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An Inspired Chat with Lissi Kaplan of Calabasas

We’re looking forward to introducing you to Lissi Kaplan. Check out our conversation below.

Lissi, so good to connect and we’re excited to share your story and insights with our audience. There’s a ton to learn from your story, but let’s start with a warm up before we get into the heart of the interview. What do the first 90 minutes of your day look like?
My mornings begin quietly. I make a cup of coffee, have a little toast with jelly, and open the kitchen sliding door to let in the morning light, fresh air, and outside sounds — especially the birds. The light feels very soothing, and that moment of connection helps me slow down.

I take a deep breath, breathe out slowly, and give thanks for another day that I get to fully embrace. I like easing into the morning rather than rushing, letting my thoughts and ideas arrive naturally. Those early moments feel calm and grounding, and they often set the tone for the rest of my day.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
I’m a Los Angeles–based artist, author, and illustrator whose work is rooted in storytelling, transformation, and quiet moments of beauty. While many readers may know me for my hand-painted porcelain, my creative practice continues to evolve through new materials and forms of expression that feel deeply intuitive and alive.

More recently, I’ve been exploring fluid watercolor on mineral paper and wood, a process that gives me a profound sense of freedom and spiritual expression. The paint and water move together in a kind of dance, forming organic shapes that feel guided rather than controlled. There is a living energy in that flow — a spiritual quality that allows emotion to surface naturally.

That sense of alchemy is a natural extension of my porcelain work. Porcelain painting has always felt magical to me — mineral pigments mixed with ancient oils, transformed by fire in the kiln. What begins as an oil painting becomes permanently fused with the porcelain and glaze, turning the artwork into something enduring and whole. Both watercolor and porcelain share the same language of transformation, patience, and trust.

Alongside my fine-art practice, I’m the author of The Power of the Teacup, a book that reflects my belief in the quiet symbolism and healing presence of everyday rituals, and Light as a Feather, a story that speaks to resilience, gentleness, and inner strength. I’m also the author and illustrator of Ludee the Ant and Her Happy Hats, the first book in my Tiny Tales with Big Hearts children’s series, published through my imprint, Little Finch Press.

Whether I’m painting on porcelain, mineral paper, or telling stories through books, my intention remains the same: to create work that invites reflection, celebrates self-expression, and gently reminds us of the beauty and spirit woven into everyday life.

Okay, so here’s a deep one: What was your earliest memory of feeling powerful?
The first time I felt truly powerful was when I learned how to porcelain paint my first rose. In porcelain painting, a rose is considered one of the most difficult subjects to master — something that can take an artist many years to achieve. I became completely consumed by the desire to learn how to paint one beautifully.

For months, I painted for hours every day with sheer will and determination. I was driven by a deep need to find out whether I could be great at something — not just good. To say I was obsessed would be an understatement. I pushed myself beyond comfort and into total focus.

When I finally painted a rose that I felt proud of, I cried. In that moment, I understood the power of devotion, perseverance, and belief in oneself. Looking back now, I see that experience not only as a moment of intensity, but as the beginning of a lifelong lesson — that true strength comes from honoring both passion and balance, and allowing creativity to unfold with compassion as well as commitment.

What did suffering teach you that success never could?
The deepest suffering in my life came when I lost my mother to cancer. She was my first voice teacher, my wisest guide, and my closest friend. Losing her opened a kind of silence that no success or achievement could ever touch.

In that silence, I turned to art. Creating became a way to breathe again, to listen inwardly, and to give shape to feelings that words couldn’t hold. Grief taught me that creativity isn’t about performance or recognition — it’s about truth. It’s about showing up honestly and allowing something meaningful to emerge from pain.

Through that loss, I discovered my purpose more clearly. Art became both refuge and language, helping me transform sorrow into something tender and alive. In time, that process led me back to passion, and ultimately to a deeper, more authentic peace than success alone could ever provide.

So a lot of these questions go deep, but if you are open to it, we’ve got a few more questions that we’d love to get your take on. Is the public version of you the real you?
Yes, it is — though it’s only part of who I am. The version of me that people see publicly is shaped by what I love to share through my work: beauty, creativity, storytelling, and moments of quiet connection. That part is very real and comes from an honest place.

There are also softer, more private layers — the reflective moments, the listening, the feelings that live beneath the surface before they become art. Those moments don’t always show outwardly, but they are where everything begins.

I think of my public self as an offering rather than a performance — a gentle expression of my inner world. Over time, I’ve learned that authenticity doesn’t mean revealing everything, but sharing what feels true, meaningful, and heartfelt.

Thank you so much for all of your openness so far. Maybe we can close with a future oriented question. Are you doing what you were born to do—or what you were told to do?
I’m doing what I was born to do. For me, that has always meant expressing myself through art and finding ways to touch people’s hearts. Creativity has never felt like a choice — it’s been a natural language I’ve spoken my entire life.

Along the way, there were expectations and voices that suggested what I should do, but my truest guidance has always come from within. When I’m painting or creating, I feel aligned, purposeful, and deeply connected to something larger than myself.

At this stage of my life, I feel grateful to be fully living that truth — creating not to impress, but to connect, to heal, and to share beauty in a way that feels honest and meaningful.

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