Her approach offers a new path for Gen Z creatives who aspire to pursue both stability and passion.
Let’s rewind a little. What came first—your career or your creative identity? How did your journey with art evolve alongside your full-time job?
My career came first if you’re going by timelines and titles. I trained as an aerospace systems engineer and built a full-time career in aerospace. But art was always part of me, even if I didn’t have the language for it back then.
It was never a hobby, never just a phase. It was how I made sense of things, how I processed the world. Even during the busiest seasons of my life, I found myself returning to it, sometimes through painting, sometimes just through observation, but always with the same pull. It was instinct.
Over the years, I stopped seeing my career and my creativity as two separate paths. I realised they were feeding each other. My engineering work gave me discipline, structure, and clarity. My art gave me expression, depth, and a connection that was entirely my own.
Now, I continue to work full-time in the aerospace industry while running an international art business based here in the UK. I teach, I paint, I create and none of it is on the side. This is my life, fully integrated.
Art didn’t come after. It evolved with me.
What does a ‘typical day’ look like for you? How do you carve out time and energy for your creative work?
I work full-time in aerospace engineering, so my weekdays are often packed with meetings, systems thinking, and problem-solving. It’s a career I take pride in, one that demands precision, logic, and focus.
I work a compressed week, Monday to Thursday in my role as a full-time aerospace systems engineer. That gives me every single Friday off. All 52 of them. And I’ve claimed them entirely for my art.
Fridays are my studio days, and I treat them like gold. That’s when I’m fully immersed in painting, and I usually work on several pieces at once. There’s a natural flow to it while one layer dries, I move to the next canvas. And because of that rhythm, I often end the day with a painting that’s finished. Every week adds something new to the body of work I’m building.
Over time, I have developed systems that help me maintain consistency in everything I do. When I first started launching courses, I hired a video editor for the larger projects. However, for my Instagram content, including editing and storytelling, I still handle it all myself. I used to edit reels while cooking dinner or squeezing in a few minutes here and there, but now it only takes me a few minutes. It has become second nature to me.
For me, balance doesn't mean dividing my time equally; it means making intentional choices for each part of my life. I dedicate my full attention to work during the weekdays, deeply immerse myself in my art on designated days, and remain fully present with my family in the moments in between.
There’s a big myth in the creative world: “If you’re serious, you’ll quit your job.” Have you ever felt that pressure—and how did you navigate it?
I’ve never felt that pressure. Not even once.
There's a lot of conversation out there—posts, reels, and advice everywhere—encouraging creatives to quit their 9-to-5 jobs, walk away from their corporate careers, and take the leap. Every time I came across these messages, I couldn't help but wonder... why? Why, why, why?
I love my job.
I didn't become an aerospace engineer just to earn a living; I chose this path because it truly excites me. I enjoy the critical thinking, the challenges, and the structure involved in this field. I have never viewed it as something that hinders my creativity.
Even when my art business began to grow, even when it started bringing in double the income in some months, I never once thought about going full-time into art. Not because I cared about it less. But because I cared about engineering just as much.
The idea that you must abandon one world to fully belong to another has never made sense to me. I have always believed in fully engaging with both worlds. To me, being serious means choosing what I love and building a life where everything fits together.
What mindset shifts helped you stop seeing your full-time job and your creativity as opposing forces?
What keeps you showing up for your art, even after a long day at work?
The biggest shift was realising they were never in competition to begin with.
For a long time, I thought I had to choose. That being serious about art meant cutting ties with everything else. But the more I leaned into both, the more I realised how much they gave to each other.
My work as a systems engineer brings me clarity, structure, and discipline. It sharpens how I think. My art, on the other hand, opens up the parts of me that feel and express and connect. They don’t cancel each other out. They complete each other. And when I stopped seeing them as two separate lives and started treating them as one integrated whole, everything shifted.
What keeps me showing up even after long days is simple. I don’t paint to prove anything. I paint because I need it. Because it restores something in me that nothing else can.
