A series of 12 illustrations rendered in markers and colored pencils. It was important to me to preserve the paper’s texture and the living trace of the hand: uneven strokes, highlights, and graphite marks. The toy world of the factory is bright and vibrant, yet behind this cheerfulness lies the conveyor belt where any deviation is neatly corrected.
The girls are guided along the lines, fitting pieces to the silhouettes, and aligning them to the pattern. No one shouts or forces anyone—everything happens softly, almost tenderly. This is why it’s so easy not to notice yourself becoming part of the assembly line.
A mask with a drawn smile is the main symbol of the series. It is convenient: behind it, no fatigue, no resentment, and no doubts are visible. But the longer you wear it, the harder it becomes to remember what face is underneath.
On the fifth spread, the palette changes. The colors become brighter, richer, and bolder. This is deliberate: it shows the moment the girl first begins to see herself. The world around her is the same, but her perception of it changes. The brightness here does not signify a celebration, but an awakening—the beginning of self-awareness, the first breath after a long silence.
She isn’t starting a revolution. She’s simply heading in another direction—not the way the stream is going. And it turns out she isn’t alone: others have their own spirals, little airplanes, and strange little houses too.
