From Documenting Artists to Becoming One: My 2-Year Identity Shift

On waiting rooms, creative emergence, and the noise that wouldn't go quiet

Zooming out in Cornwall.

Life in my experience, unfolds in distinct chapters. Chapters separated by periods of confusion before clarity eventually forms from the noise.

Those “waiting room” stages are typically fairly annoying, but having gone through many cycles like this (the first time I documented the experience in 2014 in a short comic and later in my first documentary), I’ve learned to value them for what they really are — accelerated learning periods when it’s possible to get beyond what you know about yourself.

The noise is back. The Sound of All Sounds. It’s the sound of a new idea about to emerge. Again. A wonderful moment of overwhelming confusion right when a new adventure begins. — from The Sound Of All Sounds

The Waking Up That Took 2 Years

Something’s been brewing for a good while. Probably from the beginning of 2023, I was feeling stagnant creatively, but couldn’t put my finger on it. It seemed that everything was in place, and life was good.

I’ve been making the very kind of films I wanted to make when I first got drawn to filmmaking—documenting the stories of people that inspired me.

It’s been over 4 years at that point that I’ve been seeing myself as a creative business owner. This practical approach has been critical in helping me build a grounded life in the UK (after my time in Italy and Germany). Being a ‘creative professional’ became the core of my identity while establishing myself in London, building Empirical Animal.

I’ve been filming and interviewing artists, but didn’t see myself as one of them at that point, despite a long personal creative history with painting, design, and guitar building.

And as I’ve been trying to figure out what was off, I saw my partner, Marsha, consistently committing to doing the work. In that period, she launched her Black Girls Swim Club, gaining major recognition online (and she’s doing it again—just a week ago, she was featured in a Channel 4 spot).

I also saw her getting back on track with art making—building a portfolio of fresh works. When she picked up a bass guitar and started learning to play from scratch, and I really saw her go from zero to playing songs, it became quite obvious that it’s time for me to stop contemplating and just follow through with an idea and build something.

The Podcast Itch

I’ve always recognised that my unique quality are my broad interests, bridging many fields—arts, science, design, media. Likely from around 2020, podcasts were one of my favorite learning resources. And so gradually, through my work, interviewing people, I started noticing that perhaps the part of my work I enjoy the most is the conversations. So the idea of starting a podcast of my own became apparent, yet at that point, rather paralysing.

For the purpose of the artists’ films I’ve been making, even if their running time was destined to sit at around 5min on average, it wasn’t unusual for me to record multiple interview sessions. On certain occasions, working with 2-3h+ of dialogue to be reassembled into a 5-minute edit.

On the surface, a completely illogical choice, but I have always approached the interviews with non-extractive ethics. Instead, I would invest time each time to build a connection and be genuinely curious to understand the person in focus.

Projects that really made me set on starting the podcast (now running as Empirical Animal Podcast Experiment), we’re films summarising the Ampersand X Photoworks Residencies—first with Charlie Fitz and then with Matthew Arthur Williams. I found those conversations so rich and valuable that at first I was considering creating extended ‘director cuts’ of those films before letting the idea go in favour of creating something fresh, adding a new layer to the previous conversation.

It didn’t go unnoticed that both those projects involved music—Oscar Vinter, Charlie’s partner, has been creating music for her films and composing his own tracks, and Matthew’s residency culminated with a live music performance featuring Blaize Henry on violin.

Music was clearly making its comeback, which became even more evident when, at the end of summer 2024, I started working with Nisha Sivan on the media coverage of her debut album launch.

The more I listened to her story, the more I started reminding myself that I have parked my music-making for several years. Doing the ‘serious’ work instead.

Documenting Nisha’s story was the final straw that made me launch the podcast featuring her on the first episode of EAPX Podcast.

I also signed up for a bunch of music courses to “finally” learn the guitar properly and record some music.

Journaling and the Book that got it started

The other day, I filmed an interview with a photographer, Roman Manfredi. Had a fascinating conversation about a photographic project they’ve been developing in Italy this year. Extremely inspired by Roman’s capacity to blend deep research with empathy in approaching subjects of their photographs, much reminds me of the ethic I strive to cultivate in my work.

But there is much more I need to give Roman credit for. I have filmed with Roman once before, about the same time last year, when they were first announced as the recipient of the Jerwood Photoworks Award.

Amidst that conversation, ‘The Artist’s Way’ came up—a book (or a course in a book if you like) by Julia Cameron on how to tap into your creativity.

This book got me into journaling back in 2022, but I never went past the first few pages and forgot about it. But journaling has become incredibly significant for me in the course of those 2 years. It became a foundation practice of every single day alongside breathwork (I could talk infinitely on them both, but I will leave it for a future write-up). What mattered at that point was that the Book had already proved its point and relevance to me, because daily journaling became so quintessential to me.

At that point, committing to the 12-week course covered in The Artist’s Way was a no-brainer.

