Playfulness, vulnerability, and experimentation shape the evolving practice of Bria Fernandes. Figurative painting becomes a space where surreal imagery, illustrative influences, and emotional honesty intersect. Early interests in cartoons, graphic drawing, and tattoo aesthetics now merge with oil painting, creating works that balance humor, strangeness, and psychological tension. Alongside the studio practice, experiences of collaboration, community, and personal risk continue to shape the direction of the work. In this conversation, Bria Fernandes reflects on creative failure, artistic growth, the value of ambiguity, and the role of vulnerability within contemporary figurative painting.

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Name five pivotal lessons you’ve learned that shaped your artistic journey.

One of the biggest lessons I’m still learning is that failure is unavoidable when you’re an artist. I definitely still fear it, but I’m learning to accept that trying new things means some of them won’t work out the way you hoped. And for me, failure hasn’t just been about making artwork that doesn’t turn out; it’s also been things like speaking on panels, doing interviews, applying for opportunities, or putting yourself in situations that feel uncomfortable. Being an artist often means stepping into spaces where you don’t feel completely confident yet. I’ve had to learn that it’s okay to embarrass yourself a little, stumble through things, or not do something perfectly the first time. Those experiences are usually where the most growth happens.

Another big lesson has been saying yes to opportunities. Saying yes to projects, collaborations, or even just helping other artists has led to experiences that shaped my practice in ways I couldn’t have planned. At the same time, I’m also learning the opposite lesson, which is when to say no. Burnout can creep in pretty quickly, especially when you’re excited about everything. Learning how to protect your time and energy is something I’m still figuring out. Community has also been incredibly important to me. Having other artists around you really matters. The friends, peers, and collaborators I’ve met through art have pushed me, supported me, and helped me see my work in new ways. I genuinely don’t think I’d be where I am without those relationships. They’ve also helped open doors along the way, sharing opportunities, introducing me to new people, and connecting me with others in the art world. Meeting other artists and discovering their work can be really inspiring, and you never know who you’ll cross paths with or where those connections might lead. Those relationships have played a big role in helping my practice grow.

And finally, I’ve learned that being an artist also means learning how to manage yourself. You end up being your own boss, organizing opportunities, promoting your work, and keeping things moving. It’s not always the glamorous side of art, but it’s an important part of sustaining a creative life.

What unusual or unexpected sources of inspiration have deeply influenced your work?

One of the funny things about my work is that a lot of my inspiration comes from art styles I didn’t originally think belonged in my practice. I’ve always loved looking at illustrative work, things like tattoo art, cartoons, graphic drawings, and bold, stylized imagery. For a long time, I kept that interest completely separate from my painting practice because I thought of my oil paintings as something more serious. But recently I’ve started letting those influences slip into the work. The bold lines, the slightly surreal imagery, the playfulness of illustration, it’s all starting to mix with my figurative paintings. And honestly, that combination has been really exciting for me. So, in a way, some of the biggest inspirations for my work come from the kinds of images I grew up loving, even if they didn’t originally feel like “fine art.”

How important is it for viewers to understand the intended message of your work?

It’s actually not that important to me that viewers interpret the work exactly the way I intended. One of the things I enjoy most is when someone comes up to me and tells me what they see in a painting, and it’s completely different from what I originally had in mind. Sometimes those interpretations are so interesting that they make me look at my own work in a new way. I also don’t really like the idea that symbols or objects should have one fixed meaning. While I sometimes research symbolism, like what certain animals or objects traditionally represent, I prefer when those meanings stay flexible. I like the idea that viewers can bring their own experiences into the work and find something personal there.

How has your artistic style transformed over the years? Are there specific influences, experiments, or moments that marked a turning point?

My work has definitely gone through a few different phases. Early on I was making very illustrative and surreal drawings, cartoon characters, strange creatures, dreamlike scenes, and figures with multiple arms. There was a lot of playfulness and weirdness in those pieces. Later, when I started focusing more seriously on painting, my work shifted toward figurative portraiture, often just a single figure with less happening around them. For a long time I kept those two sides of my practice completely separate. The strange illustrative work felt like the “fun” work, while the oil paintings felt like the more serious gallery work. At one point someone suggested that I try combining the two. Once I started experimenting with that idea, something really clicked. Now I’m much more interested in letting those surreal, illustrative elements exist within my figurative paintings, and it’s opened up a lot of possibilities in the work.

Do academic institutions still play a vital role in shaping artists today, or has self-taught creativity disrupted this tradition?

I think art schools still play an important role, mainly because they create a space for community and conversation. Being surrounded by other artists, having regular critiques, and being able to ask questions constantly can be really valuable. Critiques in particular are something I’ve always enjoyed, because they push you to see your work from different perspectives. That said, I definitely think artists can succeed without formal education if they have the discipline and drive to build their own practice. For me personally, structure helps a lot. I have ADHD, and without deadlines or an environment focused on making work, I probably wouldn’t produce nearly as much. I’d probably just go to work, come home, watch anime, and not create, which would honestly make me pretty sad and feel guilty. So I think both paths are valid. It really depends on what each artist needs to support their practice.

Does ambiguity add value, or do you seek clarity in your expression?

I’m definitely drawn to art that feels a little mysterious or strange, rather than something that explains everything clearly. I actually enjoy that experience in other forms of art too. For example, the movie The Green Knight was super weird, I had no idea what was happening half the time. When it ended I immediately went online searching “what did all that mean?” and trying to piece everything together. That process of curiosity and interpretation is really fun to me. When something isn’t fully explained, it invites you to sit with it longer and think about it from different angles. So I think ambiguity can add a lot of depth to an artwork.

Art is often chosen as a medium for its freedom. Why do you personally turn to art, rather than another form of expression?

Visual art has always felt like the most natural way for me to communicate. I’ve never been great at expressing my thoughts out loud. Sometimes it’s hard for me to articulate what I’m feeling in words, especially in conversation. But when I’m working visually, through figures, animals, objects, and symbols, it becomes much easier to express those emotions. I’m also a very visual learner, so thinking through images feels intuitive to me. Painting allows me to show emotional states or inner experiences that might be difficult to explain verbally. In many ways, my artwork becomes a kind of language that speaks when I can’t quite find the words.

If you could communicate just one core message through your entire body of work, what would it be?

If there’s one message that runs through my work, it’s probably the idea of vulnerability and the internal anxieties people carry. Everyone experiences moments of insecurity, doubt, or emotional tension, even if they don’t always talk about it openly. In my work I try to externalize those internal states, making visible the kinds of thoughts or feelings that often stay hidden. In a way, the process is also me being vulnerable. The work becomes a space where those emotions can exist openly rather than being pushed aside.

How do you reconcile the tension between raw, innate creativity and the discipline required to master your craft?

I don’t really see creativity and discipline as opposing forces. For me, they kind of grow together. The more I practice and develop technical skills, the more freedom I feel when I’m experimenting with ideas. At the same time, I’ve learned that I personally work best when there’s some kind of structure or deadline involved. Without that structure, ideas can just float around forever without actually turning into finished work. Deadlines help me focus and push ideas forward. So in a way, discipline becomes something that actually supports creativity rather than limiting it.

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Across each reflection, Bria Fernandes returns to the importance of curiosity, openness, and the courage to remain vulnerable within the creative process. Illustration, surreal imagery, and figurative painting continue to merge, forming a visual language shaped by experimentation and personal experience. Lessons around community, self-management, and the acceptance of failure remain central to sustaining a creative life. Through this evolving practice, Bria Fernandes continues to transform internal anxieties, uncertainty, and emotional tension into images that invite viewers to reflect on the hidden layers of human experience.