I don’t wait for the perfect mood or unlimited hours. I work a compressed week so I can give all my Fridays to my art. When I’m in the studio, I work on multiple paintings at once, each in a different stage, flowing from one to the next, and usually finishing at least one piece every week. That rhythm feels natural to me now.
This isn’t about pushing myself harder. It’s about choosing what matters, again and again. And finding a way of working that honours all the parts of who I am.
What systems or routines help you balance structure with spontaneity in your creative practice?
My structure gives me freedom.
I work a four-day week in engineering, which means Fridays are completely dedicated to my art. That’s not just a routine—it’s a boundary I protect. Knowing I have that one full day every single week gives me the space to go deep without rushing, and without guilt.
Inside the studio, I keep things fluid. I never work on just one painting at a time. I always have multiple pieces in progress—some drying, some waiting for new layers, some nearly done. That rhythm lets me stay in the flow without getting stuck. If one piece needs time, I move to another. And slowly, week by week, they all begin to come together.
I also develop systems that support the business aspects of my art. When I launched my online courses, I hired an editor to assist with video production. However, I still handle all the social media content, including the reels and storytelling. Over time, I’ve discovered my shortcuts. I’ve managed to edit videos while cooking, commuting, or during brief moments in my day. Now, the process only takes minutes and has become instinctive for me.
My structure holds everything in place. And inside that, there’s so much room to explore, to evolve, to let the work grow without pressure. It’s not about choosing between structure or spontaneity. It’s about designing a rhythm where both can exist.
Do you schedule creative time or work in bursts when inspiration hits? How do you avoid burnout?
I don’t wait for inspiration to hit. I’ve built a rhythm that holds space for it.
Every Friday is my dedicated studio day. It’s scheduled, structured, and protected—because I believe creativity deserves commitment, not just moments of convenience. I don’t see it as something I squeeze in. It’s something I show up for, fully.
I’ve never experienced burnout, and I think that’s because I’ve never forced myself into doing something I don’t love. Passion is the best medicine. When the work is coming from a place of genuine excitement, curiosity and joy, the energy doesn’t drain—it multiplies.
Of course, I rest. I respect my energy. I take breaks when I need them. But art has never felt like pressure. Even in the busiest seasons of life, it feels like a return, not a demand.
And that’s the difference. When you create from passion, not performance, burnout doesn’t find its way in.
Are there any tools, habits, or rituals you swear by to stay creatively productive?
Notion is my anchor.
It’s where I organise everything—my painting ideas, my course plans, admin tasks, class performance, and even my content calendar. I’ve built systems inside it that track every part of my art business, so I never carry it all in my head. That clarity gives me space to create without overwhelm.
Beyond that, the most powerful habit I’ve built is consistency. My Fridays are sacred creative time. I walk into the studio knowing exactly what I want to work on, which paintings are in progress, what’s drying, and what’s nearly done. That flow—of moving from canvas to canvas, letting each piece evolve at its own pace—is part of what keeps me productive.
I don’t chase motivation. I create rhythms that support it. And I’ve learned to trust those rhythms. To let structure hold the space so spontaneity can breathe inside it.
That’s what works for me. Not just tools or routines—but alignment. The kind that makes you feel like every part of you is working together, not against itself.
How has your creative practice changed or matured over time?
My creative practice hasn’t changed much in essence. I’ve always been consistent and always shown up for it. In the early years, I used to paint for an hour or two every evening after work, and then spend the rest of the evening with my husband. That rhythm felt right for that season of life.
But when my son was born, everything shifted.
I knew I didn’t want to spend my evenings in the studio anymore. That time was his. That time was for my family. And so I made a change—not to my art, but to the shape of my week. I compressed my work hours, stretched five days of engineering into four, and in return, gained all of Friday for my art.
It wasn’t a hard decision. All I needed was an extra five hours across the week—and in exchange, I got nine uninterrupted hours every Friday to pour into my creative work.
That’s the only change I made. Not to chase more, but to protect what matters. My art. My family. My time.
