Building Tinsel Town: How a Christmas Village Helped Me Step into My Style

“Gumdrop Village” by Therese Tucker for the #tinseltown2025 art challenge.

There’s something magical about creating a world from scratch.
This December, I joined the #TinselTown2025 challenge on Instagram, hosted by a wonderful group of illustrators (listed below), and something clicked. I love drawing and painting brownstones, so the idea of building my own illustrated Christmas village? It was an instant yes.

At the start, my only real plan was to fill my village with beautiful brownstones. That was it. No master strategy. Just a desire to follow my joy.

🎨 Inspired by Brooklyn (and a Little Wes Anderson Magic)

My time living near Park Slope in Brooklyn gave me all the nostalgic material I needed: snowy walks with my husband, beautifully lit windows, wreaths on front doors, and the hum of cozy cafes tucked between brownstones. I also pulled color inspiration from The Grand Budapest Hotel (Wes Anderson's genius never fails me). I chose a palette that felt slightly vintage, slightly sweet, and full of charm and I stuck to it all the way through.

Each piece was drawn digitally in Procreate using gouache, ink, and pencil brushes. I gave every building its own personality and a canine companion because every great town deserves dogs. 🐾

📚 My Favorite Building? The Bookstore.

While I loved every part of this piece, the bookstore became my favorite. It was inspired by a real memory — visiting the Barnes & Noble in Union Square ( though this version is purely imagined.) There’s something about the elegant arches, the stone columns, and the woman standing outside holding her packages that feels like me. She’s done shopping... but she’s still looking for the perfect book.

It was hard to choose a favorite…

In the end, the bookstore won my heart from the star ornaments, to the little details of books, pots of ink and presents.

It was little vignettes like that one that ended up surprising me most.

🧠 What I Learned While Building Tinsel Town

• I’m better at storytelling than I realized. Creating each building felt like writing a short scene.

• My style is getting more cohesive, my linework is more delicate and intentional.

• I love working with a limited color palette. It makes decisions easier and results stronger.

• I found a workflow that works for me: blocking in shapes before sketching feels natural and satisfying.

• I want to start documenting my creative process like a recipe. That’s now on my to-do list.

And even though I didn’t get to paint every building I hoped to (time was tight!), I’m genuinely proud of what came through. Sharing a horizontal panoramic piece on Instagram wasn’t seamless, but the kind response made it all worthwhile.

🧁 What I Hope You Feel When You See Tinsel Town

Whimsical nostalgia. That feeling you get when you watch a Wes Anderson film with everything in its place, gently charming, and a little bit dreamlike.

This village is my love letter to Brooklyn, to winter walks, to festive windows, and to the slow beauty of building something one brick at a time.

🧁 What’s Next + Where to Find More

🎁 Limited Edition Alert!
A print and sticker from my Tinsel Town collection will be available exclusively to my Patreon patrons for December. Join before December 31st and it’s yours too!

🎄 Want to see more of the process?
Follow me on Instagram @starthistle.and.quartz — I shared the buildings in real time over there.

❄️ Special Thanks

A big thank you to the hosts of the #TinselTown2025 challenge for inspiring this magical project:

• @jillian.nichole.illustration

• @daniellechandlerdesign

• @eveandersondraws

• @megpieprint

• @lack.studio

• @vihiboh

• @care2c

Walking Two Creative Paths: Storytelling & Surface Design

A closeup peak at “Blissful Bakery” by Therese Tucker for the #TinselTown2025 challenge.

Why I’m Building Two Portfolios Instead of Just One

For the longest time, I thought I had to choose.
Was I going to be a children’s book illustrator, or a surface designer?

I’ve always known that my art had a certain magical, whimsical energy. I’ve worked hard to refine my voice, understand my style, and commit to consistent practice. But even with all that effort, I still felt stuck in one major area: what to focus on.

I saw illustrators creating dreamy picture books and imagined my work bringing characters to life on the page. Then I'd see surface designers turning art into fabric, stationery, and home goods and I felt pulled in that direction, too. I felt a deep love for both paths… and a persistent belief that I could only choose one.

Until one day, I came across a YouTube video by Mel Armstrong.

She said something that cracked everything open for me:

"You can absolutely build both portfolios. You don’t have to choose.”

It was such a simple statement, but it blew my mind. Her words gave me permission to do what my intuition had been telling me all along: that my creativity doesn’t need to be confined to one box. It’s okay to walk both paths and let them inform one another.

A Quick Shout-Out to Mel Armstrong

If you’re not familiar with her work, Mel Armstrong is a children’s book illustrator and surface pattern designer with a truly distinctive style. She’s built a creative business around doing both and I just want to say thank you, Mel, for sharing that insight. It helped me find peace, clarity, and direction in what had felt like an overwhelming fork in the road.

My Dual-Path Art Vision

So here’s what I’m working on now:

Path One: Storytelling Illustration

I’m building a portfolio of work that feels like it belongs in a beautiful picture book with pieces that carry emotion, whimsy, narrative, and heart. These characters often arrive intuitively. Sometimes I dream them. Sometimes they speak before they fully appear. I know that this part of my work is deeply tied to my mission: to create art that opens portals, sparks remembrance, and connects the viewer to something deeper.

