How Much Is Enough? Systems That Don't Serve Us
How much is enough?
Dysfunctional systems dormant under layers of moss? Censorship and propaganda for the sake of compliance? Power abuse? Corruption? Control through shaming? Control through fear? Dictatorship? I really want to know.
For those of us born with extremely high sensitivity to injustice and an equally high empathy, the world can feel like a very lonely place. A frustrating place. An unfair place. A place that was not designed for most people to thrive.
Because for as long as we’re here, our existence is conditioned to fit into systems.
Political systems, economic systems, social systems, educational systems, corporate systems, technological systems, cultural systems, healthcare systems, religious systems. Other systems.
My problem with systems, big or small, is not just power consolidation of rich individuals and outdatedness of existing structures. It’s not just corruption and brokenness of institutions that are aggressively marketed otherwise. It’s not even the fact that we can’t truly influence who is in position of power (would be nice, but I believe that electoral systems are broken just as much).
It’s the system’s design itself.
It’s the fact that systems are created for everyone, and therefore they don’t work.
They’re meant to make our lives easier. They’re meant to work for us, provide the service of taking care of us. For which we pay the price. But in reality, they don’t serve us. They control us. They take our money away along with our agency, beliefs, and freedom.
They make us question our values, our thoughts, our decisions, if those don’t align with what is set to be “universal standard”. That grey substance representing whatever feels the easiest to control. For those to whom control is the want. The need. The everything.
And that goes against the very fact that human beings are not universal creatures. We’re individuals, unique and subjective. Different in shapes, nationalities, mentalities, beliefs, creativity, dreams, and experiences.
We look different, we think different, we learn different, we behave different. We are different.
My problem with systems is the fact that not only systems don’t work in reality, they also don’t work on a conceptual level. They don’t work because not everything is for everyone. It never was and it never will be.
Earlier this year, I read “Visual Thinking”, a wonderful book by Temple Grandin that highlights how American education is built around kids who fit the analytical, test-taking mold. She talks about the system that rewards one kind and condemns the others. The system that doesn’t work.
I enjoyed this book because this problem is not talked about enough, and because I see it first-hand in my son’s classroom. In order to succeed, kids are expected to be good at word problems, abstract thinking, and have a great memory. Those who think in images, patterns, or simply learn by doing, are set to fail from the start.
Many schools disregard art classes and push algebra as a universal standard. By getting rid of hands-on projects and creative disciplines, they take away the options for those whose strengths just don’t show up on standardized exams.
And guess what? It’s ok to have different strengths. It’s ok to have different talents. It’s ok to fail in algebra. It’s ok to succeed in arts instead. Everything is ok, but everything is not supported.
When those kids drop out, struggle, and check out, nobody asks what the system did wrong. Instead, these kids get shamed and labeled as “Stupid”. As if there’s only one way to be intelligent.
There isn’t. What there is, though, is hypocrisy. Hypocrisy and one-way-thinking that are packaged in a so called “golden standard” that comes with expectations and shaming.
I’ve always found it fascinating how western world is marketed to celebrate diversity while in reality this diversity doesn’t exist.
Speaking of diversity. It’s really interesting how differently people answer a question “Who won the World War II?”. It’s quite a polarizing question, and the answer to it largely depends on where a person comes from. In Russia, it’s obviously Russians. In the US, it’s obviously Americans. In Europe, answers vary.
As someone who went to school in Russia and France, and is now involved in American education through my son’s studies, I find it interesting to see how children study different versions of history. How nation-based systems promote patriotism through purposeful distortion of events. Be in school, news, laws, social media, church, and other places of influence.
We grow up learning this one-sided truth that later gets distorted further. We are being influenced, groomed, manipulated, and trained to be controllable and agreeable. We’re being parented by our parents who were parented by their parents and also politicians and systems they create.
As adults, we’re still being parented by politicians and systems, as if we can’t think for ourselves. Politicians and systems that lack the transparency and pressure for faith.
Politicians and systems that are mostly interested in power preservation. Politicians and systems that censor, scare, and control regardless if the state is called “democracy” or “dictatorship”. Having lived in both, I don’t see a big difference.
Corruption exists in both. In fact, in dictatorships corruption is accessible in every layer of society while in democracies it’s preserved for the elites.
