Anu Ambasna, an illustrator based in London
Creation is something that I am sure many fellow artists struggle with, and if you don’t, question your intention. If it’s easy, is it ever progressing?
Born in 1997, I hit the halls of Ipswich Hospital and took it by storm. Brace yourselves world (Ipswich), a new ginger artist is in town. It was as if creativity was one of my five-a-day, and that one oil pastel painting of the Queen showcased in front of the whole school assembly, created by yours truly, put the foot to the floor and accelerated the only topic I would ever academically succeed at. The extensive portfolio of stickmen dating circa 2000 built years of experience that led me to this point, sitting in front of my computer, hammering on the keys about why I am so lovey-dovey with my art. I’d be a fool to inhale my 200th cup of tea today, and say my artistic journey was all roses. If anything, the roses were always there but buried deep in 6 litres of horse manure with an amplified aroma, aided by a hot summer’s day, just revealing pricks, no petals.
Creativity is one of those long and enduring romances that you’ll never quite get over, like a summer fling that turned into a life-long obsession, whether you were meaning for it to happen or not. (Ayla 2023)
Failing my GCSEs with flying colours, art was the only subject that piqued my interest. That and Philosophy but without GCSEs… who am I kidding? “To be or not to be? Ha, try NEVER!” That was my mindset at the time, you soon grow up and realize that a page with a subtle shade of D’s and E’s isn’t so bad, and you’ll still be breathing air particles years later. The thing with art is, that the lust for creation never disappears, it just shies away when motivation is at rock bottom. I remember walking in for my college interview knowing full well I smashed failing my GCSEs and had no chance of getting into the art course, but I wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Accompanied by my mum, I was armed with portfolios up to my ears and two large ceramic sculptures. My grades may not reflect an academic, but my practice reflects a creative. I studied art at college for three years before I studied Fine art at University. University was the end goal for me, I just wanted to prove that I could get a decent grade.
I am grateful for my journey and art progression through University; it was genuinely the most exciting years of my educational life. The budding artist after graduation tired herself and became overwhelmed with creation. For some reason, I couldn’t say no. Taking on a copious amount of art opportunities and gradually becoming mentally drained. This wasn’t as thrilling as I wanted or expected it to be. Art became a hatred, a task, a tick-box solution, and everything I created, wasn’t me. I took a break, no not 4 months, try five years.
We’re in a long distance relationship now and you have stopped picking up my calls. I’ll delete your number and see what else is out there. If you read this, leave me a message if you care. I’ll get back to you when the stars align. (Gabrielle, 2021)
These five years were the most creatively draining years of my career. I believe that all artists should experience this at some point, I know I am not selling it, but it refreshes your perspective. During these years, I had the mentality of, “Okay, what’s next, how can I keep pushing myself?... let’s do a PhD!” a PhD?! EH… That wouldn’t help me climb the large toxic-orange-brick wall I had mentally built. It would’ve added more pressure. My lack of interest in my creation led to avoiding art itself. I didn’t want to visit galleries, tried selling some art materials, and even toyed with the idea of becoming a writer. I have achieved a lot during my career, yet even my success became numbing. I wasn’t celebrating my wins, I just felt robotic. The WALL-E of the art world. Achieving an MA in Art History was just another box ticked, a step closer to a creative career I had no control over.
It wasn’t until recently, I saw somebody else using resin in a creative way that made me feel excited about creating. This weird feeling that I had not felt for five years suddenly crept up and decided to radiate in my belly. I wanted to create. Spend money, and create, cannot gloss over the financial woes of art. It’s been a long time, but I announced my new favourite artwork last month. One that I HAD created. What is this feeling?! It was like I had just diminished my aromantic feelings for my art. Is this love?! How can an artwork bring me happiness? This three-dimensional slab of colour looks all alright. It looks class. I wanted to look at all of my creations as love letters (Leigh, 2013)
Those five years were terrifying but detrimental. To succeed, you must be taken out of that comfort zone. To be an artist doesn’t mean you need to fancy your work, but it helps. Even if it means coating your mum's kitchen stained-oak table with resin, at least you're passionate again. Guilt ridden, but passionate.