Natasha Bakhshov paints worlds that exist just beside the ordinary one. Raised in England and now based in Spain, Bakhshov has carried a lifelong instinct for inward looking into a practice shaped by dreams, daydreaming, and the emotional states that resist straightforward expression. The work sits at a meeting point of influences: London's design culture, the earthy textures and organic forms found near the North African coast, and a slower pace of life that opened up new ways of seeing. What follows is a conversation about atmosphere, evolution, and the quiet art of trusting the process even when it resists you.

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How has your upbringing or cultural heritage shaped the themes and techniques you explore in your art today?

I think my work has always been shaped by spending a lot of time in my own head. As an only child, I was happiest drawing, painting, and creating imaginary worlds. Looking back, I realise it wasn't just a form of entertainment but I was learning how to express things I couldn’t yet put into words. That instinct to look inward has stayed with me ever since.

Growing up in England, I was fascinated by London and its rich design culture. I found myself drawn to beautifully designed interiors, architecture, galleries and carefully curated spaces. Moving to Spain gave me a slower pace of life, which was something I hadn't fully experienced before. I also became exposed to new visual influences and became fascinated by African-inspired interiors, organic forms, earthy colours, and handcrafted textures, which are common throughout the region because of its proximity to North Africa.

Do you believe an artist’s passion is something destined or a conscious choice?

I’ve never felt like I chose art; it always felt as though it chose me. Ever since I was a child, creating was simply the thing I was drawn to. I don’t think you can sustain being an artist without that feeling because the reality is full of uncertainty, self-doubt, and starting over again and again.

What keeps me going isn’t the idea of success; it’s the process itself and the continuous evolution. I genuinely love making paintings and seeing where they take me. Every piece teaches me something new, even the frustrating ones. If my work can create a moment where someone stops and feels something, then that’s the most meaningful outcome I could hope for.

Is there a piece of art you’ve created that now feels entirely different to you with the passage of time?

One painting that means something completely different to me now is 'Maquillage'. I remember feeling frustrated almost the entire time I was making it because I found the process frustrating and questioned almost every decision.

Looking back, I now see it as one of my strongest works because those struggles gave it depth. It marked an important turning point as I developed my visual language, and it reminds me that artworks don't change but the way we perceive them does. 'Maquillage' now represents both my artistic growth and the value of trusting the creative process.

Can you take us through the evolution of an artwork, from that first spark of inspiration to the finished piece?

Every painting begins with a sketch. They used to be very simple line drawings, but lately I’ve been adding more paint to them, trying to capture more of the atmosphere before I move onto the canvas. It helps me explore the composition and colour palette early on, so I’m looking less at whether something is technically right and more at whether it creates a particular feeling.

The inspiration usually comes from dreams, daydreaming, or trying to express an emotion that doesn’t have an obvious visual form. I think of my paintings as existing in an alternative world, where the figures aren’t living everyday lives but are instead expressing emotional states. Once the sketch feels right, the painting becomes a process of refining that feeling until it finally comes to life on the canvas.

Do you believe the ‘mad artist’ stereotype still holds weight, or is creativity more grounded than we think?

I think there’s a romantic idea that great art has to come from chaos or suffering, which is quite intriguing. In a sense I do pull a lot of strength from my emotional landscape, but in general I think art, especially today, is more grounding than drawing from madness. For me, making art is an escape from the ordinary as well as an outlet for my innermost feelings.

I’ve found that the more grounded and peaceful I am, the more freely I can create. Meditation and slowing down have had a huge influence on my work because they’ve given me the space to really listen to my ideas.

That said, I do think artists should draw from emotion. Anger, sadness and other emotions all have a place in the creative process. One of the beautiful things about art is that those feelings don’t have to be hidden or controlled. They can be transformed into something meaningful and shared with other people.

How do you envision the evolution of your work in the coming years?

I don’t see my work changing dramatically; I see it becoming more refined. I feel as though I’ve found a visual language that feels authentic to me, and now it’s about exploring it more deeply rather than chasing something completely different.

Over the next few years, I’d like my paintings to become even more atmospheric and emotionally resonant while keeping the simplicity that’s become such an important part of my work. I’m also becoming more interested in creating pieces that have a stronger presence within interior spaces, where they can become part of people’s everyday lives.

More than anything, I hope to keep growing without losing the curiosity that made me start painting in the first place. I think the most exciting part of being an artist is knowing there’s always more to discover.

If you could live anywhere in the world to further inspire your creativity, where would it be?

I don’t think it’s one specific place. It’s more about the atmosphere. As much as I love living in Spain, I do miss having four real seasons. There’s something about autumn leaves, rainy days, and darker evenings that makes me want to slow down and paint. I always feel more reflective when the weather changes.

 

I could see myself living anywhere that has that feeling, whether that’s Japan, somewhere in Scandinavia, or even back in England. I’d love to have a beautiful home surrounded by nature, with a studio looking out onto trees that change throughout the year. I think I’d find endless inspiration just watching the landscape evolve. For me, creativity has always come from feeling connected to where I am rather than chasing somewhere extraordinary.

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What comes through in this conversation with Natasha Bakhshov is a practice rooted in patience and a genuine love of the work itself. There is no chase for dramatic reinvention, only a deepening commitment to a visual language that already feels authentic, made more atmospheric and emotionally resonant with each new canvas. The painting Maquillage, once a source of frustration, now stands as proof of something Bakhshov returns to throughout this conversation: that artworks do not change, but the way we perceive them does. It is a quiet and useful kind of wisdom, and one that seems to guide everything made in the studio.