Tasnim Bulbul’s art is a reflection of transformation—both in nature and within. What began as a distant appreciation for the natural world evolved into a deep fascination with its intricate details. Through botanical art, every vein, texture, and form is captured with precision and admiration, blending structure with creative freedom. Drawing inspiration from family influences and personal experiences, each piece tells a story of growth, connection, and discovery.

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

My upbringing, shaped by migrant parents, taught me the importance of balance—between academic discipline and creative freedom. My family, deeply valuing security and stability, encouraged me to explore my artistic side. Their support fostered a precise yet personal approach to my work, where structure and creativity coexist. My father, influenced by his childhood in Malawi, developed a profound connection with nature—its lakes, rivers, and textures. Initially, I didn’t share this connection. As a child with OCD and a heightened sensitivity to cleanliness, I viewed nature as chaotic and overwhelming. Now, at 26 years old, this perception has evolved into admiration. Alongside my father’s influence, my mum, Fadi, has been my angel and guide. She has supported and encouraged me through every step of my journey, teaching me the importance of doing what makes me happy, regardless of others’ opinions. She’s been my moral grounding, always reminding me to stay true to myself. These influences have shaped my artistic themes—particularly my focus on nature and its intricate beauty. My father’s connection to the natural world sparked my curiosity, while my mum’s support has given me the freedom to explore art on my own terms. The techniques I use, especially in capturing the textures and details of botanicals, reflect the balance I was taught: precision and passion, structure and freedom. As I began pursuing art, nature naturally emerged as my subject. What started as curiosity blossomed into fascination. The veins of leaves, the textures of tree bark—these details now fuel my creativity. What once felt distant now pulls me in; trees, flowers, and plants are no longer overlooked but invite me to pause and observe, revealing beauty in every texture and form. While my art doesn’t focus on realism, I aim to capture nature’s essence—its intricate beauty and the transformation I’ve experienced alongside it.

Have you ever felt drawn toward a conventional career path? What made you take the “creative leap” despite the risks?

I initially pursued a conventional career, earning an LLB Law degree and immersing myself in the structure and discipline it demanded. Law represented a secure, well-defined future—a path deeply valued by my family. While they encouraged me to follow my passions, I never felt the “risk” of stepping away from law was insurmountable, especially with their unwavering support. However, for a long time, I resisted art. My perfectionism and OCD turned what should have been a creative outlet into a source of stress. I constantly discarded my work, frustrated by the gap between my vision and the finished piece. I struggled with subject matter, unable to find a theme that truly resonated with me. During law school, creativity found its way back to me through product photography. What began as a simple way to pass the time evolved into a deeper exploration of light, shadow, and composition—elements I had been missing in my artwork. When I picked up a pencil again, I realised my art had been waiting for me, ready to flourish with a clearer perspective. My work as a product photographer shaped my approach to botanical art. I began to view plants through the lens of still life, capturing their life cycles—blooming, evolving, and wilting. This blend of stillness and transformation allows me to explore both the quiet beauty and dynamic change in nature. In 2018, my sister and I co-founded The Aesthetic Siblings, a creative studio where we’ve worked professionally in product photography for seven years. Stepping into art wasn’t a leap into the unknown—it was a return to what had always been meant for me, a rediscovery of my creative roots.

How do you reignite creativity during those inevitable periods of self-doubt or stagnation?

The stress of academia and my perfectionism, influenced by OCD, initially created a barrier to creativity. But over time, I learned to embrace a more flexible approach. Photography, in particular, was a turning point for me. It was my sister’s mindset that helped me break free from rigidity. She encouraged me not to limit ourselves to a particular niche and to embrace companies’ brand identities and aesthetics, even if they didn’t visually align with ours. It became a challenge—could we make something aesthetically pleasing, even if we didn’t personally connect with the colours or style? This shift allowed me to push past expectations and helped my creativity flow more freely. Now, my mindset is simple: don’t overthink. After years of scrutinising every aspect of my work, I’ve realised that overthinking only breeds frustration. Instead, I focus on creating and let inspiration come naturally. If things don’t go as planned, I remind myself it’s part of the journey. At home, we always say, “Everything happens for a reason.” It’s a reminder that, despite any uncertainties or doubts we face, there is purpose in everything. The downs will eventually lead to the ups. Embracing the challenges, rather than dwelling in them, helps me stay grounded and move forward. The support of my family plays a huge part in this too. As long as my work feels true to me, and I have their encouragement, I feel secure in the process. For now, this approach has helped me quiet the doubt and embrace the creative flow with freedom. 

Describe a piece you’ve created that has held the most emotional weight for you. What makes it significant?

