For over a decade, I was a ghost in the machine, drawing life into stories that weren’t my own. I drew until my hands cramped, building perfect little worlds for shows and games that didn’t belong to me. My job was to breathe life into other people’s stories on impossible deadlines, like a factory production line dressed up as creativity. The work looked shiny on a résumé: an art director on a Hulu show, environment artist for a AAA game, all the right titles and credits. But somewhere between all those deadlines and “team approvals,” my own voice withered. I stopped sketching for myself. I stopped even wanting to.
The Industry Years… Pretty on the Outside
Many of my friends and family assumed working in animation or games was a dream job for me, but it never felt that way. I learned speed, precision, and how to make pretty things on command. I felt like a trained monkey, and I learned how to smile through crunch weeks. I learned that being a “team player” often meant swallowing the parts of yourself that didn’t fit the brief. What I didn’t learn was how to keep my own stories alive. By the time I looked up, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d drawn something that wasn’t for a client or a pipeline.
The Breaking Point…
There wasn’t a quiet slipping away, it was much more explosive. After years of pouring myself into studio work, I reached the edge while working for a company in Vancouver. I’d been dealing with a boss who dismissed my well being and an environment that left me feeling used and unheard. The turning point came after an argument with the animation director over a racist comment he made; when I went to my boss for help, I was told there was no HR and that I should “fix it myself.” Confronting him only made things worse, he exploded on me. That was the moment I realized I’d had enough. I wasn’t going to keep sacrificing my dignity and mental health for a place that didn’t care about either.
In 2023, when I moved back to Dubai with my husband and our cats, it felt like stepping off a moving train. The noise finally stopped, and I was left sitting with the silence, which was almost worse. That’s when I realized I’d have to rebuild from the ground up, starting with whatever scraps of my own voice I could salvage.
Reclaiming What Was Left…
That’s how Sarita Sketches began, not as a brand strategy or a business plan, but as a way to claw back something that felt like mine. My personal work now is messy, sometimes eerie, often unpolished. Fairy tales. Half-remembered memories. A little magic and a lot of melancholy. It’s the art I wanted to make before I learned what “marketable” meant. I also know what it’s like to be an artist swallowed by the machine, so part of this new chapter is about mentoring others, not to teach them how to draw “better,” but how to hold on to their voice before it gets lost.
What Comes Next…
This blog is where I’ll document the climb back: the awkward sketchbook pages, the experiments that flop, the rare pieces that finally feel right. It’s not a triumphant “new era” story, it’s more like picking shards out of the rubble and seeing what they can become. If you’ve ever wondered what happens after you walk away from the thing you thought you always wanted, or if you’re trying to keep your own voice alive in a world that keeps asking you to dilute it, you might find some company here.
