Empowering Dreams, Simplifying Beauty
Authored
(9 min watch + read)
MAYA GHAZAL
At the young age of 22, Maya’s life has already taken many twists and turns. Originally from Syria, Ghazal came to the UK as a refugee when she was 16 years old. Stigmatised and rejected from almost every school she applied to, she was finally offered a place at a college to do engineering. “It was never something I thought I wanted to do,” she says. “But I was just so happy for the opportunity.”
It wasn’t until she was staying with her mother at a hotel near Heathrow Airport, however, where she would look out of her window and watch the planes take off and land, that her mind turned to aviation. “I was fascinated by the planes and knew I wanted to be involved in operating them.”
So, once again, she applied to various schools, and once again she was faced with resistance. “People weren’t very supportive of the idea of me becoming a pilot. They were like, ‘You’re a woman, you’re an Arab, you’re a Muslim. How are you expecting to be empowered in a high-security airport?’ It really hurt.”
Nonetheless, she picked herself up, more determined than ever, and, in 2020, she completed the first step in her goal of becoming the first female Syrian refugee pilot by acquiring her private pilot’s license.
A keen activist, earlier this year, Ghazal was appointed goodwill ambassador for UNHCR, the UN Refugee Agency. “People always ask me, ‘Where do you get your motivation from?’ I feel like they expect me to name a role model, but I think we are the role models. I get my strength from my story, from the rejection that I’ve received, which is why I want to share my story with others to help inspire them.”
At the young age of 22, Maya’s life has already taken many twists and turns. Originally from Syria, Ghazal came to the UK as a refugee when she was 16 years old. Stigmatised and rejected from almost every school she applied to, she was finally offered a place at a college to do engineering. “It was never something I thought I wanted to do,” she says. “But I was just so happy for the opportunity.”
It wasn’t until she was staying with her mother at a hotel near Heathrow Airport, however, where she would look out of her window and watch the planes take off and land, that her mind turned to aviation. “I was fascinated by the planes and knew I wanted to be involved in operating them.”
So, once again, she applied to various schools, and once again she was faced with resistance. “People weren’t very supportive of the idea of me becoming a pilot. They were like, ‘You’re a woman, you’re an Arab, you’re a Muslim. How are you expecting to be empowered in a high-security airport?’ It really hurt.”
Nonetheless, she picked herself up, more determined than ever, and, in 2020, she completed the first step in her goal of becoming the first female Syrian refugee pilot by acquiring her private pilot’s license.
A keen activist, earlier this year, Ghazal was appointed goodwill ambassador for UNHCR, the UN Refugee Agency. “People always ask me, ‘Where do you get your motivation from?’ I feel like they expect me to name a role model, but I think we are the role models. I get my strength from my story, from the rejection that I’ve received, which is why I want to share my story with others to help inspire them.”
RAISSA PARDINI
A multidimensional designer, working with static images and animation. “Typography and shapes and colours,” she says. “That’s how I express myself. I use very bright colours to make things pop out. I usually want to send a positive message in my work.”
Born and raised in Tuscany, Italy, after moving to Milan and later Berlin for a series of internships, Pardini eventually settled in London, where she spent the next six years working at different studios. Despite having a wonderful experience, she had a deep desire to go at it alone, and so, just over three years ago, she moved to Glasgow as a freelance designer, where she opened her own studio. “My travels really helped to shape the person that I am now,” she muses. “Glasgow is a smaller community than London and I really needed that to go freelance, and to better my own work and open my own studio.”
Of course, it has been challenging in places. “At the beginning, there were no holidays or weekends,” she says. “I had to work really hard, especially coming from a working-class background. I had to build up my client list.”
Her efforts have paid off. Today, Pardini boasts a client list that includes everyone from Fred Perry to Vans, Dr. Martens to The Standard Hotel. She also recently designed the cover for photographer Nadia Lee Cohen's new book, Women. If that wasn’t all, earlier this year, the V&A Museum acquired 14 of her posters as part of their permanent collection. The prints will be released in due course.
Until then, Pardini is preparing to move back to London, and, as for the future: “I’d like to help others shape their talent, create opportunities for young people and throw myself into research.”
A multidimensional designer, working with static images and animation. “Typography and shapes and colours,” she says. “That’s how I express myself. I use very bright colours to make things pop out. I usually want to send a positive message in my work.”
