When I’m not working, I love going for long walks. Wandering through the city or exploring quiet places helps me clear my mind and find new inspiration. My tattoos, my work, and my love for being out in the world are all part of what shapes me.

My dream? It’s simple, but it feels huge. One day, I want to open my own little tattoo studio — nothing flashy, just a warm, sunlit space with plants in the windows and sketches pinned everywhere. A place where people walk in nervous and walk out feeling a little stronger, a little more themselves. I imagine shelves full of my sketchbooks, a big wooden table stained with ink, and a door that never fully closes because someone is always dropping by to tell me an idea, a story, or something they want to turn into art. I want the studio to feel like a safe corner of the world — the kind I always wished I had when I was younger.

People always ask me why I’m so attached to tattooing — why I spend hours practicing lines, shading, tiny details no one else even notices. And I always tell them the same thing: tattooing is my way of expressing myself. Some people write poems, some paint, some shout their feelings into the world. I ink mine into skin. Every design I create carries a piece of my mood, my thoughts, my chaos, my calm. Even when I tattoo someone else’s idea, I still leave a little part of myself in the lines — the way I interpret their story, the way my hand moves when I’m focused, the way I breathe when the machine starts buzzing.