The End of the Book, The Start of Something Else

Leading on from that point, I followed ‘The Artist’s Way’ with military precision, and things started to shift very quickly. My podcast was real, and I started finding a great sense of empowerment through that experience (have I mentioned yet that nothing seemed more terrifying than switching sides to the front of the camera, and yet it didn’t take much to start enjoying the experience). I started hiking regularly, and to convince myself not to work wasn’t easy. I also ordered an electric guitar headless kit from Duda Guitars (in case you’d like to build a headless guitar yourself) to remind myself of the days when building guitars was the best fun for me.

I completed the course on the 18th of April this year, and more drastic changes have followed. I started turning down jobs that were not aligned with the filmmaking angle—wherever there was no space for building a genuine connection, I just wasn’t interested. Seemed much like a shot in the foot, thinking business-wise to be turning down clients, but it gave me space to think, plan, and brainstorm ideas.

The guitar-making process, while being a beautiful experience, led me back to the same old place I found myself many years ago—it took over the time I intended to spend on the actual music-making. So with a heavy heart, I boxed it and put it away (I may get back to it or not…). Instead, I bought a cheap, lightweight guitar and committed to daily practice following online lessons that Jonathan May (Deputy Director of The Ampersand Foundation) recommended.

In that period, I also switched from writing in a notebook to digital writing and incorporating AI in my workflow to reflect back, seeking recurring patterns, hunting blind spots. The process, however fascinating, was keeping me stuck in seeking perpetual improvement, learn more, doubting I have all I need to create and share it publicly.

All that, coupled with client work, led to massive burnout at the end of July as I was approaching my 40th birthday. Luckily, a good friend, Marcin, convinced me to join him on a camping trip to Cornwall at the beginning of August.

Marcin reminded me that taking a break instead of racing to ‘get results’ is the best way to see things for what they are—that all is fine.

Zooming Out in Cornwall

Cornwall is my favourite place in the UK, that’s where I filmed one of the very first artist films for Photoworks— filming with Mia Parker Tang and Tintagel Castle. Something I will always remember as an epic adventure between lockdowns.

Somewhere along the coastline in Cornwall.

This time I got to really savour my Cornish holidays. A week of long days of hiking, swimming in the ocean. Silence. Vastness of landscapes, infinite blue skies. Scorching sun, nevertheless, with temperatures maxing at 23 degrees.

My late mentor and friend Mieczysław Gryza would always tell me to practice zooming out—to see the world and yourself in it from far above, outside of time, that’s the point from which creativity operates at its best. The week in Cornwall was my zooming out.

Coming back from that trip nothing I felt like a new person. I knew what I wanted to do, and I knew who I wanted to be. I had a clarity of vision and energy to execute it. I spent the rest of August working on my own ‘ecosystem’, defining what the things I really want to focus on from then on:

I stopped my music course in favour of actually writing music, and I reactivated the podcast that got stalled over the summer. I started designing the future map instead of seeking answers in the past.

Charged with all the fresh energy brought from vacations, I was pushing hard for an immediate change and started pressing myself for unrealistic outcomes. I feared that the drive I felt was something that would pass, that it was just a temporary thing, and I wanted to get the most of it.

Finding the Daily Practice

In mid-September, I joined a park run for the first time (in Crystal Palace, where I live with my partner, there’s a weekly 5km community run each Saturday with 400-500 people taking part). I never ran more than 2km in my life before. Surprisingly, all the hiking I did in the past months must have been good enough training to allow me to complete the run. While perhaps not a proper athletic feat, it showed me a perspective of how steady, gradual training can yield results in a short time, compounding over time.

Gradually, I started slowing down (not without friction) with the pressure I’ve been putting on myself to get results, or even to get anywhere at all. The good old maxim ‘to enjoy the process’ finally started making sense. And with all the back and forth, struggling with imposter syndrome, self-doubts, I ended up writing this first entry to what I want to become, a place to summarise the things that matter to me.

The Identity Shift

Two years ago, I was a creative professional documenting artists. Today, I’m an artist who makes films, hosts conversations, writes, and creates music.

The difference isn’t in what I do—it’s in giving myself the permission to be who I am.

Juggling multiple creative identities felt impossible until I stopped trying to choose. The filmmaker, musician, writer, podcaster—they’re not competing personalities. They’re facets of the same creative drive that’s been there all along.

What Journaling Taught Me (And Why I’m Done With It)

Journaling profoundly changed my life. Three pages every morning became my foundation practice alongside breathwork. It gave me clarity, revealed patterns, and helped me process the confusion of those “waiting room” periods.

But there’s a point where you outgrow the private page.

I spent two years writing to myself, seeking perpetual improvement, hunting blind spots, refining my thinking. It was valuable—essential, even. But it also became a comfortable hiding place. I could always tell myself I wasn’t ready yet, needed more clarity, should work through one more insight before sharing anything publicly.

The truth? I was writing about doing the work instead of doing it.

Publishing, Finally

I’ve been documenting other people’s lives and adventures (and I still do, and still enjoy), but the time has come to document my own. And share it. An itch is telling me this may actually be the best thing I have to share with the world.

If you’re in that “waiting room” stage right now, feeling the noise of something trying to emerge: start journaling. Get a notebook and fill three pages every morning. Don’t make it pretty, just write. Watch what happens over a few months.

Can you hear that noise?