Born and raised in Tuscany, Italy, after moving to Milan and later Berlin for a series of internships, Pardini eventually settled in London, where she spent the next six years working at different studios. Despite having a wonderful experience, she had a deep desire to go at it alone, and so, just over three years ago, she moved to Glasgow as a freelance designer, where she opened her own studio. “My travels really helped to shape the person that I am now,” she muses. “Glasgow is a smaller community than London and I really needed that to go freelance, and to better my own work and open my own studio.”
Of course, it has been challenging in places. “At the beginning, there were no holidays or weekends,” she says. “I had to work really hard, especially coming from a working-class background. I had to build up my client list.”
Her efforts have paid off. Today, Pardini boasts a client list that includes everyone from Fred Perry to Vans, Dr. Martens to The Standard Hotel. She also recently designed the cover for photographer Nadia Lee Cohen's new book, Women. If that wasn’t all, earlier this year, the V&A Museum acquired 14 of her posters as part of their permanent collection. The prints will be released in due course.
Until then, Pardini is preparing to move back to London, and, as for the future: “I’d like to help others shape their talent, create opportunities for young people and throw myself into research.”
MAISIE COLLINS
At a young age, Maisie always had an emotional connection with food. Growing up in South London, her family moved to Somerset when she was 11 years old. Collins felt isolated in her new surroundings and so she took up baking as a way of coping with the transition.
Burying herself in cookbooks, she honed her craft, and by the time she was 14, she was baking cakes for the local delis in town. That same year she got her very first chef’s job at a family-run Italian restaurant.
On the advice of her family and friends, who were keen for her to continue her education, Collins enrolled herself in art school – an experience she describes as “horrendous.”
“At the time I was working as a night baker for a cafe and the people who owned it were so nice. I had this moment where I was just like, ‘What am I doing? Why am I pushing myself to do this thing that's making me miserable?’”
So she left and went to work at the cafe full time. “The other thing that was really tricky was that art is all very personal and conceptual and so you don't ever know if you're getting it right. But with food, when you cook something, you know because it tastes good.”
Eventually, she left the cafe, and, after a stint as head chef at a London restaurant, as well as a traineeship at Better Health, a bakery and social enterprise that looks after people who are recovering from mental health illness, decided to do things on her own terms.
Using the income she was making from a small cafe job, Collins started hosting sourdough and fermentation classes, supper clubs and also began catering events. Then last year, after everything came to a halt during the lockdown, she met her current business partner and set up an exciting new bakery in East London called DOH Life. “I don't really know what the future holds,” she says. “But I feel positive.”
At a young age, Maisie always had an emotional connection with food. Growing up in South London, her family moved to Somerset when she was 11 years old. Collins felt isolated in her new surroundings and so she took up baking as a way of coping with the transition.
Burying herself in cookbooks, she honed her craft, and by the time she was 14, she was baking cakes for the local delis in town. That same year she got her very first chef’s job at a family-run Italian restaurant.
On the advice of her family and friends, who were keen for her to continue her education, Collins enrolled herself in art school – an experience she describes as “horrendous.”
“At the time I was working as a night baker for a cafe and the people who owned it were so nice. I had this moment where I was just like, ‘What am I doing? Why am I pushing myself to do this thing that's making me miserable?’”
So she left and went to work at the cafe full time. “The other thing that was really tricky was that art is all very personal and conceptual and so you don't ever know if you're getting it right. But with food, when you cook something, you know because it tastes good.”
Eventually, she left the cafe, and, after a stint as head chef at a London restaurant, as well as a traineeship at Better Health, a bakery and social enterprise that looks after people who are recovering from mental health illness, decided to do things on her own terms.
Using the income she was making from a small cafe job, Collins started hosting sourdough and fermentation classes, supper clubs and also began catering events. Then last year, after everything came to a halt during the lockdown, she met her current business partner and set up an exciting new bakery in East London called DOH Life. “I don't really know what the future holds,” she says. “But I feel positive.”
EMMA SZKOLAR
Born and raised in a small town just outside of Brighton, 30-year-old Emma wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to do when she left university. With mounting pressure to get on the corporate ladder, she got a job in financial services and started to work her way up. By the time she reached her late 20s, however, she’d hit a wall. “I just felt this weird sense of unease,” she says. “I felt a bit trapped by all the decisions I'd made.”
