The Laundry Room, a colorful transformation

After returning home from my wonderful trip to Colombia, surrounded by the love of my family and friends, nostalgia came to visit. I’ve been moving through waves of feelings, emotions, and reflections—riding the ups and downs that come after being so deeply nourished by connection and beauty.

I spend a lot of time at home, and for me, my house is medicine—helping me process life by engaging with my space. When something inside me seeks movement, it naturally expresses itself in my home and through my art.

I walk around my house and practice listening to it. I feel the feelings and notice the insights that arise from the places calling for my attention. Sometimes I silence the desire to make a change, because it also carries work. There are moments when I don’t want more things to do. So those corners remain in a muted—silently screaming—phase for some time.

My home is my second skin, the membrane that holds the energy of my body and my interpersonal bubble. I like to reflect on the relationship between my body and the different parts of the house—the activities I do in those spaces, and what they mirror back to me.

One of those days after my return, I sat at the dining table and looked toward the blackboard wall that leads to the laundry room. I noticed how boring that space felt. How frustrating it was to see the mess piling up on top of the washer and dryer. How the wall in the back had a color that made it look dirty. And how opening the trash-can door revealed a pile of things I hadn’t processed—objects I hadn’t yet decided what to do with. All of it weighed on me with a heavy, draining sensation.

And then I remembered. Two years ago, I had a vision for that back wall in the laundry room—a vision I never allowed to come through. A playful grid, filled with colors, transforming it into a mural-like wall. Back then it didn’t feel necessary, so I let it rest.

Three weeks ago, I decided it was time. Time to face the unglamorous parts: clearing cabinets, purging the space where I wash clothes, where I store food, and where the residues of home come to end their cycle.

I cleaned. I let go. I even made a fire to burn old papers. I moved quickly through this tedious part, giving it only a couple of hours so it could finally be done.

Then I drew the grid. I let my heart lead, not my mind. I brought the colors I had and began with yellow, filling in the shapes. I chose a simple pattern so the colors could flow without overthinking the composition. And then I simply listened to my inner guidance.

Many thoughts came as I painted: Is this a good idea? Is it too much? What if…? But I kept going. With each color, joy returned. With each shape, my heart felt lighter. The wall came alive. I loved it. I was expressing through my colors, believing in myself, creating the vision I had been carrying—bringing my light and art together.

Now this wall reminds me that art is life. That I want color in my life. That I desire beauty. That I can choose the landscape I create—even in a rented house—even knowing I may one day have to cover it again.

The laundry room helped me clean my emotions, wash away the sadness with color, and brighten the energy of a space that holds so much of the daily rhythm of life. Even in the places where we least expect it, art can bring light and joy.

My home teaches me presence. It brings me into my feelings, my emotions, and the moment that matters most—this one, now. In my home, I brew my magic and my medicine.

I share with you this 3-minute video of the 7-hour transformation of my laundry room. I hope you enjoy it.