Notes from the Studio: The Things My Paintbrush Knows

Hey, hello there, friend!

If my brushes could talk, they’d probably ask for a spa day. Between the smell of acrylic and the ocean breeze, they’ve seen it all, the chaos, the calm, and the countless colors that seem to multiply when I’m not looking.

When people walk into my studio, the first thing they notice is the color. Not the canvases, not the tools, the feeling of color that fills the room. Even the neighborhood dogs stop by, staring in awe like they’ve discovered a portal to another world.

I usually arrive around noon, after a full morning of journaling, meditation, movement, and gratitude, what I call “priming myself for success.” By the time I step into my studio, I’m already in tune with creative abundance. I open the door, welcome the ocean air, and set an intention before I even touch a brush.

Some days, I paint to classical music. Other days, silence becomes my playlist. I’ll wear headphones just to block out the street sounds, but most of the time, there’s nothing playing. That silence helps me listen, to my thoughts, to the rhythm of my breath, and to whatever my paintings are whispering that day.

Photo Credit: Aryadne Woodbridge

Drica Lobo Studio; my brushes have personalities, the tiny detail lover, the dramatic sweeper, the one I should probably retire but can’t.

My studio is in my garage, right on the main street near the beach. That means my creative flow often comes with surprise guests: curious neighbors, delivery drivers, even strangers who just want to peek inside. I love those moments, the spontaneous conversations that remind me how art connects us. Of course, when deadlines call, I close the door and disappear into pure focus.

My brushes have personalities, the tiny detail lover, the dramatic sweeper, the one I should probably retire but can’t. They’re all overworked, slightly rebellious, and often soaking in buckets because I forgot to clean them overnight (Virgo reset happens every three days). Peeling dried paint off my palette is my secret satisfaction. It’s like cracking a shell open, messy, rewarding, and oddly meditative. I even collect the peeled layers to reuse for future art experiments.

And while I’m deep in the zone, my cats, Lilith and Luna, patiently wait for me to come home. They always make sure I take breaks to play, because, apparently, even muses need boundaries.

This third week of the challenge feels like I’ve found my rhythm. My paintings are vibrant, joyful, and full of movement. The colors carry my conversations, my rituals, my quiet moments, all of it poured into canvas.

You can feel that rhythm in this week’s new minis, they’re pure joy on canvas, and I can’t wait for you to see them.

[Explore the collection → HERE]