Censorship exists in both. It can be theatrical and loud (think prison sentences, cancel culture), and it can also be quiet (social media algorithms and search engines placing your content in “no-show” boxes, digital moderation and selective removal of content that doesn’t violate any policies, sudden changes of policies).
Control exists in both. Propaganda exists in both. Can you think of a single system where having strong authentic opinion wouldn’t backfire through negative consequences? I personally cannot, because “the golden standard” needs to be preserved no matter what. Despite the hypocrisy. In “liberal” countries. And not.
And because we’re taught to comply and not ask uncomfortable questions from a very early age, people themselves become the tool for systems to preserve this standard and remain in power.
We shame each other. Belittle each other. Act aggressively and defensively when someone voices an opinion that threatens the comfort we find in existing rules and expectations. We’re scared.
When we’re scared, our entire being becomes extremely tense. We shrink and slouch. We self-censor and bury our true selves to the point of forgetting. We don’t notice how honesty is getting replaced by performance. How we mold our brains to appear likable. Palatable. Agreeable.
But always likable is not genuine. Always likable is digestible.
This is why I think it’s so important to express that authentic opinion. Despite the backlash. Now more than ever. While tech companies are pushing unregulated AI that can further distort the reality and upgrade the toolbox of political control, it’s a perfect time to practice advocacy.
I believe that AI is going to seriously finesse existing instruments of manipulation. It’s going to increase tensions and hostility between already polarized groups of people. It’s going to be implemented by leaders who don’t concern themselves with true well being of the people they’re meant to serve.
It’s important to speak up and connect with our own voice not for the purpose of influencing, but for the purpose of reclaiming and becoming whole again. For the purpose of remembering who we really are in the world where uncertainty is the norm.
We’re already conditioned to daily existence in the system of social media. One of the most powerful systems, the one that acts transparent but isn’t. This system feeds off our anxiety, insecurities, and self-doubt. It makes us feel like shit, and yet we continue consuming it. Because breaking free feels scary. Because the system’s design meant for it to be scary. Because scary is too much to bear.
When we’re plugged in and overwhelmed, it’s very hard to remove ourselves from our immediate emotional state and step out into a position of the observer. Analyze what is truly going on, what we’re being “fed”, for what purpose. What is being thrown towards us as a distraction. What would we be doing and thinking about if we weren’t distracted.
I created “The How Much Is Enough?” because I got tired of being silenced by systems. Spoon-fed by systems. Intimidated by systems. Political, corporate, educational, technological, cultural, and social ones.
As a parent, I got tired of being parented by those who think it’s in their right to manipulate me and tell me what to think and how to be. What kind of example to set for my own child. What it means to be a good parent. What it means for my child to be a good child.
By writing this essay, I exercise my honesty. I’m documenting my truth. The only kind of truth that matters to me since I can’t really trust anything else.
Because the truth is subjective. The truth is distorted. Because no one really knows what’s going on unless we trust in systems enough to give in and relax in whatever version is being broadcasted. For what purpose?
I am also exercising my right to criticize without offering anything in return. Because I believe that before positive change happens, there needs to be enough rage to break what already exists. To put a name to a thing that pretends to be something else. To highlight what is rotting while rottenness distracts.
We can’t rebuild without breaking. We shouldn’t rebuild on top of what already is, otherwise there will be no change.
How much is enough dysfunctional systems dormant under layers of moss? Censorship and propaganda for the sake of compliance? Power abuse? Corruption? Control through shaming? Control through fear? Dictatorship?
I really want to know.
The Dudes. Creative identity beyond a signature style
7 years ago, I created the dudes. The wormy whimsical characters living in colorful chaos. These dudes have tiny heads and unapologetically happy bodies. They dress funny and move freely. They’re thirsty for life and hungry for attention. I love drawing the dudes, and they love me back.
This playful style became a stepping stone to my career as an illustrator. It was the product of my UI design and startup fatigue. An attempt to break free from familiar and succeed in the unknown. It started as an experiment and ended up becoming what they call “a signature”. A style that makes illustrators instantly recognizable and unforgettable.
Now, I’m not saying I’m unforgettable (you tell me), but the dudes do tend to create a lasting impression when one sees my work. The shape is unique, charisma is there, composition is chaos, and my choice of colors provides that extra oomph. A combination that celebrates excessiveness from every angle.
