There’s an irony I carry with me every day—I chose a creative life, yet I often feel estranged from creativity itself. Inspiration doesn’t flow freely for me; it flickers, disappears, and sometimes refuses to come at all. I live with art block not as a phase, but as a constant, lingering presence. It sits in my chest, clouds my mind, clutters my space. And yet, I still create—not in spite of the block, but through it. As a creative navigating the constant tension between inspiration and emptiness, my work is rooted in irony—I chose a creative path, yet I often find myself disconnected from art. Art block isn't a rare occurrence; it's a lingering presence, a weight that both frustrates and defines me. Still, I choose to create. I draw from the chaos in my mind—the clutter, the noise, the emotional static—and channel it into design. My work isn’t always polished or perfect, but it’s real. It reflects the struggle of trying to make something beautiful while feeling detached from beauty itself. Through layers, texture, and intentional disorder, I transform my internal mess into something wearable—because sometimes, the only way through the block is to wear it.