Tattoos for me aren't just pictures - they're "letters to the skin." Each sketch is a secret I entrust to someone else's body. But sometimes I get so carried away that I start drawing on myself with a pen, then wonder why it won't wash off in the shower. And yes, I have a special connection with clients: when they say "draw me a flower," I hear "draw me a dragon eating the sun" - and they always agree

Manicure is my "micro‑architecture." I can build an entire city on one nail, with turrets and stars, and tear it down the next day because "blue feels sad today." The real thrill is when my nail design matches my fresh tattoo - then my hands become an interactive exhibit. Though my left hand always envies my right, because the right one turns out neater - well, I can't draw with my left, sorry

I'm the one who draws not on walls, but on people. My palette is skin, nails, and random scraps of paper. Honestly, I've long suspected that my right hand lives its own life - it's already tattooed my left, designed a thumb nail, and sketched on a café napkin all at once. I'm just trying to keep it under control

Sketching is my personal diary, but without words. I draw what I can't say: lines, dots, swirls. They appear on ticket stubs, receipts, and even on my own skin (it rubs off with alcohol, don't worry). My best ideas come when I'm trying to fall asleep - then I get up and draw in the air with my finger, and in the morning I painfully try to remember what it was. It usually turns out to be just a circle, but I proudly call it "primal chaos."