I can draw dudes anywhere, at any time, on any surface. My hand and my brain are so intertwined with this style that sometimes it’s hard to imagine creating not dudes and not chaos. Not dressing them funny. Not moving them freely. Not moving them at all? I used to question if there’s enough creative capacity in me for something else. Other style. Other dudes? Not dudes?
Thankfully, my most recent role at Padlet proved that I am indeed capable. I took a 4-year break from my signature and focused on creating a different style from scratch + building an illustration kingdom system on top of it. The use case I’m going to one day write and password protect because the work I did at Padlet is mysterious and important.
When I first joined the company, I still created an occasional dude here and there, but very soon the full-timeness of Padlet (and parenting) removed all the space for free-styling. I didn’t have time for the dudes. I didn’t have thoughts for the dudes. I stopped seeing and dreaming in dudes. They were slowly fading away.
And I thought it wasn’t too bad. After all, I made that career move to prove to myself that the dudes don’t define me. Or own me. That developing a successful illustration style doesn’t mean that one has to create in it for as long as they live. And as much as I love the dudes and they love me back, I didn’t want to draw them till the sunset of my days. Or at least, not them alone.
One thing I’ve learnt about myself in 34 years of existence is that I’m great at settings things up. From zero to hero. From nada to todo. I come up with ideas, create the things, develop strategies, and accompany them all the way to the stage. I watch the peformance, read the reviews, revise and tweak, and do it enough times till I know that the thing is successful.
This quality applies to all aspects of my life, including illustration styles. I did that with dudes first. I did that at Padlet next. I’m proud and happy with both, but it’s time to create something else. And sometimes, the something else feels scary. Because it’s another attempt to break free from familiar and succeed in the unknown. So great for the brain, so bad for security.
It’s very exciting but also disrupting. It’s hard to control and takes time to establish. Speaking of control, I wrote all about it in my recent post on transitioning from screens to paper, which is a whole other shade of scary.
Ok, back to creativity crisis. I won’t lie, there’re days when I wish I could be a one-style illustrator who’s in love with it enough to keep on going. Stay with one thing, refine and elevate, don’t stress and enjoy the consistent branding. I simplify, of course, but it’s a fantasy of mine that I sometimes exercise to remind myself of who I am and what’s important.
To me, change is important. Always learning new things is important. Moving forward is important. Solving problems is important. Having fun is important. Creating a new illustration style checks all those things simultaneously. It’s a challenge to tackle and a joy in the making. Something that I started missing after 4 years at Padlet, and something I’m getting back to today.
That said, the dudes I once created still have a special place in my heart. Just because I don’t want to draw them till my hand is sore anymore, doesn’t mean that I’ll never ever draw them again. In fact, I just did earlier this month when I was figuring out how zines work and created my own.
My dudes will always be mine, nothing will change that. And together, we’re going to see where my creative brain takes us next. The something I’m over the roof excited about. Always excited. Can’t wait!
So I Made a Fashion Zine
The first time I saw the term “zine” was 2 weeks ago when I read “Just Make Your Magazine” by Josh Jones. My creative potential started showing signs of aliveness after leaving my corporate tech job earlier this year, and I was battling the dilemma of making my own magazine or book.
I could just as well say that I’ve been living under a rock this entire time, but that’s not very true. What I can, proudly, state is that I haven’t been consuming enough social media in the past 5 years (becoming a parent does that to you). And most likely, my feed was too aggressively fine-tuned to all things digital and tech-forward.
Now that I’m intentionally diluting it with tech-backward, I’m starting to see the light. I’m seeing the zines. Lots of them. I’m seeing traditional zines, mixed media zines, therapeutic zines, political zines. Zines that are first created on paper, then scanned, edited in Photoshop and printed again. Big and small. In color or not. The choice is so luscious that it’s hard not to get inspired.
So I got inspired and decided to make a zine for the sake of making a zine. No clever idea or punchy message behind. I just wanted to fold the paper, make a cut, mark the pages, unfold, and draw the dudes. The dudes? The dudes. The wormy characters that became my signature style years ago. The ones I was trying to escape in my previous tech role till I realized there’s no escape (there is, but more on that later).
I didn’t want to just draw random dudes though so I ended up drawing random dudes fashionably. In alignment with my personal understanding of style, patterns and textures. There isn’t a lot but I tried. Indulging on spring fashion week shows could have something to do with this choice. Le freak, c'est chic. But mostly, Le freak.