Path Two: Surface Design

I’m also building collections of repeat patterns, seasonal illustrations, and motif-driven art that could live beautifully on fabric, stationery, wallpaper, home goods, and giftware. This path feels more grounded and product-oriented, and I find joy in the way it allows me to think in terms of collections, utility, and design.

Rather than seeing this as a conflict of direction, I now see it as a spectrum of creativity: two ways that my art can live in the world. And truthfully, many of the artists I admire most do exactly this: they have both a story-driven and a product-driven side to their art business.

Trusting Intuition to Lead the Way

This shift didn’t come from a perfect business plan.
It came from listening inward. From noticing the projects that felt alive. From trusting that what brings joy to me is likely what will resonate most with others.

I’m no longer trying to shove myself into a neat niche or force clarity from the outside in. I’m following what wants to be expressed and honoring the full spectrum of creative expression that flows through me.

That doesn’t mean I won’t be strategic or intentional. I’m still creating two portfolios. I’m still thinking about markets, formats, and licensing. But I’m doing so with a sense of permission. Giving myself permission to build an art career that reflects the multitudes within me.

For the Creatives Who Can’t Pick One Thing

If you’ve ever felt torn between two creative paths, I want you to know:
You don’t have to choose. You can build both. You can find the threads that connect them.
And you can trust that your unique mix of gifts will lead to something beautiful.

I'm using the Epic Year Workshop (my signature yearly planning experience) to help me bring this dual-path dream into form and if you're curious about building a vision for your own creative future, you’re invited to join me.

You can also follow along on Patreon, where I share behind-the-scenes looks at both portfolios as they unfold.

This is a new season of creative alignment for me—and I'm so excited to walk this path.

When Self-Doubt Creeps In: What I’m Learning as an Artist in Progress

My Tiny Sketchbook of Rage and my studio assistant, Mia (the spicy meatball).

Every artist I know, no matter how accomplished or confident they may appear, wrestles with self-doubt from time to time. I’m in one of those moments right now.

And I want to talk about it—not because I need advice or rescue, but because I think it’s important that we normalize what it’s like to be a sensitive creative in the middle of the becoming.

The Voice of Doubt

My self-doubt doesn’t shout. It’s not dramatic. It’s quiet, calculated, and uncomfortably reasonable. It says things like:

“Your work doesn’t look like it’s getting better. How will this ever become something someone would license?”
“Wow, Artist X has such great command of color, composition, and line. Yours looks muddy and clumsy in comparison.”

It always sounds so factual. So educated. Like it’s simply stating the truth—and that’s the part that stings.

But I’m learning to pause and notice that voice. I’m learning to respond rather than react. Because what I’ve discovered is that self-doubt is just a thought. It’s not the truth.

The Illusion of “Not Ready Yet”

My self-doubt tells me that it’s trying to protect me. It wants me to be “ready” before I put my work out there. It wants me to hit some invisible benchmark—some vague, undefined version of perfection—before I take up space.

But here’s the truth: I’ve been making art my whole life. I didn’t wait for someone to give me permission. I didn’t wait for an art degree. I chose to learn. I’ve committed to growth. I show up for this work, and I take it seriously. That’s what makes me a professional artist—not some imaginary milestone of mastery.

The Comparison Trap

I sometimes find myself scrolling and thinking:

“I’m so far behind. I didn’t go to art school. I haven’t studied like they have. There’s so much I don’t know.”

But then I remember: we don’t all arrive at the same destination through the same doorway. Some of us are walking sideways. Some of us are climbing in through windows. That doesn’t mean we’re behind—it just means we’re taking the scenic route.

And honestly? The scenic route has a better view.

The Practice That’s Helping Me Right Now

Every night, I’m doing quick studies in what I lovingly call my “Sketchbook of Rage.” It’s tiny. The paper is thin. The format annoys me. I bought it on purpose to break perfectionism’s grip. It’s a space where bad art is allowed—expected, even.

The irony? Some of the sketches I’ve made in that sketchbook are the most cohesive and charming work I’ve done in a while. It’s proof that when we take the pressure off, creativity can surprise us.

This blog has also become a place where I sort myself out. Writing these thoughts down—seeing them in black and white—helps me realize that most of my doubts are just ideas I don’t even believe in. They’re like steam. Once they’re released, the pressure dissolves.

If You’re In This Too

If you’re feeling lost or unsure or behind, I just want to say: I see you. I’d give you a big hug if I could. These thoughts don’t mean you’re failing. They mean you care. They mean your inner artist wants more from you, and is maybe afraid it’s not possible.

But I promise you: you’re not behind. You’re in process.

Speak the doubt out loud. Let it show you where you’re hungry for validation, support, or more self-trust. Then get back into the studio. Make something messy. Make something strange. Make something anyway.

Because the only thing between here and the artist you want to become… is not giving up.

Want to Follow My Creative Journey?

Here are a few ways to stay connected:

🌟 Join me on Patreon – see my work unfold in real time, vote on upcoming rewards, and support the long-term vision.
🎨 Download the Art + Soul Journal – 365 days of prompts to help you get out of your head and back into your art.
🌀 Get the Dream Distiller – a free tool I created to help you uncover your North Star, from the inside out.
💌 Say hi on Instagram – I’d love to hear if this post resonated with you.