— Every Case Tells a Story
More than a protective case, it’s a work of art—a mark that is uniquely yours.
In a world saturated with uniform designs and mass-produced graphics, OWAYKI returns to the origin—bringing the raw, emotional power of art back to the palm of your hand.
Our Picasso-inspired collection of phone cases wasn’t created just to be different, but to tell stories. Stories of freedom, of longing, of struggle, and of harmony.
The Source of Inspiration: A Woman and the Ever-Changing Sea
It was the 1930s. The world was in turmoil, and the art world surged with a desire to break from tradition and explore the unknown.
In a small coastal town in the South of France, Picasso turned his gaze to the ocean and the woman beside him. The sea, at times calm as a mirror and at others a tempest of waves, was like the mysterious woman in his life—she possessed a gentle, water-like side, yet also held a power as untamable as the tide. She was not just his companion in life, but the vessel for his conflicting emotions about freedom and restraint, tranquility and turbulence. Their time together was like a sailboat on the ocean: moments of smooth sailing followed by the rocking of a violent storm. She once said, “I am to him as the boat is to the sea—mutually dependent, yet mutually challenging.”
And from this entanglement of emotions, Bust of a Woman and a Sailboat was born.
This is not a traditional landscape or portrait, but a fusion and collision of feelings. The woman’s bust intertwines with the elements of the sailboat and the sea. The lines are distorted yet fluid, the colors intense yet dreamlike. The woman’s silhouette is entwined with the boat’s rigging; the form of the waves becomes the folds of her dress. It appears chaotic, yet it possesses an inner rhythm. It does not strive for likeness but masterfully captures the tension of seeking balance within contradiction, making it captivating and endlessly thought-provoking.
In an era of change and unease, this work became Picasso’s unique interpretation of freedom and emotion—a deeply exploratory chapter in his artistic journey.
The Hidden Details of a Masterpiece
The birth and journey of this painting hold many untold details, and it is these fragments that deepen its emotional weight.
In the late summer of 1936, the downpours on the French Riviera always arrived without warning. In Picasso’s seaside studio, the smell of sea salt mingled with the scent of turpentine, fermenting in the damp air. The oil on the canvas refused to dry, much like the tangled thoughts in his mind.
He had been locked away in his studio for three days. On the table, the corners of a bronze sailboat model, a recent find from a flea market, were damp with rain. The curve of its sail had the dullness of sea-wind erosion. By the window, the woman sat in a wicker chair, reading poetry. The sea breeze lifted her silk scarf, a corner landing perfectly on the open page. In that instant, Picasso snatched a piece of charcoal and slashed the first diagonal line across his canvas.
That line, he later said, was “the sound of a sail striking a reef.”
During its creation, he would often wake startled in the dead of night. Moonlight streamed through the blinds, casting mottled shadows on the woman’s sleeping profile, like a beach washed clean by the waves. He would run barefoot to his studio and knead those shadows into his colors: using cobalt blue to outline her brow bone, only to veer into an arc of orange-red at the end, like a ship suddenly thrown off course. Her collar was painted as a cresting wave, yet it stopped abruptly at her clavicle, leaving a patch of unpainted canvas. “Those were the words she left unsaid,” he scribbled in his journal.
The revisions on the canvas were denser than the final lines. Once, in a fit of rage, he nearly tore it apart. That was the day she had threatened to leave. He stared at the distorted hull of the boat, suddenly seeing it as a metaphor for their relationship: a mast that seemed strong but had long been rotted by an undercurrent. In the end, he simply squatted on the floor and, using his fingers to smudge the remaining ochre paint, added a crooked water line at the boat’s base.
In the spring of 1937, the painting was exhibited in a small Paris gallery, where it went almost unnoticed. One critic scoffed in his column, “It seems Picasso has dropped his palette into the sea.” Only an old gentleman in a trench coat stood before it for an entire afternoon. He had been a sea captain and, pointing to the woman’s eyes, said, “This gaze holds the calm after a storm—I’ve seen it too many times at sea.” He bought it with a month’s salary and took it back to his farm in Normandy, hanging it on the wall of his barn.
When WWII broke out, German forces occupied the region. As soldiers stormed the farm, the painting was wrapped in coarse burlap, hidden in a wooden crate of potatoes. A bullet grazed the edge of the canvas, leaving a small, charred hole, but the old man clutched the crate, refusing to let go. “In this painting,” he said, “there is the sea, there is freedom.”
It wasn’t until the 1960s that the painting re-emerged. While cleaning the back of the canvas, a restorer found a line of faded pencil script: “All voyages are made to reach a shore.” No one knows if it was written by Picasso or the captain. But when it was displayed at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, countless people stopped before it. Some saw love, some saw loneliness, and some saw the long-overdue arrival of their own shore.
We didn’t just copy it; we transformed its energy into design. This case is not a mere imitation, but a tribute. It carries the same spirit—the courage to show what is real, to embrace contradiction, and to find your own rhythm in a world of change.
Today, those lines fragmented by the sea breeze, those colors soaked in moonlight, are condensed onto the case in your palm. That crooked water line is still there. The charred hole has been transformed into the shape of a star—a reminder that all imperfections eventually become badges of honor in our stories. Every line conceals the rhythm of the ocean; every color holds an unspoken sentiment. What you hold is not just a phone case, but a concentrated portrait of emotion—a sliver of soul, tucked in your pocket.
Why Translate a Painting into a Phone Case?
Because you carry more than a phone; you carry private thoughts.
This case is a private art gallery, a testament to emotions that are hard to speak but long to be expressed.
Because contradiction itself is worthy of display.
It isn’t perfect, and neither are we. It’s abstract, layered, and a little “chaotic”—just like life itself
Because we don’t sell a style; we sell an attitude.
Each design has its origin, its story, and a touch of rebellion. No shortcuts. No templates.
Born for life in New Zealand: slim, durable, and full of soul.
Take it with you on the Auckland ferry, into a Wellington gallery, or to a lakeside campsite in Queenstown. It will accompany your story, wherever it goes.
OWAYKI: Art You Can Hold
At OWAYKI, we don’t see a phone case as just an accessory. To us, it’s a small archive of emotion.
Each design is linked to a real work of art, a moment in history, or a feeling we’ve all had but struggled to put into words.
You don’t need an art degree to own it. Just a genuine desire to express your true self.
This case is born from an era of exploration and breakthroughs, inspired by a woman who held her own in a world of change.
Limited Edition — For Those Who Understand
We don’t mass-produce stories.
Each Picasso-inspired case is a limited print and will not be restocked.
Because some stories are meant to be told only once.
