Welcome to the world of blue ballpoint synchronicities,
where unplanned lines align
into creatures.
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HIRE
Who is Lori La Vin
?
I'm a self-taught traditional artist from Slovenia, in a complicated relationship with a Blue Ballpoint Pen
and Subconscious Mind.
We get crazily abstract and surrealistic in expressing our love, creating Extraordinary Creatures that resonate uniquely with each art lover who meets them.
All of them are born in blue color. Yet, at times, they are thrown into creative dimensions of Photoshop, where they get coats of many colors and other clothes.
Join us and adopt some of the creatures into your home!
Or continue reading to get to know more about us!
Love Story
Hello, and welcome to my world of strange creatures and unseen dimensions.
I’m Lori La Vin, and I’ve been in a committed, slightly obsessive, 12+ year-long three-way relationship—with a blue ballpoint pen and my subconscious mind.
My creative journey started with me being a quiet, strange, and imaginative kid. Social skills weren’t really my thing, but storytelling and daydreaming were. I’ve always had a deep desire to feel special—so much that I sometimes preferred to believe in convenient lies over inconvenient truths. I loved myself with fierce loyalty because I believed nobody else really could. In this solitude, imagination became my sanctuary.
That’s where art stepped in—not as something I learned, but as something I discovered was already living inside me.
Love Making
In high school, during lectures I didn’t care for, I picked up the only tool I had at hand—blue pens—and started doodling. Those were the first dates between me and the pen. It was playful and free. No expectations. No rules. No thoughts. We simply let the ink move.
Eventually, we moved from notebooks to good paper and things got serious. The pen and I discovered a rhythm of intuitive drawing—also known as automatic drawing or surrealist automatism—where the hand moves and the mind lets go. We were joined by the third character in our love story: the Subconscious Mind.
Since then, I don’t “create” art in the traditional sense—I uncover it.
I turn the paper in different directions until I see a shape that could be a face. Then, I draw a body around it. It’s slow, detailed, meditative. I often listen to podcasts or get lost in thoughts. But the hand keeps moving. My goal is not control—it’s trust.
Blue Creatures
Each drawing is a new window into a world I didn’t plan to visit. These creatures aren’t imagined ahead of time—they emerge. Some are twisted, some gentle, most are weird. But they’re always alive. They have faces and bodies. Some look like abstract animals, others like plants, body parts, or something entirely unknowable.
They may confuse you. That’s okay. I love that.
Some viewers are mesmerized. Others get overwhelmed trying to “understand” what they see. But there’s no right interpretation. I want people to look at my drawings and feel something—and that something can be confusion, curiosity, joy, or even discomfort.
Even if a piece hangs on your wall for years, I hope you’ll keep finding new things in it. That’s the magic of letting the subconscious speak: it says what you didn’t know needed to be said.
Artistic statement
My style is a blend of surrealism, abstraction, and fantasy. But not in the academic sense—I just use those words because nothing else fits. My technique is slow and precise. I only use one specific blue pen—always the same—and I draw on different types of paper, searching for the perfect texture.
There are no recurring symbols—only a recurring feeling. I want each creature to feel alive. I want you to feel that something is looking back at you.
Color only enters later—if at all. In Photoshop, I sometimes give my blue babies a coat of many colors, turning them into full digital illustrations. But the core of everything is still that original blue line.
Finishing a piece is the hardest part. I never quite know when it’s done. The more I look, the more possibilities I see. Sometimes I add too much. Sometimes I don’t finish at all. It’s a process I’m still learning.
How to join us?
There’s a deep, paradoxical tension in my work.
I’ve spent much of my life trying to prove to myself that I’m special. But now I find myself wondering: Is my art more special than I’ll ever be? Am I special just because I make it? Can I claim some of its magic as my own?
Maybe. Maybe not. But the process is still sacred to me.
I don’t need to be understood by everyone. But I do want to be felt. My creatures are weird, strange, and otherworldly—but so are many parts of being human. And I hope that when you meet one of them, you’ll recognize a piece of yourself.
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