Maryam Khojini Rouhi remembers being that mom at Sawdust, bringing her kids along to soak in the color and creativity. At the time, she was working as a graphic designer and painting just as a personal hobby. But after moving to Laguna Beach, surrounded by the ocean light and the town’s artistic spirit, that hobby evolved into something deeper. Painting became her true passion.
Now, seven summers into her life as a Sawdust exhibitor, she gets to live that transformation every single day of the festival. And the pinch-me feeling hasn’t faded.
“Standing here as an exhibitor, it feels a little surreal,” Maryam said.
From graphic designer with a side hobby to working artist surrounded by some of the most passionate and generous creators she’s ever met, Maryam has found herself woven into the very fabric of the place that once was just a family outing.
When you’re the newer artist in a community full of veterans who’ve been perfecting their craft for decades, you listen. And what Maryam heard most often was this gem: stay curious and keep showing up.
No secret techniques. No complicated formulas. Just show up, stay open, and keep learning. In a creative community like Sawdust, where artists spend countless hours working alone before coming together each summer, that simple wisdom carries real weight.
“As artists, we can spend a lot of time working alone, so finding a place where people understand your passion is invaluable,” Maryam said. “Sawdust has given me a supportive family of creatives, where generosity and encouragement are the norm.”
“Each brushstroke carries a piece
of emotion: calm, nostalgia,”
Maryam explained.
“Painting for me isn’t just about what’s seen, but what’s felt beneath the surface. That’s where the real
story lives.”
She calls them family, and you can hear that she means it.
Nobody handed Maryam a certificate declaring her an official artist. There was no ceremony, no dramatic unveiling. What she had instead were parents who kept telling her that her gift shouldn’t be hidden away, that it deserved to be shared with the world. Their voices became the steady drumbeat beneath her growing confidence.
But the real turning point came from a stranger at the festival. Someone looked at her work and told her it made them feel something personal, something they hadn’t expected to feel. And in that moment, everything crystallized.
“That kind of connection is what made me realize this wasn’t just a hobby,” Maryam said. “It was a voice.”
And what started as a whisper has grown into something people stop to hear.
People love to ask Maryam what her paintings mean. She appreciates the question, truly. But what she really wishes they’d ask is this: What do you feel when you paint?
Because meaning is one thing. Feeling is something else entirely.
“Each brushstroke carries a piece of emotion: calm, nostalgia,” Maryam explained. “Painting for me isn’t just about what’s seen, but what’s felt beneath the surface. That’s where the real story lives.”
Wonder and quiet reflection keep pulling her back to the canvas. They’re the emotional waters she swims in, and she invites viewers to wade in alongside her, to discover what lives just beyond what the eye can see.
When someone walks away with one of her pieces, Maryam hopes they’re taking more than beautiful colors and careful composition. She wants them to feel that spark of connection, like they’re carrying a piece of a story that somehow belongs to them now too.
If she could sit down with her younger artist self, Maryam knows exactly what she’d say: “You don’t need permission to call yourself an artist.”
Would that younger version of herself have listened? Some wisdom only makes sense after you’ve lived through the doubt yourself.
Seven years at Sawdust has given Maryam everything she didn’t know she was looking for when she first walked through the gates with her kids in tow. A booth of her own, yes. But also a voice that resonates, a community that feels like home, and the daily joy of watching people connect with work that comes straight from her heart.
The sawdust still gets absolutely everywhere. It sneaks into shoes, clings to clothes, settles into the creases of folded tent walls. But Maryam wouldn’t trade a single grain of it.
Because somewhere in the crowd wandering past her booth right now, there might be another parent with their kids, soaking in the creativity, not yet knowing that this place will become their artistic home too. And if they’re anything like Maryam, they’ll find their way here eventually.
Sawdust has a way of calling its artists home.
