Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Nikki Simmons. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.
Nikki, looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. Let’s jump back to the first dollar you earned as a creative? What can you share with us about how it happened?
The story of my first paid art gig goes all the way back to middle school. I grew up in the suburbs of Baltimore, and every year, the State’s Attorney Office held a county-wide anti-drug poster contest. The winning designs were displayed on posters and calendars in every public school. As a young artist, the idea of winning such a competition seemed like the ultimate stamp of approval.
When seventh grade came along, it was finally my chance to participate. These designs always had clever anti-substance abuse slogans like “pop popcorn, not pills,” or “bee drug free.” I went with “drugs are no fairytale,” paired with an illustration of some pot-smoking, pill-popping Disney villains. I became super invested in my design. At the end of every art class when my classmates tucked theirs away, I’d carefully take mine home with me and draw into the night. I spent hours studying those Disney villains’ proportions. I sharpened down my colored pencils til they were tiny nubs. I went to sleep at night dreaming of my drawing on hundreds of school-issued calendars.
Eventually, that dream came true. My mom was quite shocked (and mildly concerned) when a letter from the State’s Attorney came addressed to her thirteen-year-old daughter. But confusion quickly turned to excitement when we opened the letter and discovered I had won first prize. Even more exciting was the cash prize: $750 confiscated from real-life drug dealers apprehended by Baltimore County. I was invited to a ceremony at the courthouse and a tour of the facilities. My fellow winners and I toured the 911 center, the courthouse, and the tiny holding cells for the criminals (drug addicts, they told us) awaiting trial. I’ll never forget those tiny cages with bare-minimum metal furniture and out-in-the-open toilets. It was just as I had suspected: drugs really were no fairytale.
When all the fanfare was over, I received my check for $750. As a middle-schooler in 2014, that might as well have been solid gold. I felt very sophisticated going to the bank to make the deposit. I was so young that they printed my photo on my debit card so no one would suspect it was my mom’s and I’d stolen it out of her purse. But it was my money, and I had earned it through drawing. It sounds cheesy to say, but the whole experience really was that ultimate stamp of approval I had hoped it would be. I really did have talent. But even more than that, I had put in immense time and effort, and this was proof that hard work really does pay off. I carry that lesson with me even now.
Great, appreciate you sharing that with us. Before we ask you to share more of your insights, can you take a moment to introduce yourself and how you got to where you are today to our readers.
My name is Nikki, and I’m an illustrator, graphic designer, and mixed-media artist. While I like to dabble in all sorts of projects, my specialty is in publication and surface design. My personal style is bold, playful, and eclectic. Inspiration comes to me from the things I enjoy in my everyday life: antique shopping, live music and performances, art museums, and just being curious about the world around me.
An example of how my life informs my art is a series of illustrations I did recently based on a cute little Fisher Price toy phone. I was at a local punk show with some friends when I noticed a toy phone hooked up to some cords on stage. Somehow, the musician had it wired to a guitar pedal, and the eyes would light up as he played. Something about that cute rainbow toy juxtaposed with the thrashing music and head-banging audience spoke to me. I immediately knew I had to draw it. Later that week, I went to my favorite antique store in Savannah (Wright Square Vintage & Retro Mall) in search of the Fisher Price phone. To my surprise and delight, the exact toy phone was for sale. I carried it to the register, beaming. A woman saw me and remarked, “that’s real vintage!” I told her that yes, it was indeed vintage, and how excited I was to have found it. Unable to hide my eagerness, I explained to the cashier how I planned to create a series of illustrations based on the toy. These pieces have quickly become some of my favorites in my portfolio.
Up until now, my art and design career has been freelance. Early on, I sold greeting cards, pet portraits, and logo designs. My biggest commission to date has been a series of large-scale, mixed-media paintings for a conference at the Westin. For this project, I created eighteen square-feet of original art! Additionally, I’ve done several smaller projects for friends and classmates. In my time as a SCAD student, I’ve had the privilege of meeting a bunch of creative, entrepreneurial friends. I’ve designed posters and promotional materials for short films, podcasts, and student publications. It’s been wonderful being surrounded by other artists who want to collaborate.
Having just graduated from SCAD a few weeks ago, the time has come to take the next step in my career. I am excited to say that I will soon be starting my first full-time job as a creative! At the end of the month, I will be moving to Oklahoma City to start my new job in the surface design industry. I can’t wait to see where this opportunity will take me!
We often hear about learning lessons – but just as important is unlearning lessons. Have you ever had to unlearn a lesson?
Like many creatives, I am a perfectionist. I hold myself to the highest standards, expecting nothing less than polished, publication-ready work from myself. But if you’re a perfectionist like me, you probably know just how paralyzing that can be. It’s hard to get started when I’m so worried about the end result. And when I do finally get started, I spend hours tightening and refining my drawing until it looks like a robot drew it. Digital art tends to exacerbate the problem, since I can zoom in to near-microscopic levels as I search for imperfections.
This almost compulsive need for perfection is something I am still actively trying to unlearn. That being said, I’ve made a lot of improvement in recent years. The most helpful exercise has been keeping a sketchbook. My sketchbook is a place where I can experiment, have fun, and make straight-up ugly drawings.
