Esiri Erheriene-Essi – Transformation as a tool

British born Nigerian artist Esiri Erheriene-Essi, who is now based in Amsterdam, has developed a painting practice shaped by a lifelong obsession with the medium. Change, whether cultural, personal, or professional, has never interrupted her work, but instead continuously feeds it, allowing her to adapt and expand her voice onto an international stage. Even motherhood, which required significant shifts in her practice, has deepened rather than diminished the intensity and direction of her work. It is this ability to keep transforming that gives her work its enduring force.

During a school trip in high school I saw a painting by Lucian Freud that made a huge impression on me. I noticed a particular beauty that fascinated me. The next day, I went to my art teacher and told him that I needed to learn how to paint like that. For several months, I stayed after school every day to learn the basics of painting. The following year, when I was seventeen, we travelled to Florence. Seeing Italian Renaissance art had a profound effect on me. I remember crying without fully understanding why. Everything felt sacred, almost beyond magical. On the one hand, I felt that I could never create anything like it. On the other hand, it set me free. I understood that I should focus on doing what I could do, in my own way. I knew that I would always paint, whether I became an artist or not, because I was obsessed with it. 

Mona Lisa
Looking back, however, my relationship with art had begun long before I encountered Lucian Freud or Renaissance art. I was born in London to Nigerian parents. My grandfather was a tradesman who travelled frequently between Nigeria and the UK. When my mother was sixteen, he took her to London and introduced her to several museums. The experience had a profound impact on her, and she decided that she wanted to live there. 

When I came along, she passed her love of art on to me. Art was part of my life from a very young age; I saw the Mona Lisa when I was seven years old. It was never presented as something that only intellectuals could understand. From an early age, I learned that my own opinion mattered too. During school holidays, she would take me to museums and introduce me to what was happening in the art world, not only in the UK but internationally as well. 

Instead of sending a small portfolio, I submitted more than a hundred images.

I went to art school when I was seventeen. At first, I found it frustrating. We spent so much time discussing the work, whereas at secondary school there had been more freedom to simply make it. I arrived expecting to immerse myself in painting, but instead I was encouraged to explore different media and directions. While that approach worked for many students, all I wanted to do was paint. Although I never lost that desire, the experience eventually led me to pursue a different path for a while.

De Ateliers
Besides art, I had always loved writing and was passionate about cinema and music, so I studied Media and Journalism for three years. My professor encouraged me to return to art, and after completing my degree, I decided to pursue a Master’s in Fine Art. I loved it because it gave me two years to focus entirely on painting. During that time, one of the editors at the magazine where I was interning, who was from Amsterdam, suggested that I apply to De Ateliers. I decided to give it a try. Instead of sending a small portfolio, I submitted more than a hundred images. Looking back, it was probably excessive, but I later learned that it was also what caught their attention. They invited me for an interview and luckily, they saw my potential and offered me a place.

My time studying in Amsterdam was an incredible period. Receiving a stipend felt completely surreal. Suddenly, making art was my job. In Londen, I had been working in retail, doing internships in two places, and trying to fit studio practice into whatever time was left. I was sleeping maybe five hours a night and was constantly exhausted. All I did in Amsterdam was go to the studio. For the first time in my life I became bored. It made me realize that I also needed a life outside of it. At De Ateliers, many of the students had come from elsewhere, and we quickly became each other’s support system. While that sense of connection was valuable, it could also feel quite intense at times. Taking a job gave me some distance from the studio environment and discover Amsterdam in a different way.

As I became more involved in the art world I also became increasingly aware of how I was perceived—not only as an artist, but also as a Black woman.

As I became more involved in the art world during my time at De Ateliers, I also became increasingly aware of how I was perceived—not only as an artist, but also as a Black woman. Some interactions felt uncomfortable in ways that were difficult to immediately name. I would be asked, for example, why I painted only Black people. My answer was always simple: because it is important to me. What stood out was that these kinds of questions were rarely asked of other artists. Their subject matter was taken at face value, while mine often seemed to require explanation.

There were also smaller, repeated moments: comments on my accent, or questions about where I was “originally” from. Often framed as curiosity, they accumulated over time into a sense of me being subtly marked as different. A white friend from New York once told me she only began to understand this after spending time with me in social settings. She noticed how often these kinds of comments appeared in everyday interactions. In the UK people tend to be more guarded about saying such things out loud.

For the first time, I was forced to think about why I was translating an image into a painting.

At the same time, my experience at De Ateliers was also shaped by very formative and generous exchanges with tutor-artists such as Marlene Dumas, Melvin Moti and Rob Birza. These were people who took the time to look at my work and tell me that what I was doing mattered. Those conversations were incredibly valuable. In London, I mostly painted my friends. I would take my Polaroid camera with me and photograph them at birthday parties, concerts, and other gatherings. It all felt very organic.

