There wasn’t a grand plan. No vision board. No artistic education. Just a quiet, desperate search for air.
I was a young mother, balancing the impossible — two small children, a large house that had to look immaculate, and a husband with a beautiful but demanding career. On the outside, it looked like I was thriving but inside, I was running on empty.
Expectations — from society, family and mostly from myself — stacked up like heavy bricks. I tried to be the perfect mom, the supportive wife, the ambitious woman who could do it all without blinking. Until one day, I blinked — and everything stopped.
Burnout doesn’t announce itself. It creeps in silently. First fatigue, then forgetfulness, then the dull feeling of being a stranger in your own life. I found myself staring at the walls of our perfect house, asking myself: Who am I under all these roles I’ve taken on?
One day, almost instinctively, I picked up a piece of clay.
I wasn’t trying to make art. I was trying to feel something — anything — beyond the pressure. The clay was soft, patient, grounding. There was no right or wrong. Just the rhythm of my hands shaping something real, something that didn’t ask for perfection.
That was the moment clay chose me.
What started as a quiet meditation grew into a language. Through clay, I began to tell the story I had never dared to say out loud. The brokenness, the beauty, the slow rebuilding of self. Each piece became a fragment of truth — about motherhood, exhaustion, strength, and reclaiming identity.
Today, years later, my hands still reach for clay when words fail.
I create minimalistic compositions that reflect inner worlds — not the perfect, polished ones we show on the outside, but the layered, fragile, deeply human ones beneath.
Art didn’t save me. But it helped me remember who I was before the world told me who to be.
This is how ArtByMokita was born. Not from a grand artistic vision — but from silence, softness, and the raw courage to begin again.