Have there been any pivotal moments where you almost gave up… but didn’t?
No, there hasn’t been a moment like that for me.
Of course, there have been challenges—days where things felt slower, or seasons where progress was harder to see. But I’ve never felt the urge to give up. Not once.
Art has always felt like an integral part of my identity, not just a goal to attain. When your creativity stems from such a deep place, you don’t simply abandon it—you grow alongside it. This remains true even during challenging times and when no one else is observing your journey.
I didn’t start this journey looking for overnight success. I started because it meant something to me. And that’s what keeps me steady. Always.
You manage your creative business entirely on your own—from ideation to execution. What have been some of the biggest challenges (and wins) of running a solo creative practice while working full-time?
I’ve always been someone who figures things out.
If I needed a website, I researched and built one. If I needed a marketing strategy, I read, experimented, adjusted. I didn’t wait for someone to teach me—I went looking. That mindset has been my biggest strength.
So when it came to running a creative business alongside a full-time job, I didn’t see it as a burden. I saw it as a challenge worth taking on. I didn’t outsource anything in the beginning. I managed the art, the content, the editing, the emails, the courses, the systems—every single part of it. And even now, I still do most of it myself.
Of course, the time is limited. But when the vision is clear, you find ways to make it work. You move one piece at a time. You build as you go.
Every step in this journey has been a win—not because it came easy, but because it came from doing it myself.
What would you say to someone who feels they can’t pursue their art until they quit their job?
If there is passion, you can. You don’t need to quit your job to begin.
You don’t need perfect conditions or endless free time; you just need the willingness to start right where you are, with what you have.
I’ve built a successful art business while working full-time in aerospace. I didn’t wait for the “right time”; instead, I created space in my existing life for my passion. Passion doesn’t require permission; it simply needs to be nurtured with consistency.
Don’t let the world convince you that your job and your art are opponents. They’re not. You don’t have to abandon one to honour the other. If it matters to you, you will find a way to do both—and not halfway. Fully.
That’s what I’ve done. And you can too.
Don’t wait for the perfect timing, a three-hour window, or the feeling that everything else is done. Just begin—with what you have, where you are.
Open a sketchbook. Scribble something messy. Take five minutes and play with colour. Watch what your hands want to do when you’re not trying to impress anyone.
You don’t need a plan. Just need a beginning.
Creativity doesn’t demand big, dramatic moves. It just asks that you show up. Even in small ways. Even for a moment. And the more you do, the easier it gets to find your way back.
Because creativity was never lost, it’s just waiting for you to return.
What advice would you give to other creatives managing everything themselves—especially when it comes to staying motivated and organised?
Don’t believe the story that says you have to choose.
If you have multiple passions and you love them all, then there’s no reason you can’t pursue every single one. You don’t need to shrink one to make space for another. You just need to trust that you’re allowed to build a life that holds all of it.
It won’t always be easy. But it’s possible.
The key is creating systems that support you—whether that’s a planning tool like Notion, a set studio day each week, or simply knowing what your priorities are before you dive in. The organisation isn’t about perfection. It’s about clarity. Clarity is what keeps you moving, even when things get busy.
You don’t need to have everything figured out. You just need to stay connected to why you started.
Because when the work comes from love, the momentum takes care of itself.
What does success look like for you now—and how has that definition changed?
Success used to feel like something distant. A number, a milestone, a moment where everything suddenly made sense. But over time, that definition has changed.
Now, success feels like resonance.
It’s when someone sees my work and feels something they didn’t have words for. When a collector reaches out to say that a painting spoke to them. When someone across the world joins one of my courses and rediscovers their creative voice.
It’s knowing that what I create is being seen, felt, and appreciated—and that people value it enough to welcome it into their lives and homes.
That’s what matters to me now. That quiet exchange between artist and viewer, that unspoken connection. It’s not about chasing something bigger. It’s about going deeper.
And that, to me, is the most meaningful kind of success.