When I moved to Amsterdam, I suddenly didn’t know what to paint anymore, so I began looking for source material online. That shift had a profound effect on my practice. For the first time, I was forced to think about why I was translating an image into a painting. Before that, I was mainly concerned with whether the painting accurately resembled the source image. Where I once felt drawn to the history or narrative contained within an image, I became increasingly interested in what happens to it through the act of painting. A person in a photograph and that same person in a painting are not the same thing a: painting can reveal a different kind of truth than the photograph itself.

Royal Painting Prize
In 2009, after I finished De Ateliers, I won the Royal Painting Prize, which came with a small amount of prize money. Around the same time, I started working with gallery Ron Mandos in the Netherlands, which marked the beginning of my professional practice. Gradually, my life shifted. My closest friends were in Amsterdam, and the art scene here felt open and intimate. It was easy to meet other artists at galleries and become part of a wider network.

Through conversations with more established artists, I learned how to sustain a practice over time. They were very open about the realities of working as an artist and generous in sharing advice. It was through them that I discovered, for example, that I could apply for funding from the Mondriaan Fund. As someone who was not from the Netherlands, I simply didn’t know these kinds of structures existed. I appreciated how accessible and supportive the art world here felt, and I gradually felt I had found my community.

Although I missed London terribly, returning wasn’t an option, I would not have been able to afford this life in London. Working weekends at the hotel was enough to cover my expenses for the entire week. A studio and art materials were also much cheaper than they were in London. That had a direct impact on my work. I started using much more paint. For the first time, I could afford to paint in the way I had always wanted to.

I try to stay involved in where my work ends up.

In 2019, I was selected for the Prix de Rome. The exhibition at the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam attracted a wide audience, including curators, collectors, journalists, and artists. Not long after, a gallery in San Francisco offered me a year to prepare a solo exhibition, which opened in 2022. Galleries in the United States often operate differently: they tend to work with a larger group of artists and respond more to how work circulates and is received. After that exhibition, another gallery from California got in touch. Last year, I presented my second exhibition in Los Angeles with this gallery. The atmosphere was quite different from my first exhibition. Whereas the earlier show attracted many collectors, this one brought together a large community of local artists. I enjoyed getting to know them, learning more about the city, and hearing about their practices. 

In 2020, I moved away from an exclusive representation model with my gallery. I wanted more freedom to work with different galleries, which for me feels like a more open and sustainable way of working. My work is collected by private collectors, museums, and public institutions, and in recent years much of it has gone to the United States, where there is a large and engaged audience for contemporary art. I try to stay involved in where my work ends up. Many of my paintings are held in private collections abroad, so I often discuss future loans with collectors when possible. I want the work to remain accessible and available for future institutional exhibitions. 

Becoming a mother has made my work more focused and more refined.

Motherhood
Over the past eight years, motherhood has gradually influenced my practice in ways that are less visible in the work itself, but very present in how I make it. One of the first things I learned when I became a parent was that my time was no longer my own. Before my son was born, I would arrive at the studio late in the afternoon. I spent the day sleeping late, seeing friends, and then I would go to my studio, sometimes until two or three in the morning. When he was born, everything changed overnight. I had to become a nine-to-five painter. That was a huge shock to the system because I had always been most creative around midnight.  But I became more productive in a different way.

Becoming a mother has made my work more focused and more refined. I would not necessarily say it is better—I made some wonderfully wild and experimental paintings when I had endless time—but it is different. I used to spend a lot of time analysing and adding layers of meaning. Now I have to trust my instincts more. Time is limited, but I make it work for me. Painting has become more integrated into my life. I spend more time looking at the work, sitting with it, and letting it develop. It feels less like something I enter and leave, and more like something I carry with me throughout the day. 

Having a family made me realize that I needed a more stable income alongside my practice, which led me to take on teaching. I was offered a five-year position at the Royal Academy in The Hague, one day a week, and it suited me very well. A large part of the job involved studio visits, which I loved. I enjoyed going into other artists’ studios, discussing their work, and exchanging references. It was refreshing to step outside my own practice. The day after teaching was often particularly productive. Many of the things I encouraged my students to do, such as not striving for perfection, were equally relevant to my own work. 

Over time, however, the balance became more difficult. I sometimes needed time away for exhibitions, and I felt a strong sense of responsibility towards the students. With one child it was manageable, but after the birth of my second child it became increasingly demanding. I realised I was moving towards burnout. I eventually decided to stop teaching in order to have more time for my practice and to be present with my daughter. 

For the future I hope I can continue to build a sustainable practice as an artist. My husband recently received a permanent contract, which gives us a sense of stability. We have built a good life in the Netherlands. Of course, I still miss London. It will always feel like home in many ways. For now, I see myself here over the next few years. At this point in my life, I feel fortunate to be able to move between being an artist and a mother, and to have the space to do both.

september 2026
https://www.esirierheriene-essi.com/