I’ve always been an avid sketchbook user, but the quarantine of 2020 and 2021 really allowed me to experiment. Feeling isolated and uninspired, I joined a virtual club at my university called “Drawnline.” Each week we’d get together on Zoom and draw. There was always a different musical guest, sometimes two or three, and they’d play on camera while we sketched them. There were some wild musicians, and in my mind, the weirder the better. I remember one guy with an instrument he invented that sounded kind of like a steel drum but looked like a UFO, and another who opened up his piano and started hitting the strings with his bare hands. This chaotic, creative energy radiated through the screen. I let myself go crazy with these drawings. I’d layer all kinds of materials, from paint and drawing to cut-paper collage. Crayola crayon became a favorite of mine, allowing me to draw fast and loose. Sometimes I’d look away from the page as I drew, challenging myself to get a likeness just from feel and intuition. I experimented with all kinds of styles and methods. But there was one thing I was always intentional about: no erasing. I embraced expressive, unexpected mark-making. Mistakes began to seem charming. And if a drawing really did turn out unsalvageable, I’d simply turn the page and start a new one. At the end of the Zoom calls, we’d all show off our artwork to the group. I was surprised and delighted to hear how much people liked my weird, experimental drawings. My tight craftsmanship was something I had previously been praised for, so it was freeing to know that my messy drawings could also be well-received.
As the quarantine lifted and life became busy again, Drawnline became a thing of the past. Still, I kept up with my sketchbook practice. I’d make an effort to draw the things around me with that same inspired, experimental approach. Sitting in a park or a coffee shop, I’d open up my sketchbook and draw. If I had just a few minutes in a waiting room, I’d push myself to draw instead of scrolling through my phone.
Through all this practice, I’ve come to know myself better as an artist. I’ve discovered my own style of mark-making, shape language, and visual vocabulary. That being said, I still bring a sketchbook with me everywhere, and I am still learning every time I draw. Perfectionism still lives inside me, but I am trying to see it more as a skill I can call upon and less as a burden. I know I am capable of good craftsmanship and attention to detail, and I can switch into this mode of thinking when needed. If the project calls for it, I can be polished and precise. But other times, the wonkiness is what gives a drawing its charm. I am learning to let myself indulge in the imperfections.
For you, what’s the most rewarding aspect of being a creative?
The most rewarding thing that comes with being an artist is seeing people interact with my work. There’s something special about releasing my art into the world and knowing that people are seeing it and spending time with it.
Perhaps my emphasis on the art-viewer-relationship comes from my background in fine art. Early on in my training, I made work for the gallery setting. I thought deeply about what it would be like to approach my art as a viewer. As an art museum lover myself, I know the pleasure of spending time with art. To get others to spend time with my work has always been the goal.
A big way I do this is by embedding details in my pieces that only become noticeable after a nice long look. I’ll hide words in the branches of trees in a painting, or load up a sculpture with bits and pieces of familiar objects. I once created a diorama of a carnival funhouse, hid little trinkets inside, and wrote an “I Spy” style poem encouraging viewers to search for specific objects. I was absolutely delighted to witness the excitement of my friends as they found each hidden object.
Another way I encouraged spending time with my gallery work was through the direct invitation to interact. On one occasion, I screen-printed a drawing onto a funhouse mirror I constructed. The viewers could look at their distorted image while admiring my design. This way, instead of simply glancing at the screenprint and moving on, they’d move back and forth, examining it from different angles. On another occasion, I built a sculpture with a little door obstructing it. Viewers were encouraged to reach out and open the door.
The last example I’ll mention is probably my favorite. I spent the summer of 2020 making a bean bag chair completely covered in stuffed animals. These were my childhood stuffed animals, so it felt strangely poetic to cut them up and sew them back together into something big and new. When people come over to my house, the first thing they notice is the stuffed animal bean bag chair. Some people love it and others find it creepy, but it never fails to get a reaction. Better yet, it’s not only a conversation piece, but it’s also a functional chair. I always tell my guests (the ones who are not too weirded out) that they are welcome to sit on it. Sitting down on the bean bag chair is the best way to take it all in. When the viewer sits, they’ll instinctively run their hands along the fluffy, irregular surface, examining all the little details. It brings me so much joy to see my artwork being experienced. The excited recognition of a certain Webkinz or Care Bear is exactly what I’m after. My childhood stuffed animals that once sat untouched in a storage unit have been given a new life.
As I’ve transitioned from doing purely fine art to mostly applied and commercial art, that art-viewer-relationship remains at the forefront of my mind. The great thing about illustration and graphic design is that it encounters people in their everyday lives. The viewer no longer has to come to the gallery to see my work; my work comes to them. This is why I’ve recently pivoted towards the surface design industry. For those who are unfamiliar, surface design is simply art for decorative purposes. This includes packaging, textiles, greeting cards, stationary, and more.
Greeting cards are among my favorite types of projects to work on. Their whole purpose is to bring a smile to the face of the viewer. Cards are also relatively inexpensive to produce, purchase, and mail. It’s so easy to send a card, but it can make a huge impact. In today’s predominantly digital world, physical mail is all the more special. That’s why each year, I make a Christmas card to send to my family and friends. Most recently, I created a pop-up Christmas card. I got to see a few of my friends open the card in person, and the joy they expressed when opening the card and seeing the 3D element for the first time was extremely rewarding. At the end of the day, the happiness my art can bring to people is what is most important to me.
Contact Info:
- Website: nikkisimmonsart.com
- Instagram: nikkisimmonsart
- Linkedin: www.linkedin.com/in/nikki-simmons-art
Image Credits
Nikki Simmons