My little zine ended up featuring eight overdressed characters and some plants. All drawn on Hahnemühle sketch paper using gouache, colored pencils, pastels, water-based acrylic markers and some acrylic inks. An unnecessarily complex toolkit for a ridiculously simple project. In defense of Hahnemühle, not a stroke seeped through.
This project taught me that if you want to make a zine, go make a zine. It doesn’t need to be big, pretty or intellectually motivating. It doesn't need to be artistic. Your zine can be as silly or as serious as you want for it to be. Self-express, have some fun and maybe consider photocopy to share it with friends and rivals.
My 2-day experience shows that making a zine is easy. Much easier than origami. It could have been the same day result if I didn’t find myself in the art supplies store after cutting and folding the paper. So maybe don't go to the art supplies store if you want to make a zine sooner.
All you really need is a piece of paper, scissors and a pen. Maybe a marker. A fountain pen? Sailor Fude with a 55° nib is particularly sexy, but the basic pen will also do.
In Bold Lines: Introducing Coloropolis
My son Oliver is very particular about the color of the nightlight before he goes to sleep. He wants it to be green at all times because shades of green make him feel calm and safe. If the nightlight isn’t plugged in, it changes color to red indicating low charge. Oliver is afraid of red. Red makes him think of monsters gathering around the bed.
He doesn’t like white either because white makes the room feel restlessly light. Same as yellow that reminds him of a sunrise that feels just as unnatural at bedtime hour. Blue makes the room feel cold and purple is a color that is just not pink enough. That’s why Oliver sticks to green. Green just makes the most sense.
When my friend Yasmine and I decided to open Coloropolis shop, I didn’t think much of Oliver’s nightlight preferences. I was very excited to finally make it to the point of my life where stars aligned to explore the world of coloring book design. Something I thought about doing numerous times during my career, but never really had the space.
The first time I thought about it was over a decade ago when Johanna Basford’s work started taking bookstores by storm as well as hearts of many adults who love complex coloring. I had so much fun with “Secret Garden” that I thought, one day, I’d make something special of my own. For adults, for kids, for in between. In bold lines. In colorful lines. Or maybe both.
Then work came in waves that crushed on me continuously, removing the space to think about these things. Until I decided to transition to illustration and developed my style that’s all about bold dudes supported by bold strokes. Clean strokes. Colorful ones.
Quite a few people asked me if I thought about making coloring books when they first saw my work. The question that always made me genuinely happy but I still didn’t have space to answer.
I started thinking that coloring things might be my fate after all when I joined Padlet. There, I developed an illustration style inspired by coloring book aesthetics. Not too different from what I was doing before in terms of structure, but more enjoyable for adults and kids alike. At that point, I knew I could design fun coloring activities, but work and parenthood combined were demanding enough to not have the time.
Until I made the time. I started this year by leaving my full-time role at Padlet to apply my illustration skills in child development and education areas. When I made that decision I didn’t immediately think of coloring books. It was my friend Yasmine who reminded me of it when she proposed to open an online shop together where we could design and sell digital products (that later became physical books).
I loved the idea because I have always wanted to have a little something of my own outside commission work and full-time jobs. I loved the idea of working with Yasmine even more because she is the friend who inspires me to grow and completes me in all the beautiful ways.
But what I loved most of all is how this adventure aligns with my desire to contribute to creative development of children, adults and everyone in between. How we can create something playful and inspiring and quality at the same time. How we can build a community around it. And how we can possibly make someone’s day brighter by showing how limitless coloring really is.
Be it for kids like Oliver who sense color moods instinctively and can get wildly creative with crayons. Or be it for adults who want to relax and express themselves without having to make something from scratch. As an illustrator, I do understand how terrifying and exhausting a blank page can feel.
Coloropolis is a young shop: we opened less than three months ago. There’s a lot of groundwork still in progress as we’re setting up the processes and learning along the way. But I’m very excited about this journey. Everything that we’ve been doing so far feels good. I might not yet see exactly how the future of Coloropolis will look like, but I also don’t need to know because what I do know is that I am looking in the right direction.
Doing something beautiful and consistently every day. Building our coloring page library stroke by stroke. Having fun with Oliver along the way as he feels included and excited about this journey with us. Receiving feedback when other kids and adults get to color our products. Coloring the pages ourselves and recording the process.
