Creativity is Curiosity
An illustrator, visual storyteller and facilitator, Ipsita sits comfortably at the intersection of art and social impact. Her illustrations explore how visual communication can make complex ideas around gender, feminism and social change more accessible. While her workshops make art accessible, forming a participative in-person community. In this conversation, she reflects on building this space, moving between research and design, the return to analogue, AI, and why curiosity is the foundation of creativity.
How would you describe your work?
'I work at the intersection of art and social impact. I'm an illustrator, a visual storyteller, and more recently, a facilitator, which is something I'm still exploring.
A lot of my work is about using visual communication to make complex ideas more accessible. I often work with broad social issues and theories, and illustration becomes a way for people to understand, engage with and connect to them.
Much of my practice is rooted in gender equality and social impact. I'm interested in representing young people in ways that feel honest and expansive, while using storytelling as a form of advocacy.
I want people to see themselves in these stories, reflect on them and carry those conversations forward.
Lately, that work has started moving beyond illustration. I began with digital workshops, then started building small creative communities, and now I'm trying to create more spaces where people with similar values can meet, make things together and simply spend time with one another.
I'm interested in what happens when storytelling moves off the page and into real life.'
Your work sits between research, communication and design. How do those different practices shape one another?
'I come from a very non-design background, but I've always been a creative person. Research is the foundation of my practice. It builds the evidence for the work I do and comes from my academic interest in learning more about these questions.
But I'm also interested in exploring different ways of doing research rather than just sitting around tables.
Whenever I'm working on a project, I try to make sure that the people taking part in the research can shape the questions too, or at least guide the process in a meaningful way.
That's where illustration and participatory facilitation come together for me, and it's something I'm still learning and exploring.
I don't think I work full-time in any one role. I wear different hats depending on what the project needs. Some days I'm doing research, some days I'm illustrating, facilitating workshops or working on communication.
People call it a portfolio career, and I think that's probably the closest description of what I do.
Most of the questions I work with are quite broad. People ask things like, "What is feminism?" You can answer with evidence and statistics, but not everyone connects with numbers.
Sometimes the best way to communicate those ideas is through visual storytelling. That's what I try to do through reports, graphic recording and workshops.'
How did you find your way into illustration?
'When I was six or seven, my mother enrolled me in art classes, and I’ve loved making things ever since. I was the person doing everyone’s holiday projects and constantly experimenting with crafts, even though I never formally trained as an artist.
In 2016, during my undergraduate years, I started taking art classes again. They became a space to explore different mediums, learn the basics I’d missed, and spend my weekends making things. Around the same time, while applying for my master’s, I realized I wanted to tell stories in a simpler, more direct way.
I’d always struggled with academic jargon and kept wondering why ideas had to feel accessible only to a certain group of people. When I moved abroad for my master's, I met people from very different creative backgrounds.One of my professors was using filmmaking and photography to think about gender, and that made me realise I could also bring art into the work I was already doing.
Whenever we were discussing complicated ideas like the burden of care work, I found myself drawing them instead. Even in presentations, I preferred showing an illustration rather than explaining everything through text.
During COVID, I started sharing those illustrations on social media. That was also when I shifted from working on paper to drawing digitally on Procreate. I realised I didn't just want to make flowers or landscapes. I wanted to create illustrations that felt powerful, that people could relate to.
That's when I started calling myself a feminist illustrator and began working with different organisations. Looking back, it all happened quite organically. Even now, when people ask me how it happened, I don't think there was one defining moment.'
What does creativity mean to you?
'Creativity is curiosity. It's what keeps me wanting to try new things. I'm still curious about different mediums. Watercolours, acrylics, oil paints, sculpture, pottery, whatever it is.
I always want to experiment and learn something new.’
How do you come up with the themes of your workshops? Can you run us through the logistics of a gathering?
'I actually started with digital workshops. A lot of them focused on gender and feminist work, and we explored things like collage-making, Canva and creating online zines. They were a little more niche because that's the kind of work I was doing at the time.
When I started hosting workshops in person, I realised I wanted them to feel more open. Every workshop still reflects my values, but I didn't want people to feel like they needed a particular background to participate. I wanted the themes to be broad enough that everyone could interpret them in their own way.
Every theme comes from something I genuinely care about. The first one was around love letters, inspired by Valentine's Day. We made postcards for people we love because I feel we've stopped writing letters and sending postcards to one another. I'm an avid postcard collector. Whenever I travel, I buy one from museums, and whenever I give someone a gift, I almost always include a postcard with a handwritten note. That naturally became a workshop.
We've also done workshops around gender where people painted tote bags, and those sessions ended up bringing together people who cared about activism and gender equality.
Others are more reflective. They're about slowing down and reconnecting with the feeling of being dropped off at an art class as a child, where you're simply given crayons and paint and allowed to create.
No art teacher is telling you what to do.
My Sip and Paint workshops come from the same idea. Instead of painting on canvas, which can feel intimidating, we've experimented with wine glasses, beer glasses, takeaway coffee cups and other everyday objects, depending on the space or brand we're collaborating with.
I like people leaving with something they've made. They don't have to wait for it to dry. They can take it home immediately and make it part of their everyday life. I usually work with my colleague Natasha, who comes up with incredibly creative ideas herself. It's always a very collaborative process.'
