16/02/2026
Why I Teach my Art Process -
And Why That Matters
I am an artist.
I am a leader.
I am a teacher.
I am a transformative coach.
I am effective.
I never do things by halves.
And I want to be clear about something, because it matters for the integrity of my work.
I do not offer art-based processes so that women can rush through them, make a symbolic gesture, and declare themselves “done”.
This has actually happened and what often emerged was not freedom, but avoidance.
A few 30 second scrawled matchstick figures.
A hasty tree.
A 4-year-old goddess image, quickly filled in.
And then they celebrate publicly:
“Yay!!! I’ve done the work. I’ve workshopped my goddess, my inner child, my yoni!”
😬🤯😳😔
I’m going to say this honestly: I’ve found that offensive.
Not because the images weren’t polished or pretty.
But because they didn’t meet the work with presence, care, or respect required to DO the work.
That isn’t sovereignty. It’s bypass, dressed up as freedom.
What I’ve learned — and what I now stand by unapologetically — is that depth needs a serious creative container.
There is a profound difference between:
imposing meaning
imposing interpretation
imposing outcomes
and
teaching people how to stay
teaching people how not to flee into defence
teaching people how to tolerate not knowing
teaching people how to risk depth
When I teach the art process, I am not telling women what to make.
I am teaching them how to remain present long enough for something true to emerge, and the big difference is - I am there alongside you to process - and for when you want to share or lean.
I offer a canvas that is big enough to matter.
I offer a wide range of high quality materials that can hold complexity — papers, paints, glues, threads, textures, glitter, mess.
And then I teach something many women have never been allowed to learn:
How to let their inner toddler come out and play without being shamed or rushed.
How to trust their fingers.
How to follow colour, texture, rhythm, impulse.
How to choose without justification.
How to stay when things feel uncomfortable or uncertain.
How to manage emotions, sensation, unconscious process.
There are NO art rules.
No “right” images.
No “good” or “bad” outcomes.
And something that often surprises women is this:
The less you know about art, the better this works.
Not knowing makes it harder to perform, harder to get it “right”, harder to hide behind technique.
Women without formal art training often arrive more directly in sensation, colour, texture, and impulse — because they aren’t trying to make something legible or impressive that was taught to them.
This work doesn’t reward skill.
It rewards presence.
Because when people are left entirely to their defences, many will do the smallest, safest thing possible — and call it “done”.
That’s a nervous system staying protected.
A slow, layered, materially rich creative process tells me — and them — far more than a symbolic sketch ever could.
How someone chooses papers.
Whether they rip or cut.
How they handle glue.
Whether they over-control or allow mess.
How tricky or easy it is to let go.
Whether they stay when the image destabilises.
This is deep information.
Interoceptive information.
Relational information.
I don’t interpret their work for them. Together we tussle with bodily felt sensing and what’s coming through from the unconscious.
This way of working often resonates most easily with women who already understand responsibility and craft — senior leaders, CEOs, therapists, coaches, artists, educators.
Not because they are “better”, but because they already know that meaningful work asks for presence, patience, and care.
And just as often, it resonates with women who have learned those same capacities through life itself.
Women who have raised families.
Held households together.
Cared for others for decades.
Carried emotional and practical responsibility quietly and thoroughly.
Women who know how to stay. Who understand that depth can’t be rushed.
Who know, in their bones, that freedom without containment often leads nowhere.
One of the most moving examples of this work came from a wonderful European therapist who worked with me.
She followed my process — slowly, faithfully, without being told what to make — and created a layered canvas of paint, glitter, paper, glue, and stitching.
I could have cried at its depth and beauty when we spoke about this being her Heart.
No one taught her that image.
No one suggested the meaning.
She arrived there because she stayed with my process and we chatted in depth together.
That is the work.
What I understand now — and what I hold clearly — is this:
I am not over-teaching.
I do not over-share.
I hold a clean, ethical line.
I teach women how to enter a serious creative space.
I teach them how to trust their hands.
I teach them how to remain present.
I teach them how to let something unruly and alive emerge without rushing to tidy it up.
I do not give myself away.
I do not perform my depth.
I do not sacrifice myself to make the work meaningful.
This is not a colouring-in exercise.
It is not symbolic theatre.
It is not a quick fix.
It is deep, slow, materially grounded creative work — and it asks for presence, care, and willingness.
Not perfection. Presence.
And yes — I expect that from the women who enter this work with me and I show how to by leading and guiding, loosely with love.
That isn’t rigidity. It’s respect.
What I feel now is not compromise.
It’s closure.
I haven’t abandoned my way of working.
I’ve claimed it without leaking.
I can stand here.
I don’t need to prove anything.
I don’t need to over-explain.
I don’t need to give myself away to be generous.
This is my way.
And it fits.
If you are ready to come to my studio and Honour Your Yoni on canvas with me taking good care of you,
I’m here.
Love,
Kas