I love it all.
Drawing from life and from head. On paper
Drawing from life. Drawing from life and from head. Drawing from head on paper avoiding drawing from life. Any of these practices have never been my cup of tea.
Drawing on tablets though. Drawing with stylus on screens. Drawing with mouse on computer. Drawing with pen tool and shapes. Those have given me a honey-like pleasure, a lucrative career, and a space where creativity feels easy. Easy? No. Right.
I like for the process to feel right. Because when it’s right, it’s also easy. And when it’s easy, the dopamine comes sooner. I need the dopamine present throughout the process of creation as it fuels me forward to the end goal. That grand idea I’m sketching, pen-tooling, and coloring towards. The one that I’m also, more often than not, getting paid for.
When the process feels right from the first stroke, it also acts as a guarantee that I’m going to finish in a beautiful place. That the wow effect is absolutely happening. That the client is going to be impressed.
For a safety-oriented person like me, this guarantee is important. As much as I’m unlearning to control everything everywhere at any time, I love this feeling of safety before I even start the sketch.
Drawing on paper is the opposite of safety. It’s an absolute disaster rooted in unpredictability, imperfection, broken perspectives, and lack of practice.
There’s no tapping to undo. Erasers make a mess. Hands get dirty. Brain gets angry. And most importantly, unless you tear a page out, you can be left with staring at the product of your own creation that looks sad and feels permanent. Not to say it ruins the sketchbook and gets you in this cruel place of turning the page despite its existence. Being ok with its existence. Oh man.
As a parent, I always tell my son that it’s ok to make mistakes. I make mistakes all the time (and then reopen Procreate and delete those little shits for good not to haunt me in my dreams in Sade’s voice).
I’m not even ashamed of my hypocrisy, but I am scared of facing the creative side of me that feels more paralyzing than creative. To feel like I’ve no idea what I’m doing. To have no control over the tidiness and “correctness” of the artwork at every step of the process.
To bomb and be ok with it. To feel like a fraud because in my head somehow if I’m good at creating in digital I’m automatically supposed to be good at creating on paper even if I never practice this skill ever. Like, what?! Who thinks that?
Apparently, a lot of folks. When I decided to start this year with exploring hands-on practices and take a break from my iPad, I discovered a huge pool of self-doubting artists agonizing about their sketchbooks the same way I was doing it the first three weeks.
Almost every urban sketcher and painter creating educational content online has a video on how to deal with bad art. How to meditate on it, learn from it and then forget about it. Big whoop.
One thing I’ve learnt about myself in this process is that even though I can become a goldfish in the best traditions of Ted Lasso, I can’t forget and move on to the next page immediately. At least, not in the same sketchbook.
I’ve found it helpful to have 2 or 3 at the same time. To make it make sense, I created a different purpose for each. The first sketchbook, the somewhat A5 sized perfection, is for everything. It started as a place for masterpieces, of course, but ended up transforming into a learning curve. Trials and errors. Mostly errors. And some masterpieces on the first 3 pages of it.
The second sketchbook is a tiny one. The one I take with me when I’m out and about. I never understood the purpose of baby sizes before, but it actually softens the blow. The smaller the size, the easier it is to draw anything.
It takes less lines, less time, it’s more controlled. It makes drawing from life particularly sweet. 20 minutes of charging a car can transform into 20 minutes of practice, and it might not even look horrible at the end. I recommend.
The third sketchbook is a bigger, A4 dude. I got it to learn the gouache and mix it with pastels, and accidentally ended up developing a new illustration style. Now, it’s my absolute happy place even on my worst days creatively, and I use it to only draw in that style. Exploring and pushing it forward. A chef’s kiss mwah.
The reason I started drawing in sketchbooks is not to become an amazing hands-on illustrator. If one day I get there naturally - great. If not - that’s fine, too. Not everyone needs to be great at everything.
What I actually wanted was to overcome my fear of paper and messy materials, get myself away from systems and styles I developed in my previous roles, and learn to slow down and notice things around.
Like, really notice. As much as drawing from life is a challenge for me still, it makes me feel like life is not always swishing by at a rocket speed. That I get to capture a moment or two, experience it by being and drawing in it, and finally feel like I’ve lived a little.
