What If Mars Just Wants to Be Friends? A Love Letter to the Martians We Haven't Met Yet

Oct 8
4 min read

Alien with large eyes stands on a pink desert planet with hills. The setting is surreal and calm, creating a curious and whimsical mood. AI art by Blume Bauer at The Yellow Studio.

I've been thinking about Mars a lot lately. Not the planet itself – though that rusty, red dust does have a certain romantic appeal – but the beings we imagine living there. The ones we've never met. The ones who might be looking up at Earth right now, wondering the same thing I am: why haven't we said hello yet?

My latest AI series is all about these little Martians. Not the scary, tentacled, brain-stealing kind from old sci-fi movies. I'm talking about the adorable ones. The kind with big curious eyes and tiny three-fingered hands that would absolutely wave back if you waved first. The kind that would probably offer you a snack made from something you've never heard of but would taste surprisingly like cinnamon.

Because honestly? I refuse to believe that if there's life out there, it's automatically going to be hostile. What if they're just shy? What if they've been watching us this whole time, taking notes, waiting for the right moment to introduce themselves?

"Hey, Earth people seem nice. A little loud. Very into reality television. But nice."

Alien creature with large ears and a tiny suit stands on a red desert under an orange sky. Mountains and vehicle blur in the background. AI art by Blume Bauer at The Yellow Studio.

I mean, think about it. If you were a Martian civilization observing Earth, wouldn't you be a little hesitant too? We can't even agree on pineapple on pizza. Imagine trying to explain our entire geopolitical situation to a species that's figured out interplanetary travel. They'd probably need a very long nap after that briefing.

But here's what I really hope: I hope that when we finally do meet beings from other planets, they're kind. I hope they're curious without being invasive. I hope they have a sense of humor because, let's be honest, the universe is absurd and we're all just doing our best out here in the void.

I hope they want to share their art with us. Their music. Their stories. I hope they have something like hot chocolate on Mars, and they'd be willing to trade recipes. I hope they look at us the way I've been creating these little Martian characters – with affection, with wonder, with the assumption that friendship is always a possibility.

Alien in a broad hat and green outfit holds an orange object in a desert. A blurred red-and-white structure is in the background. Calm mood. AI art by Blume Bauer at The Yellow Studio.

Maybe that's naive. Maybe the universe is cold and indifferent, and we're alone. But creating this series has made me think about how much of what we fear is really just a failure of imagination. We default to invasion scenarios and hostile takeovers because that's what we know. That's what we've done to each other.

But what if it doesn't have to be that way?

What if the Martians are out there right now, practicing their "hello" in seventeen Earth languages, hoping they get the pronunciation right? What if they're nervous about making a good first impression? What if they've been building little friendship bracelets out of space rocks, just waiting for the day we finally pick up the phone?

A cartoon astronaut stands on a rocky pink landscape under a matching sky. The mood is serene and otherworldly. AI art by Blume Bauer at The Yellow Studio.

I know this sounds ridiculous. I know it's impossibly optimistic. But when I look at these little Martian faces I've created – these sweet, hopeful, impossibly cute beings – I can't help but think: this is what I want the universe to look like. Not because it's realistic, but because it's

better.

And isn't that what art is for? To imagine better? To create the world we wish existed, even if it's just pixels and algorithms and the strange alchemy that happens when creativity meets technology?

So here's to the Martians. The ones we haven't met yet. The ones who might be sweet and funny and just want to be friends. The ones who are probably looking at Earth right now, thinking, "Should we bring flowers? Do they like flowers? We should definitely bring flowers."

I'll be here, making art, hoping you show up someday.

A small green alien stands beside an old, dusty car in a desert landscape with a greenish sky. The mood is calm and surreal. Keep Creating the World You Want to See
This is what The Yellow Studio is really about – using our creativity to imagine something better. Whether it's adorable Martians or the next product design that makes someone smile, your art has the power to shift how people see the world, even if it's just for a moment.
Every time you create, you're saying "what if?" What if things were kinder? Funnier? More colorful? More hopeful? That question is the most powerful tool you have, and when you pair it with the ability to share your art with others – through prints, products, or just posting online – you're not just making art. You're creating possibility.
That's why I keep making art, even when it feels silly or self-indulgent. Because somewhere out there, someone needs to see a friendly Martian today. Someone needs permission to imagine something sweeter. Someone needs to remember that optimism isn't naive – it's brave.
If you've been sitting on an idea, wondering if it's "good enough" or "marketable enough" or "serious enough," let this be your sign. Create the adorable Martians. Make the thing that makes you smile. The world has enough cynicism. What we need now is more artists willing to imagine better. AI art by Blume Bauer at The Yellow Studio.

Keep Creating the World You Want to See: Martian Art or Bust

This is what The Yellow Studio is really about – using our creativity to imagine something better. Whether it's adorable Martians or the next product design that makes someone smile, your art has the power to shift how people see the world, even if it's just for a moment.

Every time you create, you're saying "what if?" What if things were kinder? Funnier? More colorful? More hopeful? That question is the most powerful tool you have, and when you pair it with the ability to share your art with others – through prints, products, or just posting online – you're not just making art. You're creating possibility.

That's why I keep making art, even when it feels silly or self-indulgent. Because somewhere out there, someone needs to see a friendly Martian today. Someone needs permission to imagine something sweeter. Someone needs to remember that optimism isn't naive – it's brave.

If you've been sitting on an idea, wondering if it's "good enough" or "marketable enough" or "serious enough," let this be your sign. Create the adorable Martians. Make the thing that makes you smile. The world has enough cynicism. What we need now is more artists willing to imagine better.