What does an analogue, in-person space let you do that an Instagram post can't?
'First of all, it's not brain rot, which is great. I don't dislike Instagram. It's introduced me to
ideas and people I would never have come across otherwise. A lot of my workshops are
actually inspired by things I've seen people doing in different other parts of the world.
But it's still digital.
I've hosted digital workshops, and they've been great in their own way. You can absolutely build a community online. But I don't think there's any comparison to meeting people in person. Conversations become more playful. You don't have to guess someone's tone or perform a version of yourself.
You're just sharing the same space, and that shared experience feels very real. There's also a spontaneity to being together that you can't recreate online. Things go wrong, there are logistical hiccups, but that's also part of being human.
I think we try to make everything online feel perfect, whereas in-person spaces leave room for mistakes, learning and genuine connection.
Those conversations stay with you much longer than meeting someone on Zoom for twenty minutes before everyone logs off.'
How important is a digital community today?
'For someone like me, who's lived in different countries and has friends all over the world, being online is often the only way we stay connected. That feels quite intimate to me. Sometimes it's just sharing updates through Close Friends or a private account and staying connected in those quieter ways. Professionally, my work also began online. My first feminist communities existed in digital spaces, and many of those people eventually became collaborators or friends whom I met in person. A lot of people discovered my work through social media, so in many ways my digital community has grounded me while also pushing me to keep creating.
I've seen genuine friendships, care and community exist online. It really depends on the kind of space you build. At the same time, social media comes with its own anxieties. It's very easy to get caught up in numbers, engagement and metrics. I try to create some distance from that side of it and not let it define my relationship with my work. A digital community is incredibly important, but I also try not to measure its value through numbers alone.'
You've hosted everything from postcard-making and zines to pottery and drawing sessions. Why do you think people are craving making things with their hands again?
'I think people are just tired of constantly being online.
A lot of us work from home, so we're moving from one screen to another all day. Even when we're trying to relax, we end up scrolling Instagram or Reddit. There isn't much space to really unplug.
I think that's why people are craving in-person experiences again. They feel more human. Especially now, with AI becoming part of everything, it can sometimes feel like everyone sounds the same, looks the same and is created in similar ways.
Being creative, being a little quirky, making something with your hands remind you that you're a person. We've also become so used to experiencing life through our phones. Even when we go out for dinner or travel somewhere beautiful, we're often thinking about how we'll photograph it.
I keep forgetting to take photos, and I'm actually grateful for that because I end up remembering the experience itself.
I think people want to return to the kinds of things our parents encouraged us to do as children. Art classes, dance classes, learning something new, spending time outdoors. Now that many Millennials and Gen Zs have the disposable income to invest in themselves, they're choosing experiences that make them feel more connected.
It's also about reconnecting with my inner child. There were things I couldn't learn growing up, like certain languages, and now that I can, I choose to invest in them. I think a lot of people are doing something similar.'
Does AI concern you?
'It does, although I'd be lying if I said I never use it. I try not to rely on it as much as I can. I don't use it to make my illustrations or create artwork. Sometimes I'll use it to proofread something quickly or help me brainstorm ideas, and I can't deny that it makes certain parts of my work more efficient.
But I don't think AI is advanced enough to replace what I do. What worries me more is its long-term impact on us and the way it's changing how we think.
That's why I've been consciously trying to write more again. Even if it's just captions or small pieces of writing, I want to keep using that part of my brain. Sometimes it takes longer, but I think that's worth it.
AI can definitely make us more efficient. I just don't think efficiency should come at the cost of our creativity or curiosity.'
What are some unexpected challenges involved in building a creative community?
'As much as people say they want to get out more and meet people, there's also a huge saturation of events. Every weekend, there are so many things happening, and it's difficult for people to choose your event.
There's also the practical side of it. Finding sponsors, managing logistics, organising everything around a full-time job. I work during the week, so weekends are the only time I can host workshops.
One of the biggest challenges is turning interest into attendance. You might have a hundred people sign up, but only ten actually show up.
That happens online as well as offline, and over time, you realise it's just part of running community events.
I'm trying to understand what kinds of workshops people genuinely want while staying true to my own values. I don't want to change what I care about just to attract bigger crowds.
For me, it's more important that the people who do come feel welcome and have a meaningful experience.'
If Instagram disappeared tomorrow, what parts of your creative life would stay the same?
'I think most of it. Instagram is useful for seeing how people promote their work and for sharing my own. That part of my practice would definitely be affected.
But when it comes to creativity itself, I don't really depend on Instagram.
I usually go to Pinterest when I'm looking for visual inspiration. Lately, I've been spending a lot more time on Substack because I enjoy reading and slowing down a little. And whenever I want to understand what people genuinely think about something, I end up on Reddit.
If Instagram disappeared tomorrow, I'd mostly lose a marketing platform. I don't think it would change how I create.'
What does success mean to you?
‘When people remember my work and, more importantly, remember how it made them feel.
It's not about reaching the largest number of people. Even if it's a smaller audience, if people keep coming back to the work and remember how it made them feel, I think that's enough for me.'