Taking a step back, she realised she needed to reconnect with her creative side, having been encouraged to make things as a child by her parents. So she began experimenting with ceramics. “It wasn't like I sat down at the wheel and everything clicked, but I did get that feeling you get when you start learning something new.”
Fast-forward to today, and Szkolar divides her time between the office and her studio where she works on online commissions. “There’s a weird part of me that likes having the two jobs going on simultaneously,” she says. “I like how different they both are, it lets me use different sides of my brain, and both jobs expose me to completely different sets of people.”
As is often the case in our ever-connected world, Szkolar sometimes finds herself comparing her work to that of others. “I have to remind myself that this isn’t my full-time career. I scare myself when I look at other ceramicists. I’m like, ‘I should be doing a drop every month and posting on social media every day.’”
On balance, though, it's been a liberating experience. “The beauty of ceramics is that it’s a slow learning process. It might take me my whole life to master it. Ultimately, I don't quite know exactly what direction it's going to go in or where I'm going to end up, but I like not having a feeling that there’s a specific path in front of me which I have to go down.”
Born and raised in a small town just outside of Brighton, 30-year-old Emma wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to do when she left university. With mounting pressure to get on the corporate ladder, she got a job in financial services and started to work her way up. By the time she reached her late 20s, however, she’d hit a wall. “I just felt this weird sense of unease,” she says. “I felt a bit trapped by all the decisions I'd made.”
Taking a step back, she realised she needed to reconnect with her creative side, having been encouraged to make things as a child by her parents. So she began experimenting with ceramics. “It wasn't like I sat down at the wheel and everything clicked, but I did get that feeling you get when you start learning something new.”
Fast-forward to today, and Szkolar divides her time between the office and her studio where she works on online commissions. “There’s a weird part of me that likes having the two jobs going on simultaneously,” she says. “I like how different they both are, it lets me use different sides of my brain, and both jobs expose me to completely different sets of people.”
As is often the case in our ever-connected world, Szkolar sometimes finds herself comparing her work to that of others. “I have to remind myself that this isn’t my full-time career. I scare myself when I look at other ceramicists. I’m like, ‘I should be doing a drop every month and posting on social media every day.’”
On balance, though, it's been a liberating experience. “The beauty of ceramics is that it’s a slow learning process. It might take me my whole life to master it. Ultimately, I don't quite know exactly what direction it's going to go in or where I'm going to end up, but I like not having a feeling that there’s a specific path in front of me which I have to go down.”
PHOEBE BODDY
Growing up in a sleepy village just outside of Leicester, Phoebe always knew she wanted to be a painter. She was encouraged to create from a young age by her artist mother. “I think watching my mum being creative and running her own business inspired me to do exactly that,” says Boddy. She first fell in love with painting while studying for her GCSEs, and a bad experience during a fashion internship confirmed it.
In 2017, she signed with her current agency Artiq, after being scouted at her degree show. But that was by no means the end of the story. In order to prop herself up financially, Boddy was juggling her work with various side jobs in hospitality. “The worst was being a door knocker, but actually it taught me so much.”
Then, a year ago, she decided to take matters into her own hands and set up Palette, a creative catering company with her chef boyfriend. “My work revolves around food. I am inspired by flavours and memories. And my partner is a chef. So we started our own business together to explore the connections between both of our fields through supper clubs and art exhibitions combined. My paintings are inspired by his dishes.”
Since the launch, Boddy has been able to support herself and her work without having to compromise on her creativity. “It's allowed me to keep going and not worry too much about whether I'm making money from painting or not.”
Of course, she still has bad days. “I have to give myself a lot of positive, motivational pep talks.” But she remains positive about the future. “Mum always used to say, ‘Do something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.’ I’m not saying what we do doesn’t feel like work, but knowing you're working for yourself makes pulling it off the best feeling in the world.”
Growing up in a sleepy village just outside of Leicester, Phoebe always knew she wanted to be a painter. She was encouraged to create from a young age by her artist mother. “I think watching my mum being creative and running her own business inspired me to do exactly that,” says Boddy. She first fell in love with painting while studying for her GCSEs, and a bad experience during a fashion internship confirmed it.
