SHEM, tell us a bit about yourself.

I grew up in Tottenham, but I would say I’m a South London boy because I moved to Croydon when I was around 10. I’m a Croydon boy, really.

Family life was always spiritual, powerful, educational and very creative. I didn’t realise it when I was a kid, but when I got older and looked back, I saw that I grew up in a really creative environment.

My father was a musician, and my mother did music and jewellery. She’s a multidisciplinary artist. I was in the studio with my parents and was always around music. Everyone in my family is creative, basically.

Can you tell us about your earliest memory with art?

My earliest memory was making comic books with my brother. I had a whole series. They were bloody, brutal and savage, but we used to make loads of them.

I used to plan them out like a movie, with an opening scene. They were more like hardback graphic novels than comics. I must have been about six or seven.

Which artists or genres or people in your life inspire you?

Before I started getting into galleries, I liked Kandinsky, Miró, Picasso, Georges Braque and the Pre-Raphaelites. It was quite a mixture.

I like the way people play with light, but I also like minimal work and installations. I like all of it.

When did you know you were an artist?

I didn’t think of myself as an artist for years. After I sold my first painting, I thought I was an artist.

I sat in a gallery and pretended one of pieces in it wasn’t mine. It sold for £250, and that was enough. I thought, ‘I’ve sold a painting. I’m an artist now.’

What’s the secret to producing art and manifesting creativity?

You need work ethic. You need lived experiences. You need to educate yourself, read, see and take things in, because without taking stuff in, you have nothing to put out.

I absorb the world and then give my answer to the world. It’s translation, being active and expressing yourself.

Did you ever have a mentor(s)? If so, who and what was their impact on you?

My brother, my family and my uncles. I’ve got loads of mentors. I can learn from anyone: a baby, a grandad, anyone or anything. Everyone is a mentor to me because they are unique in their own experience and how they see the world.

Music and film are mentors as well. The smartest man in the room knows he’s not the smartest man in the room.

Your work has been shown in a number of countries – can you tell us what that means to you?

Korea and Asia are meaningful because I was outside of my country. I was going international, and that was a big thing for me. But I think my first show was the greatest because that was when I put myself out there.

I was living in a chip shop in Clapham North and was getting kicked out. The day before, I put an exhibition on using found materials, clothes and other things. There was not one canvas; everything was on wood or glass, and all the clothes were found.

By the end of the night, everything had sold. The next day I was kicked out, but I had made enough money to get a place. That was the first time I put myself and my work out publicly.

What does it take for artists of various flavours to survive and succeed in a city like London?

You can’t give up. You have to have resilience because it’s easier to give up than to keep pushing. You need ideas, fresh creativity and movement.

It’s like a muscle: if you don’t train it, it’s going to go. Water always flows, and I think movement is crucial.

London is unforgiving, but it’s big enough for all of us and you can find your people. Regardless of whether some people don’t like you, there are people who do.

Wherever you are, your people will find you. Don’t think about numbers; just do the work. They’ll find you.

What’s your approach to art sales?

The relationships and partnerships I’ve had are important, but as far as sales go, I’ve never sold a painting. I’m not a salesman. People connect with the work and choose to buy it.

It’s not a car; it’s something a person connects with. I’ve never sold a painting in my life, but I’ve sold a lot.

The price comes from the collector. If I say my painting is worth £10,000 and no one is willing to buy it, it’s not worth £10,000. It’s about the people and what they see in the painting. I can’t dictate my price first.

What would you recommend to someone who wants to pursue life as an artist?

You don’t pursue life as an artist. You are an artist. This isn’t a pursuit; it’s a living, breathing urge.

If I were to pursue something, there are much easier games to get into than art. We have no choice. It would be much easier for me to be an electrician or an accountant and earn a big income.

It’s like going into boxing. No one decides they want to get punched in the ring every day. There’s something about you that likes to get in that ring of fire. It’s not a decision or a hobby. It isn’t a choice.

What’s your experience with your studio being based in Bow?

I’ve been in this studio for three years. I love the architecture and space, and I’m naturally drawn to spaces like this one. I was in a chip shop and a bookie; I will make a space out of a space.

I saw this place, walked in and within two minutes said, ‘I’ll have it.’ I knew what it was as soon as I walked in.

My studio used to be in Dalston, and I got no work done because people would knock on my door at three in the morning after leaving the club. No one comes here unless they come specifically to see me.

You need to be alone to work. I was too distracted in Dalston, so I needed to be here.

What does Bow and East London mean to you today – especially given your view as a working artist in an active artist community?

Bow is a good location because people don’t realise how close it is. It’s almost like no one knows it exists. Bow is one of the last places where you have artists.

It’s a place in between places that no one knows exists, but it has a whole ecosystem and is close to everything.

Lastly, what would you like readers to see in their minds eye when they hear about the artist SHEM?

I want them to see themselves. I want them to see freedom and ancestors. I want them to question everything, pick it apart, dissect, delve, jump in and teleport. I want them to transport.

I want them to tell me what I need to see. I want them to educate me about my own art. I want them to learn, dive, explore, express, cry, hate or love. I want them to feel. As long as they feel, my job is done.

This story was drafted by Suru with AI assistance from the reporter's audio and notes, and was passed through Suru's journalism check (sourcing, neutrality, verifiability) before publication. Editorial responsibility: James Sandoval.