Inside the Studio: A Season of Transformation
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The studio has been buzzing lately. Not with the kind of chaos you would expect, like scattered brushes, stacks of unfinished canvases, or a thousand sticky notes about half-formed ideas, but with a quiet, intentional kind of energy. Every project that comes through here has started to reveal its own rhythm, its own audience, and its own way of contributing to something larger than itself.
Art has never been about one lane for me. It is not a straight line, it is a constellation. Lately, that constellation has started to come together in ways I did not fully see before. My robot book, my Wonderland-inspired mirrors and black light pieces, and my cabins and scenery are no longer just projects living in their own corners. They are bridges, reaching out to connect with people at different stages of life, from the child who still believes in magic to the adult who is craving a moment of stillness.
This is a season of weaving it all together.
Bolt Voltage: Awakening Through Story
The heart of the studio right now beats with Bolt Voltage: Out of Sync. This is not just a book, it is an experiment in connection. Bolt is not your average robot. He is a mirror for us, a character who reveals what it feels like to be human by experiencing emotions for the very first time.
Writing and illustrating this project has been like opening a portal. Kids respond to it because they see themselves in Bolt’s curiosity and vulnerability. Adults, especially those who feel emotionally sensitive or out of step with the world, connect to it on another level. They see in Bolt the awkward beauty of being “out of sync,” the ache of learning trust, the sparks of discovery when you finally find companionship.
What excites me most is how flexible Bolt’s world has become. In addition to the main book, I have been shaping sub-stories for younger readers, simplifying the language but keeping the heart. These will be short, 8-page digital adventures that fold in not just reading, but movement. I want kids to act out parts of the story, to stretch, to jump, to move in ways that let the story live in their bodies as much as in their minds.
There is also a 10-part educational series in development, aimed at helping kids embrace AI in a playful, accessible way. Instead of being afraid of technology, they will get to meet it through Bolt’s lens, curious, reflective, and full of humor.
And then there is the audiobook. That has been its own adventure. Transforming the manuscript into something dramatic, something layered with soundscapes and pacing, has reminded me that storytelling is not limited to words on a page. It is about atmosphere. It is about creating an experience that listeners can step inside of.
Wonderland and the Language of Light
For a very different audience, the studio has been glowing, quite literally. My Wonderland mirror and black light art have started to open doors with teens, college students, and twenty-somethings who are craving surrealism, boldness, and a touch of the fantastical.
There is something about Wonderland that speaks to this age group. Maybe it is the sense of being on the edge of a new identity, tumbling into a world that does not quite make sense but feels alive with possibility. The mirrors act as both literal and metaphorical reflections. They are strange, playful, and a little bit eerie, but they invite people to see themselves differently.
The black light work, on the other hand, takes everything into another dimension. In the dark, colors glow that should not exist. Shapes shift. The whole room transforms. This is not just art for walls, it is art for atmospheres, art that changes the mood of a space.
What I have noticed is that this demographic does not just want to look at art, they want to step into it. They want immersion. The Wonderland projects are my answer to that. They create spaces that are as much about the viewer’s imagination as my own.
Cabins, Scenery, and the Pull of Nostalgia
While Bolt and Wonderland are loud and bright, there is another side of the studio that hums more quietly: my cabins and scenic pieces.
These works have a different kind of magnetism. They draw in people who want stillness, people who crave an escape from the noise of everyday life. I see the 30+ demographic gravitating here most often, but truthfully, they speak to anyone who longs for nostalgia, peace, or grounding.
These cabins are not just about architecture or landscape, they are about memory. They are the kind of places that feel familiar even if you have never been there. They carry the weight of summers gone by, family trips, or simply the desire to retreat to a simpler rhythm.
I have been experimenting with textures here, choosing paper that has tooth and grip, working with oil pastels in ways that allow color to settle and breathe. Fixative sprays become part of the ritual, sealing in not just the pigment but the mood. Each piece feels like a memory captured and preserved.
The Thread That Ties It All Together
At first glance, these projects might seem like separate worlds. A robot navigating emotions. A glowing Wonderland mirror. A quiet cabin in the woods. But the more time I spend in the studio, the clearer it becomes that they are all different doors into the same house.
That house is built on one idea: art as a reflection of human behavior.
Whether it is a child learning how to trust, a young adult exploring surreal identities, or someone older seeking calm and grounding, each project is designed to meet them where they are. My studio has become less about creating for myself and more about creating portals for others.
It is not about age brackets or demographics as much as it is about emotional landscapes. Everyone is looking for something: wonder, stillness, reflection, escape. My work is simply offering different pathways to those destinations.
Experiments, Failures, and Discoveries
Of course, not every day in the studio feels profound. Some days it is just about testing neon paint that refuses to cover the way I want it to, or figuring out how to fill a black space above a rabbit’s head in a way that does not feel forced. Some days it is about revisiting old drawings and stripping them down to clean outlines for coloring books.
But even those smaller moments have meaning. They remind me that the process of making art is just as much about trial and error as it is about finished pieces. They remind me to play, to fail, to laugh at the absurdity of painting a flamingo into a Wonderland clock.
Every experiment adds to the texture of the larger picture.
Looking Ahead
The studio is not slowing down. If anything, it feels like the momentum is building.
The next Bolt book is already forming in sketches and notes, circling around the theme of change and the challenges it brings. Change as the big bad, change as the teacher.
New Wonderland concepts are being sketched, pushing the limits of what a mirror or black light piece can be.
And the cabins keep calling, inviting me to keep grounding myself and others in quiet landscapes that feel timeless.
This is the joy of a multidisciplinary studio. Nothing is siloed. Everything is part of a larger ecosystem, feeding back into one another.
An Invitation
So that is where things are right now: a robot learning to feel, a mirror that bends reality, a cabin waiting in the woods. Different projects, different audiences, all tied together by a desire to celebrate what it means to be human.
My hope is that these works do not just sit on walls or pages, but that they live in people’s lives. That they inspire kids to play, teens to imagine, adults to reflect, and communities to connect.
Art does not just belong to artists. It belongs to everyone willing to step inside of it.
If you would like to explore more of what is happening in the studio or bring a piece of it into your own space, visit www.JDubsarts.com