In 2017, she signed with her current agency Artiq, after being scouted at her degree show. But that was by no means the end of the story. In order to prop herself up financially, Boddy was juggling her work with various side jobs in hospitality. “The worst was being a door knocker, but actually it taught me so much.”
Then, a year ago, she decided to take matters into her own hands and set up Palette, a creative catering company with her chef boyfriend. “My work revolves around food. I am inspired by flavours and memories. And my partner is a chef. So we started our own business together to explore the connections between both of our fields through supper clubs and art exhibitions combined. My paintings are inspired by his dishes.”
Since the launch, Boddy has been able to support herself and her work without having to compromise on her creativity. “It's allowed me to keep going and not worry too much about whether I'm making money from painting or not.”
Of course, she still has bad days. “I have to give myself a lot of positive, motivational pep talks.” But she remains positive about the future. “Mum always used to say, ‘Do something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.’ I’m not saying what we do doesn’t feel like work, but knowing you're working for yourself makes pulling it off the best feeling in the world.”
MUKTAHR SARUMI
“When I'm making music, the world could explode outside and I wouldn't know it,” says music producer, Muktahr Sarumi. “I make music from the moment I wake up, and I just keep going and going. I’ve finally found something through which I can express myself. You bet I'm going to do it right.”
Born and raised in Nigeria, Sarumi moved to London when he was 13 years old. The move was a culture shock, but one that he was able to navigate with ease. “I've always been super good at adapting, meeting new people, learning new cultures.” Where he struggled, though, was adapting to the rigidity of the traditional school and, later, university experience.
Naturally gifted with numbers, and buckling under the pressure of following a prescribed life path, Sarumi sleepwalked into a job as a strategy consultant, but it wasn't long until he grew depressed. “I was just so unhappy. I struggled to wake up for work. I would take long absences from anything social, and I wasn't really present in myself. My personal relationships suffered a lot.” Then, one day, during the height of covid, Sarumi decided to take control of his own narrative. “I had a £20 USB Mic in my room. I don't know why it was there. I just brought it out and made a song. And, then, that's when it hit me. I thought: ‘If I put the same hours into this that I put into my job, surely I'll go somewhere,’ because this actually makes me feel good, it’s something to look forward to.”
What started out as a bit of fun soon turned into a vocation, culminating in the release of Sarumi’s first mixtape earlier this year – a composite of everything he is inspired by musically (“I would describe it as fusion.”) Sarumi is anxious to get going. “People tend to start making music when they’re young, and they have this carefree attitude as they’ve got time. But for me, I’m like, ‘Let’s put it out now. Let's make the most of it.’ Because I know that I'm heading in the right direction.”
“When I'm making music, the world could explode outside and I wouldn't know it,” says music producer, Muktahr Sarumi. “I make music from the moment I wake up, and I just keep going and going. I’ve finally found something through which I can express myself. You bet I'm going to do it right.”
Born and raised in Nigeria, Sarumi moved to London when he was 13 years old. The move was a culture shock, but one that he was able to navigate with ease. “I've always been super good at adapting, meeting new people, learning new cultures.” Where he struggled, though, was adapting to the rigidity of the traditional school and, later, university experience.
Naturally gifted with numbers, and buckling under the pressure of following a prescribed life path, Sarumi sleepwalked into a job as a strategy consultant, but it wasn't long until he grew depressed. “I was just so unhappy. I struggled to wake up for work. I would take long absences from anything social, and I wasn't really present in myself. My personal relationships suffered a lot.” Then, one day, during the height of covid, Sarumi decided to take control of his own narrative. “I had a £20 USB Mic in my room. I don't know why it was there. I just brought it out and made a song. And, then, that's when it hit me. I thought: ‘If I put the same hours into this that I put into my job, surely I'll go somewhere,’ because this actually makes me feel good, it’s something to look forward to.”
What started out as a bit of fun soon turned into a vocation, culminating in the release of Sarumi’s first mixtape earlier this year – a composite of everything he is inspired by musically (“I would describe it as fusion.”) Sarumi is anxious to get going. “People tend to start making music when they’re young, and they have this carefree attitude as they’ve got time. But for me, I’m like, ‘Let’s put it out now. Let's make the most of it.’ Because I know that I'm heading in the right direction.”