Trickster Magazine

(PAULA) You’ve been living in London for over a decade now – how did you end up staying there?

(AM) Well, I always say it was kind of an accident. I moved to London in 2013 to do an Erasmus at Central Saint Martins for six months and basically never left. Berlin was my first choice, but due to its extreme popularity at the time, I ended up in London instead.

It’s always been a love-hate relationship between me and London – many times I’ve thought about relocating somewhere else. But I do have so much love for this city and its multifacetedness. I come from a very small town and always dreamt of a big city I guess, haha. Maybe I’ll tolerate something quieter and more insular again when I’m really old.

I split my life between London and Tallinn now which feels really nice, albeit a bit tricky to balance. London is a bit of a bubble of course, in terms of the narrow-mindedness and awful politics that plague a lot of places these days.

(PAULA) The first painting of yours I saw was Lovesick, back in 2022 in Narva. I remember being in a dark place, and the painting lifted my spirit while still holding that heaviness. How has your use of humor in your work changed over time?

(AM) I’m SO glad people do see humor in my work! Oftentimes I just get the “oh, your work is so dark,” whereas in my mind it’s always a bit humorous as well – or contains some sort of subtle or not-so-subtle irony.

I remember that painting did start from a darker place (aka being heavily disappointed in men once again), but then became a more lighthearted “comment,” or an acceptance of how we can’t help but fall in love like that at times – losing yourself and later feeling like you’ve made a fool of yourself.

It was initially going to be called “Love Fool,” I think, but then the sickness sort of came to represent “getting it all out” – mucus, body fluids, “being sick to your stomach” – like blurting everything out, whatever that can represent.

(PAULA) In your work, meanings often feel layered or hidden rather than direct. When you’re painting, do they come to you consciously, or do they reveal themselves later?

(AM) I almost never sketch or plan a painting in advance. Sometimes there’s a vague motif I’m thinking of following, but usually, as a rule, I just make a background – either one or a few colors, textured or smooth.

That gives me some initial information about what the painting could be. I start with some lines and color areas and keep painting over it until “aha! that looks like this… whatever it is.” Then it usually gets a working title about halfway through and starts to develop in a certain direction. That can still change, but if the idea and feeling around the title are strong enough, I can usually keep working on it until it feels right.

I also love painting over old works that have been lying around in the studio and never really seen the light of day – it’s the BEST. Keeping some elements, adding new ones, layering different ideas and feelings. I’m not precious about my work in that sense.

Alternatively, I might have a title beforehand and a very strong sensation of what it should convey. Then I go with that, but that happens less often, and those works usually take bloody ages to finish. It can be a book title or a random sentence. Reading is an important side of my practice, although recently it’s mostly just the news – which feeds in as well, in different ways.

(PAULA) When we first met at NART, it felt strangely easy – like we’d known each other for years. Looking back at that time, how do you feel you’ve changed since then, both creatively and personally? 

(AM) Ah, I’ve definitely changed, but it’s very hard to put my finger on exactly how. That was 2022, since then I’ve had many more opportunities career-wise and feel more settled in my personal life. It’s SO great to get older, gosh!

At times, though, with everything going on in the world, it’s hard to stay motivated – especially as an artist. Like, what’s the bloody point? The art world can be so cynical. But it brings me back to the idea of humor even in the darkest times, and I feel more and more that it’s important to just keep going, no matter what.

(PAULA) It feels like your work has become more nuanced and subtle over time – maybe less direct than before. Do you feel that shift yourself? What is it like for you to look back at works from the Lovesick period? 

(AM) Yes! Definitely. I do feel like it’s been a conscious process. I wanted my work to be less about my personal life and more about general things people can relate to.

It’s also important for me to keep pushing painting as a medium and not just stick to one “formula” and repeat the same thing over and over again. That would be really boring – although it works for some.