One of the most emotionally significant pieces I’ve created is ‘Roots and Blooms’, my first A3-sized work. For a long time, I felt safe within the confines of my A6 sketchbook. It became a running joke with my cousin sister—whether I’d ever move beyond something smaller. Transitioning to A4 felt overwhelming, and I struggled with the idea of working on anything larger. But after six months in my A6 book, I moved back to A4, and within just four months, I pushed myself further to A3. This shift is reflected in ‘Roots and Blooms’, symbolising my leap into larger-scale work and more expansive expression. ‘Roots and Blooms’ reflects the connections within my family, capturing the balance between origins and growth. Roots symbolise family, foundation, and beginnings, while blooms represent evolution and transformation. The way botany mirrors our journey, with both stillness and change, felt like a powerful metaphor for the human experience. Rather than selecting plants based on personal preference, I focused on the birth month flowers of my family—February, May, July, and October. This made the piece a tribute to how they’ve shaped my growth and the intricate web of influence within our family. This piece also marked my first step in sharing my work online. For the first time, my art wasn’t just for me—it became something meaningful to share with others. Now, I offer commissions for birth month flowers, turning my work into something sentimental for families, couples, and friendships. The emotional weight of ‘Roots and Blooms’ lies in its representation of nurture vs. nature—the way our origins shape us, but it’s through nurturing that we grow. It celebrates the power of roots to anchor us and the beauty of blooms to show us who we can become. It’s not just a personal milestone but a piece that resonates deeply with others. I hope viewers find meaning in the themes of family and transformation and reflect on their own birth month flowers. I invite them to see it as a hand-picked selection of my family’s flowers, each adding its own layer of meaning to the story.

How do you feel social media is shaping the way art is created, consumed, and valued today?

Social media has profoundly shaped how art is created and consumed. Platforms like Instagram allow artists to share their work, connect with others, and discover new techniques, making art more accessible. However, while it offers broader exposure, it also creates pressure. Algorithms mean not all art is seen, and work can easily go undervalued or overlooked, leading artists to feel their voices aren’t heard. Social media also influences the creation process, pushing artists to keep up with trends or produce more frequently. This can spur creativity but sometimes overshadows the slower, reflective aspects of art. Additionally, as art becomes part of the endless scroll, it can lose its depth and meaning, with viewers quickly glancing over pieces rather than taking the time to truly appreciate them. Despite these challenges, I use social media as a tool to fuel my creativity, not to compare myself to others. It has helped me find my artistic voice and connect with an audience that appreciates the themes I explore. While social media shapes how my work is valued through likes and comments, I believe true value lies in the emotional connection my art fosters, not in its online popularity. I hadn’t considered creating a dedicated art page until recently, when I decided to prioritise my art for 2025. It felt like a natural step forward, though I wasn’t sure if my work would resonate or if it was “good enough.” Social media can be a platform for sharing your journey and work, but it shouldn’t define your worth as an artist. Art’s true value lies beyond the virtual world—it’s in the impact it has, both on the artist and the viewer.

Can art be truly therapeutic? Have you experienced its healing power personally, or seen it impact others?

Absolutely, art is deeply therapeutic for me. I’ve always known that creating helped me unwind and relax, but it wasn’t until we recently lost someone in the family that I truly understood the healing power of art. After not drawing for over a month, picking up my pencil again felt like an emotional release. While my drawings may not carry the same emotions for others as they do for me, each piece marks a progression of the feelings I’m working through. The act of drawing—especially with graphite—has become a cathartic process, helping me channel my emotions. I’ve realised that the urge to create is directly tied to my emotional state. When I draw, I’m processing what I’m feeling. The tactile experience of graphite on paper is particularly powerful—the sound and texture of it feel like an outlet for everything I need to express. This has reminded me that art is much more than just a visual experience. It can be a form of emotional release, a way to heal when words fall short. Whether for myself or others, art provides a channel to navigate complex emotions, offering comfort and a path to emotional clarity.

Is art created for the artist, the audience, or somewhere in between?

I only recently began to ask myself this question as I transitioned from creating art solely for my own enjoyment to sharing it with others. I started wondering—should I create what feels right for me, as the artist, or should I consider what the audience might appreciate? In my view, art should always be created for the artist first. If it doesn’t resonate with you, it can quickly become tedious and uninspiring. However, the answer isn’t one-sided—it lies somewhere in between. While I create what feels true to me, I also want my work to connect with others in some meaningful way. The balance is crucial. Audiences evolve, and catering too much to them can take away from the joy of creation. Yet, creating with an audience in mind can push me outside my comfort zone, which often leads to growth and unexpected discoveries. As I focus on botanical art, I’ve questioned whether my audience would prefer scientifically accurate representations or more romanticised works. With social media and visual trends influencing art, some people may be drawn to the aesthetic beauty rather than the technical details. Ultimately, I aim to create art that speaks to both—those who appreciate the technical craftsmanship and those who are drawn to the visual appeal. I’m building a collection that balances artistic precision with more romanticised, visually pleasing representations of plant life. My hope is to create work that resonates with everyone, regardless of their background or art knowledge. By considering both audiences, I also hope to spark a deeper admiration for nature in those who may be overlooking it, much like I once did.

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

I believe an artist’s passion is destined. In Arabic, we have a word—naseeb—which refers to what is meant for you, the path that life sets out, even when it’s unexpected. I never imagined that, after earning my law degree, I would find my way back to art. In fact, I had fully set it aside, even as a hobby. The thought of dedicating myself to art seemed distant, almost surreal at the time. Looking back, however, I can see how my path unfolded exactly as it was meant to. If I could go back and tell 15-year-old me that I would one day be taking this interview, building a body of work, and managing a dedicated art page on Instagram, she would have thought I was dreaming. Art wasn’t a conscious choice for me back then—it was simply waiting, destined to re-enter my life when the time was right. I still don’t know where I’ll go from here. I’ll leave that to my naseeb, whether my future lies in photography, art, or perhaps something entirely different that I am yet to uncover.