all the projects require this kind of mental exercise but “Gradients” is a perfect example of the “painterly effect” that’s achieved by a lot of playing around with shades and hues.

Hands up if your first thought was that I painted over the stones. To me it is not surprising at all that you might think that. In fact “fauxsaics” are quite common and have been used in art for centuries.

For example this classic fresco of Raphael called Prime Mover (1509-1511) in the Vatican. The entire background is marked with mosaic-like squares. It’s not meant to trick the viewer but to give the otherwise flat and even background a softer texture.

And have you seen the work of Nick Misani and his amazing pictures of mosaic floors? Only they are not marble mosaics but digital illustrations!

And my personal, all time favourite “fake mosaic maker“ is Paul Klee and the painting “Ad Parnassum” from 1932. Inspired by divisionism as well as his trips to Ravenna and Venezia, which were and still both are considered prominent mosaic art hubs.

Never say never but currently my mosaics are made entirely with a hammer in stone and glass.

On patience.

The thing I hear the most is “You must be so patient!”. People assume that mosaic making must require a lot of patience from my side. But the truth is… not always! I think I can say I am good at waiting. I can wait for the train to arrive, or for the friend being late. I’m good at waiting in a queue for cinnamon buns. But all these things are easy to do. The waiting is also exciting because I know that my patience will be rewarded.

But what about patience in art? What about cutting small pieces of mosaic tesserae and slowly, piece by piece putting them together? At the beginning it all starts with just one mark, one brush stroke, one word. Or as in my case one piece of a stone or glass. It’s not much and it’s not very rewarding. And then comes the second one and third one and so on. Sometimes this happens very easily and naturally and I quickly find myself in the magical state of flow. But sometimes I distract myself with thoughts, with my to do list, with a whole bunch of unrelated things that most of the time I don’t have control over. But what I can control is this: adding more pieces.

Josie Lewis explained it best in her video (1.39) that “patience” implies doing something that we hate, something that we have to get over with like a visit to the dental hygienist. In my view the creative process however, no matter how painstakingly slow, does not require any patience if we choose it and enjoy doing it. Does anyone tell a hairdresser “You must have so much patience to be cutting and styling the hair”? Or to an avid mushroom picker “You must have so much patience walking around and looking for mushrooms”?

We do understand that the creative process involves work and commitment. I believe it requires passion rather than patience. It is passion that keeps us motivated and keeps us showing up for work. It is passion that helps us put layers upon layers of paint, and sentence after sentence on paper. Art is a process. It’s how makers make. The only difference is that we choose to be a part of this process. After all, in our daily lives we also can choose to be patient with our children’s never ending questions, with our pets chewing on furniture, or with our coworkers’ habits. Patience is not something only a handful of chosen few magically “have”. Patience is a very natural state that we all get to choose and practice.

In our ever faster world of instant noodles and instant messaging maybe we just simply forget that it is our choice to give our full undivided attention and time to the things we truly love and feel passionate about. When suddenly the world had stopped in March and I found myself at home with extra time on my hands, I saw a lot of my friends making bread from scratch. I didn’t. I'm not a baker. I honestly don't have the patience.

On turning house into a home.

Couple of weeks ago, when we were finally allowed to socialize at a safe distance I had long overdue drinks with my client. She told me how happy she is with her floor I made for her last year. And then she added that it wasn’t just a floor. Sure it’s very practical, decorative, and adds a nice colourful accent to the space, but it is so much more than that. It is what makes her house a HOME. It started with a dream of a mediterranean inspired mosaic floor that would make her feel a bit of holiday vibes when cooking. And that dream is now part of her day.

So what makes a home? After spending a lot of time indoors for the past three months I also got to think a lot about what makes my house a home. To me it means surrounding myself with things that make me feel cozy, safe and comfortable. It’s about creating a space that inspires me, that makes me smile, that makes me feel excited even when doing the chores. The colours, the patterns, and the materials we surround ourselves with do make a difference in our daily lives. They can influence our moods, they can bring memories and they can inspire our menus, holiday plans and life goals.

Comment below to let me know what words/colours come to mind when your house becomes a home.

Why do I make mosaics?

I've been thinking a lot lately about why I make art, and why mosaics. 

I left Poland when I was 19. I left because I didn’t see any perspectives for me there. I couldn't afford to go to university and I didn’t have support from my family. 

I started a new life in The Netherlands. I followed the “right” steps: I graduated, I found a job, I was in a committed relationship, I was keeping busy advancing my career and earning my worth. I did what was expected of me and at the same time I felt more and more broken inside. I felt like a little island in the middle of an ocean. I felt lost. 

I was disconnected from my body, from my country, in my job, in my relationship. It was my way to protect myself from being hurt, but ultimately it made things only harder. 

I was so fed up that I decided to follow that little voice in my head that told me to quit my job and move to Italy to study mosaics. To become a mosaic artist. 

I left behind everything and everyone I knew, and spent the next three years in a small Italian town perfecting my hammer skills and learning about mosaics from the best in the field. After graduation I returned to Amsterdam where I founded my studio.

I love mosaics because of its calm and meditative process. My art is very intuitive but at the same time it is very deliberate through the rhythm, movement and pattern. Each mosaic is unique. It’s a collection of various elements where each piece has its purpose. There’s no room for judgement. 

I connect the pieces in order to stay grounded and to feel reconnected to myself and to the world around me. My work is not about the brokenness. It’s about all of us - little islands, little fragments floating in the universe. And although we might feel lost sometimes, we are made to belong.