Before I went on my corporate career break, I felt like I was locked in a box full of task mastering, packed schedules, and deadlines. Taking a breath felt expensive, unaffordable even.
The only indicator for time passing by I had was my son’s transformation from a baby to a toddler, to a beautiful boy he is now. It felt like living someone else’s life while mine existed in parallel. There was no slowing down, just acceleration.
That’s why even when I do suck, I still enjoy drawing. From life, from head. Drawing from head avoiding drawing from life and on paper. Any of these practices are giving me my life back.
Of course, they won’t bring back the time I’ve lost, but I want to be in it for the future. I want to not just play with my son but also sometimes draw the hot wheels crashing against my foot so that I can bring back that memory. I rewatch Ted Lasso for the 4th time and I draw the room around as I’m sitting and rewatching it alongside my husband. I draw the imaginary room I want to be sitting in one day when we finally decide on where “home” is.
I love all of it. I’m glad I started. And I hope to continue.
When Raspberry Clouds Are Perfect
I’m a very lucky girl. Girl? Woman. Not only do I get to be a mother of one very funny boy and have all-time access to kid-friendly venues that make me feel like a girl again, but I also possess something special that’s talked about a lot in design communities all over the world.
LEGO. No. Innocence. Innocence? Yes, innocence.
There’re many talks and workshops on how to unlock the childlike innocence for creative process. Tune in to childlike nature. Connect with childlike vision. They teach grown-up creatives to stay curious and confident. Not overthink. Rebel against perfectionism. Break free from the rules. Enjoy the process. And other things that come naturally to kids and cause existential crisis in adults.
Luckily, I don’t need a workshop. I live with a little guy who paints raspberry clouds with purple shells and draws aliens that look like monkeys. Watching him create makes me jealous in a sweet kind of way because I want my brain to be free like his brain but I don’t get salty or upset that I can’t achieve it to that extent.
Because I won’t achieve it to that extent. That head of mine has too much clutter. The one I started collecting when social norms and expectations began to sink in. And rules.
All sorts of rules. Being a good girl kind of rules. Social etiquette rules. Inequality rules. Immigration rules. Corporate rules. Silicon Valley rules. Design rules. Perfectionism rules. And other rules… More rules…
Screw rules. For the sake of creativity at least. Because when we create through the maze of constraints, the result is worlds away from the innocent expression I see in my son's art. Or other children’s art who don’t yet create from the place of anxiety or competition. Who don’t try to impress. Or don’t try hard at all.
That’s why those workshops are so popular. As adult designers, we struggle to get to the space where our creativity flows in its purest form, before self-doubt and censorship emerge. We’re sandwiched between social media algorithms, trending styles, likes and approvals. We’re sauced with past traumas, present dramas, and future uncertainties.
To be honest, if it wasn’t for my son, I don’t think I’d start to rethink my approach to creativity. Mostly because I wouldn’t have many reasons to pause, take a step back, and really think if I’m drawing from a place of trend or if I’m drawing from my head. Freely. The practice I started earlier this year in my sketchbook that still terrifies me.
My son draws and builds and sings and dances from his head and freely all the time. He’s not terrified. He makes my portraits special. Hilarious. Non-human. I might appear as a lobster today, an insect tomorrow, or simply a collection of shapes that capture the feeling of what I mean to him in that moment.
And when it looks like a lobster, I’m not entirely sure it actually is one. But I don’t ask because I don’t want for him to adopt the line of thinking where everything he creates needs to fall under a category of something that already exists. Because it shouldn’t. Because it’s awesome if it doesn’t.
I’m trying hard to learn this innocence, but it is. Hard. There’re a lot of things he doesn’t do that I can’t help but do. He doesn’t plan, he doesn’t sketch. He doesn’t know of composition. He discovers color combinations, completely unaware of a color wheel concept. He doesn't try to "develop his style", this is his style.
He just does things and those things work.
I wish I could do that. Five years in the motherhood, I feel like I’m still learning the basics. Like being able to publish a wonky sketch and not want to delete it minutes after. Or accepting that art pieces that don’t align with the visuals of cool cats on design block have just as much value. Maybe I do need a workshop after all.
It’s a process, and I’m going through it. Slowly. Feeling so incredibly lucky to have this beautiful boy who is kind and generous and willing to share the way his imagination works with me. One raspberry cloud and a monkey alien at a time.