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WHO AM I?

Excuse me while I have an existential crisis.

Kristy Lannan smiling with her black lab, Horatio, in front of tall wildgrass at Nose Hill Park.
Kristy sitting in front of an easel, trying to look like the kind of art therapist who would never judge your sad scribbles.
Kristy Lannan leaning against a wall in mustard yellow overalls and matching shoes, laughing beside a white picket fence.
Little Kristy, beaming with pride beside her handmade playdough clown—early evidence of a lifelong need to make strange things and show them to people.
Kristy Lannan standing beside her in-progress Grande Tiger mural, wearing a sea-themed shirt. The yellow doodle grid and underpainting of the tiger head are visible.

I’m Kristy. I make things because I have to—because sometimes the only way to figure out what I’m feeling is to draw it out, bleach it onto a shirt, or wrestle it into a mural.

I’ve always been a little too tender for this world. A little too weird. A little too hungry for meaning.
So I started making art that feels like a whisper—something quiet souls can wear, hold, or just breathe in.


Because sometimes we don’t need to be told who to be. We just need to feel seen.

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My work jumps between mediums, but it always comes from the same place: somewhere between overthinking and intuition. Somewhere a little liminal. A little raw.

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This is how I process the world.
If it resonates with you—you’re probably one of us.

Download CV

(if you’re into that kind of thing)

Before the bleach. Before the mission.

The mission may be clearer, but the crisis remains.

Once upon a time—ten years ago—I started designing shirts just for fun.

I uploaded them to a little site called Designed by Humans. I didn’t think much would come of it.

 

Then one day… a friend showed up wearing one.

 

They didn’t tell me in advance. They just walked into the room like it was the most normal thing in the world.

But for me, it was everything.

 

I still wear those shirts.

They still look great.

And that moment—of being seen, of someone quietly saying “I believe in what you made”—is burned into me.

 

My message and style have changed since then.

But those early designs are part of the journey.

They’re the first soft rebellions I ever dared to share.

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