Gelo.Ink

Two years of almost no tattooing. This project was one of my first steps back. I’ve been feeling a real creative itch for it lately, so I decided to try — once a week or two, nothing more, just seeing how my hands feel.

The night before the session I had a very vivid dream — Jake was in it, and on his neck was a tattoo of rosemary. I woke up with two words in my head: rosemary and cedar. I didn’t overthink it, I just told him when he arrived.

He got quiet for a moment and then said that he actually has a deep connection to both plants — they grow in his home state, and recently he was at a ceremony where rosemary and cedar were offered to fire. I wasn’t expecting that at all. We looked at each other and decided to start over.

Jake had found me through a mutual friend, and when we first met for a tea it felt easy from the start. He’d been thinking about a chest and neck tattoo for years but never felt ready, and then he saw my work and reached out. Funny timing, because the week before I’d tattooed my close friend’s neck and told myself I’d never do it again — too uncomfortable, too difficult. But Jake’s idea got me, and I said yes.

We worked on a design together, went back and forth, and then that dream happened.
I sketched directly on his skin with a marker and it looked right immediately. We added lavender as we went. Two long sessions — a lot of talking, music, some pain, and a lot of trust.

After everything we spent some time together — met some friends, went hiking in the Valley. I love when it goes like this. When it’s not just a client coming in and leaving, but a whole story with its own unexpected turns. Jake felt like someone I’d known for years, and I think that’s only possible when there’s real openness on both sides.

I want to keep this here ✨ a small collection of photos and videos from my last month in Brazil.

Some of you asked me what this place is.

It’s a small, quite remote eco-village in the north of Brazil, in Bahia. Very simple, very quiet, and quite isolated. One of the things that makes it special is that the river meets the ocean there, so every day you can watch how the water changes - tides come and go, the shape of the river shifts, the landscape is never exactly the same.

You can go into the ocean, swim in the waves, or stay in the calm water of the river. Both are there, next to each other.

There are no cars in the village. It feels very calm and safe. It’s also a vegetarian place, no alcohol, no ci******es. There is one small shop and one restaurant, and a few times a week a market comes from the city with a small selection of food.

Life there is very simple. There is almost nowhere to spend money, and it naturally takes you a bit away from usual routines and consumption.

There are also different events happening there - yoga, practices, gatherings. People know each other, there is a sense of community. But I didn’t go there for that, in opposite, I went there to be alone.

Most of the time I stayed in my small house, spent time by myself, went to the ocean, walked, watched, drew, thought.

At the edge of the village there are big coconut plantations. Sometimes I would just pick up a coconut from the ground, open it, and drink it there.

Even though I was in Brazil, it didn’t really feel like I got to know Brazil itself. Brazilians told me they go there to rest from Brazil. And I think that’s true. I didn’t go there for culture or cities, I went there for nature, for the ocean, for quiet.

For me it felt more like being on a retreat. It was a time of being inside myself. A lot of reflection, some of it not easy. I had space to go through emotions, to think about my life and my choices, without distraction.

And once again I understood something about myself- from time to time I need this kind of isolation. To step away, be alone, be in silence, and just hear what is actually going on inside ✨

I lost this sketchbook on my way from Brazil to Peru.

I had three flights, and I left it in one of the planes. I only realized it later, when I couldn’t find it anymore.

I’m not someone who treats every drawing as something to keep or frame. For me, drawing is usually just practice, part of the process, something that moves forward and replaces itself.

But this sketchbook felt different. All the pages were made in a similar way, almost like one continuous thing. I drew some of them in the jungle during my master plant dieta, and some later in Brazil, by the ocean. I didn’t use references - everything came from memory or just appeared while drawing.

Each page had a personal meaning for me, even if I can’t fully explain it. So it was really sad to lose it.

At the same time, I’m very glad that I took a few photos of the pages before. Now I keep looking at these images and thinking to turn them into a series of separate works. Not to recreate the sketchbook, but to continue it in another form.

Something from it is still here ✨