I can’t say I don’t relate to that painting at all anymore, but it reflects a different persona from how I feel now. Painting might be considered traditional or even boring, but at the same time it has endless possibilities. It's so exciting!

I also work a bit slower now. There’s less impatience and urgency. I’m not desperate to finish a painting after just a couple of layers if I can see it has potential to develop further.

(PAULA) How did your artistic journey begin? Do you remember the first piece you made that you felt truly proud of?

(AM) I went to kids’ art school in Jõgeva from the age of seven and pretty early on decided I wanted to be an artist. It coincided with really struggling at school and absolutely hating it, so it kind of seemed like the only option.

I can’t actually remember, haha – or it might have been embarrassingly recent! I feel like all those years were leading up to what I do now, and only since around 2020 have I been more and more content with what I’m doing.

There’s definitely this quick turnover and early success culture that makes you think if you’re not a fully fledged artist with your own style by the end of uni – in other words, already selling and exhibiting – you’re a loser. But I’ve found real value in developing things more slowly without giving up out of depression and frustration in the meantime.

(PAULA) Have you ever felt the urge to move beyond painting – into other materials or forms?

(AM) Oh yeah, many times. I actually love looking at other art forms more than painting, to be honest. When I left Estonia in 2013, I still felt we weren’t fully out of the “painting is dead” culture from the ’90s and early 2000s, so the UK, with its rich painting scene, definitely nourished me.

I used to want to add elements of installation or alter space, like the work I made for Metaphors for a Home at the Tartu Art Museum in 2018 – a shadow puppet theatre tent with some paintings. I don’t think I’d quite do that anymore. Painting is enough; it can express more than I thought it could back then.

I’d love to try printmaking more, though. I find the process fascinating. I did some etching and aquatint last autumn and loved it!

(PAULA) I remember seeing your exhibition A Fool with a Heart of Glass back in 2023. It was a hot day outside the cold walls of the Tartu Art House, and what stayed with me was that tension – dark themes carried through something light and almost fairytale-like. In 2024, you also received the Estonian Cultural Endowment award for it. What did the exhibition represent for you at that moment?

(AM) I did feel like that show was a bit of a watershed moment. It was a successful in bringing everything together the way I had imagined, and something I was truly proud of – perhaps answering your question about when I first felt proud, haha.

The topic was important to me, and many of the paintings had been in progress for a long time. A Fool with a Heart of Glass represents this vulnerable contemporary creature navigating an increasingly confusing world – forming different views, taking on different roles to adapt, yet still feeling like a bit of a fool in the end.

(PAULA) In a past interview, you said that if you let go of anxiety completely, nothing would be left of you. Has your relationship with anxiety – and with therapy – changed since then?

(AM) I do feel like a lot of my creative drive comes from this restless, always alert and slightly disturbed inner world, so it definitely drives me creatively, lol. Maybe without these things I’d just become really boring.

Jokes aside, that does sound a bit dramatic. I “completed” a three-year psychoanalysis program in 2023, and since then I haven’t felt the need to constantly project things in order to navigate life. I feel a lot calmer generally.

This is also directly related to my career becoming more stable, and all of my general hustling over the years finally paying off. It’s unfair to say that therapy and positive thinking fix everything – so much comes down to financial stability, relationships, and so on. Therapy can help build those things, but it doesn’t just fix you without active changes in life.

(PAULA) I sometimes feel like it’s harder to grow or even feel like yourself when returning to your home country after being away. Has living between places changed your relationship with Estonia? 

(AM) Yeah, for sure. I do feel a bit of an identity crisis now, traveling between London and Tallinn so much. My partner lives in Tallinn.

I miss Estonia a lot, without being able to pinpoint exactly what I miss – maybe it’s more about nostalgia. At the same time, I don’t feel the need to have a strong national identity. That type of thinking is probably partially what I escaped from. I feel a bit stateless and nomadic, which I don’t think is a bad thing; it allows you to observe things more clearly.

That said, I wouldn’t rule out moving back more permanently at some point.

