Reflective Essay: The Practice of Art

In this reflective essay, Kenya-based writer Yasmin Apuwatt, working from Nairobi, examines the fear and necessity of making work, beginning with a simple confession and moving into a self-interview that interrogates ambition, doubt, and creative identity. Drawing from her wider practice of close listening to how people make things, she moves between memory, imposter syndrome, and formative reading experiences, tracing how art becomes both survival and risk. Through questions rather than declarations, the piece considers vulnerability, economic precarity, and the discipline of claiming oneself an artist.

I am scared of creating. Saying that out loud is even scarier. I have wanted to be a writer since I first picked up a book. Before I knew what it fully entailed, I had this dream—no, a calling—that has been part of me for years now. Sometimes, behind the scenes, quietly humming, it propels me forward, and then there are moments when it feels as if, if I do not write, my heart might just stop beating. It is that serious.

I have interviewed various artists across different media, always trying to find that special sauce—how do they do it? With these interviews, I try to learn the systems that keep artists moving in a world that is not always welcoming.

You sit down, and you type in the first word. You are entering a new world, meeting new people, and it is like a date. The butterflies, clammy hands – you don’t know who will be on the other side and what the encounter will be like.

I listen to those who have “made it” beyond this pool of questioning and pushing your toe in, checking the temperature as you are ready to quickly pull it out. I don’t know if it is real—the lack of fear—or if it is all bravado that keeps you from drowning. The major guideline is that you need to own it. You are an artist. You are a writer.

Look in the mirror and say it. Introduce yourself as one. I say it. I own it. Yet there is always a sickly feeling that sits at the pit of my stomach, that this is all make-believe. An act. I want to publish and make movies. Who do I think I am?

Trust me, I know how it sounds. Imposter syndrome, the fear of being perceived, and the fact that art is, at the moment, losing its value amongst those who are supposed to champion it are all contributing factors. It is also hard to create when your stomach is feeding on itself.

There are a million reasons. That little wonky step, the moment where the door is right in front of you, and you have a choice: opt in or opt out.

I switched places and decided to play both roles, interviewer and interviewee.

Why do you want to create?

I don’t know… I always think about it. Why me? What do I have to offer that hasn’t been done a million times? Then I remember eleven-year-old me reading and watching movies, experiencing a world so much bigger than my own, and that feeling—I close my eyes, and I can still taste it. It liberated me from many things.

What is your biggest fear in pursuing your art?

To face myself. With every story I write, pieces of me scatter into the work, and I think that someone is waiting for me at the end of the line. A bit of paranoia, I think.

What books inspire you?

A very big question. The first full-length novel I read was Summer Sisters by Judy Blume. I was too young to be reading it, but it fully redefined what I knew about books. Until that point, it had been fairy tales and easy adventures, but that novel tackled girlhood, friendship, coming-of-age, and family dynamics. It traumatised me but also solidified that writing is something I want to do.

Immaculate Conception by Ling Ling Huang is the most recent read that had me sitting on the edge of my seat. I think it is a vital read for any artist in any medium. It speaks to a lot of the challenges faced in the pursuit of being a “great” artist.

I could go on and on, but these two are the ones that come to mind.

And I stop midway because this level of reflection is hard. It makes me extra grateful to those who have said yes to my interviews. This is not easy. I come back to the issue: how do I face myself?

I am precious about my art, my work; sometimes the words are the companion next to me in bed, but I do not think I’d have it any other way. What a privilege it is to be an artist, to have the chance to give something to the world, a balance to the craziness of this earth.

Photo by jahari and tinega