How I Found My Artistic Voice (And Almost Lost It)

Growing up in the early 2000s, my formative years as an artist were long before the iPad era. My tools of choice? Wax crayons and felt-tip pens—though I’d occasionally dabble in coloured pencils if I was feeling particularly sophisticated. I wasn’t exactly a child prodigy, but I was always eager to create. One of my earliest memories is rushing into nursery and heading straight for the easel, paintbrush in hand, ready to get to work on my latest masterpiece. My enthusiasm, however, was met with a firm reprimand—I was supposed to wait my turn.

Every child loves to draw; it’s one of the first ways we express ourselves, long before we can read or write. But while my siblings eventually lost interest, moving on to other hobbies, my fascination with drawing never faded.

At that age, I was captivated by the illustrations in children's books—bold, colourful depictions of animals and characters that felt alive on the page. The Tiger Who Came to Tea, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, The Gruffalo—all the classics. My grandma, who often looked after me, would read to me every night, and I’d linger on the illustrations, tracing the pages with my fingers. I wasn’t consciously drawing inspiration from them back then, but looking at my work now, I can see how those early influences have shaped my style.

Losing My Love for Art

My grandma played a huge role in nurturing my creativity. She was a painter herself and always encouraged me to experiment, to play with colour and texture. She taught me how to create clouds with watercolour by blotting the paper with tissue, introduced me to oil pastels, gifted me beautiful sketchbooks, and even bought me my first set of watercolour paints—paints I still have, nearly 20 years later.

But as I got older, my relationship with art changed. Secondary school, in particular, drained the joy from it. My art teachers were strict, pushing realism as the only "proper" way to draw. Every assignment had to be meticulously detailed, technically accurate, and measured by how closely it resembled real life. Creativity took a backseat to precision. My bright, whimsical illustrations no longer fit the mould of what was considered “good art.” Eventually, I stopped drawing for myself altogether. If my work didn’t look the way they wanted it to, what was the point?

Finding My Way Back

It wasn’t until years later that I rediscovered the joy of creating just for the sake of it. I started drawing again, not to meet someone else's standards, but to explore the kind of art that made me happy. I leaned into playful, vibrant illustrations—ones that felt true to the childhood version of me who rushed to the easel without hesitation.

Now, when I sit down to draw, I often think of my grandma. I like to imagine what she’d say if she could see my work today. And I hope she’d be pleased that, despite everything, I never really gave it up.