(PAULA) You’ve said that the version of yourself who lived in Estonia feels like a stranger now. Is that a connection you’ve tried to rebuild, or does it feel like something that’s been left behind for good?

(AM) I think it’s behind me, to be honest. I used to be very shy and depressed, constantly feeling worn out by everything.

The hustle really built my character, having millions of shitty survival jobs, just grinding away with the idea that one day I’d finally be able to relax and focus on my own work. I’ve had some mad jobs over the years that shaped my no-nonsense, overly direct persona.

Now I really feel the cliché about Estonians being quiet and introverted. I hate how people don’t introduce each other in groups. How does anyone meet anyone? You end up figuring out who people are through subtle chat, but like, c’mon… let’s fast-track this!

I also miss random chit-chat and small talk that doesn’t seem to develop as easily back home. There are social cues here in London I’m so used to that I now struggle a bit in Estonia. And humor, I sometimes feel like I can only be funny in English, which is tragic.

(PAULA) I feel you. We really are bad with chit-chat and introductions – just awkward in every possible way. But more generally, what do you think is missing in people today?

(AM) We’re all painfully self-centered and too self-conscious and anxious because of it. The world doesn’t exactly set us up well, but our obsession with ourselves makes it worse.

There’s a lack of care – basic empathy and understanding of how contingent everything is. Self-care as an insular, solitary practice has gone way too far.

(PAULA) Touching on your organizational skills, you don’t really fit the cliché of the chaotic, disorganized artist. What does a “good” or productive workday look like for you – what needs to be in place for it to happen?

(AM) I have to be organized. Even now, with support from Estonia (the artist salary) and my gallery, I still keep a survival job in the background a bit, much less than before, but I’ve had to juggle a lot.

A typical day used to involve lifting crates and hanging paintings, in between quickly sending emails, arranging meetings, or taking calls on lunch breaks, sometimes pretending I wasn’t at work. Always figuring out timing and days when I could do certain things. Working as a freelance art handler in a global blue-chip mega gallery taught me quite tough discipline, as well as how to be very organized and efficient. Up until a couple of years ago, I worked there full-time and could only go to the studio on weekends and evenings.

There’s a lot of shame around admitting you have a job as an artist, as if that makes you a hobby artist and not to be taken seriously. But fuck that. In Estonia, everyone’s meant to freelance and live off grants and cultural endowment money in case they don’t sell anything, and here it’s just rooted in classism. Neither is great.

I’m finally able to phase it out, but yeah, it’s been a journey in terms of navigating art world madness and learning a lot of shit that’s also kind of useful for my own practice. I appreciate things being finished on time. There’s no point leaving stuff to the last minute, it just causes stress. I also don’t want to be disrespectful and make the lives of people I work with more difficult. Some artists can be dramatic, I never want to be like that.

An ideal productive workday these days doesn’t start too early. I usually like to spend no more than five to six hours in the studio, always during the day, I’m not a night owl. Setting deadlines earlier than they need to be is important for me. If I have a show in September, I want everything finished by June, so I have time to arrange shipping and photography and can slowly start thinking about the next things.

I also don’t sit around waiting for inspiration, I just start. I usually have several paintings on the go at the same time, in various stages and layers. I also used to be the person who submitted all their uni assessments days before deadlines, so I’ve kind of always operated like that. It makes it sound very mechanical and not creative at all, but overall it’s still quite a slow process and allows different ideas to emerge.

(PAULA) When you think about the work you’re making now – what feels different from before, not in technique, but in intention? 

(AM) I feel that it’s become more like social commentary through this kind of “new symbolism,” and much less autobiographical than before. It’s not just about quick bursts of personal ideas anymore.

Everything needs to be more layered. That’s why I work more slowly now – but it feels right, especially in a time when very little in the world seems to make sense.

Credits:
Interview by Paula-Stina Tasane
Photos of Angela by Martin Kosseson