Meet Mansi B

We were lucky to catch up with Mansi B recently and have shared our conversation below.

Hi Mansi, thank you so much for opening up with us about some important, but sometimes personal topics. One that really matters to us is overcoming Imposter Syndrome because we’ve seen how so many people are held back in life because of this and so we’d really appreciate hearing about how you overcame Imposter Syndrome.

I was 19 when the admissions committee at a prestigious design college in India said I was “clearly not an artist!” There was such finality to their statement as they flipped through my portfolio of meticulously-colored portraits, detailed landscapes and poignant poetry. I was deemed “unimaginative, unoriginal and having average talent.” They suggested a career in writing. Maybe?

Self-doubt, self-hatred, and an all-consuming feeling of worthlessness is all I remember leaving with … along with a crushed dream in my trembling hands.

25 years later, it still stings. It hurts because it became my truth. All those labels stuck with me. I was only good at copying the masters … not good enough to make something on my own. It also came with the implication that I could not learn … that I should simply give up. And that’s exactly what I did.

Five years later, I had a master’s degree in journalism and a job at a foster care as their communications coordinator. Ten years after that I was heading the philanthropy communications team at a healthcare facility. I had a cushy job, fueled by penning articles for the annual report, ghost-writing speeches for the CEO and profiling wealthy donors. But I never questioned it … because this is what the art experts said I could be good at. And what other option did I have? I was “clearly not an artist.”

In 2010 there was a shift when Instagram was launched, and along with it, the iPhone App Store offered a multitude of “photography apps.” I jumped at the possibility of creatively editing my digital images – it filled a hole in my heart and, before I knew it, I had found a community of like-minded people across the country.

When I was invited to be a guest speaker at the San Francisco flagship Apple Store in 2012, this is the bio I sent them: “I’m not an artist. I’m not a photographer. I’ve never been a visual person. For as long as I can remember, I’ve played with words – whether to earn a living or to relax, words have always been my trusted companions. Or they were, until December 2010 when I discovered Instagram. iPhone in hand, I shot everything and everyone. Told you, not an artist. Nor a photographer. But as that love affair with this app continued and my paths crossed those of distinguished iPhoneographers, I gave up my trusted companions for a beau who unleashed the creativity inside; who didn’t require much thought or finesse; who was happy with my quiet contemplations. I started seeing the world anew. 109 apps, $150 of iTunes expenses in the “photography” category, and many worldwide exhibits later, being a writer comes second. Being an iPhoneographer is second nature.”

While I wrote that, I also knew that this creative pursuit was just a hobby! I dismissed what I felt called to do as a side gig … almost afraid to own it, to declare that I wanted it to be more than a leisurely amateur interest, to pour myself into it. And I’ve often wondered if it was because of that moment when I was told I was not good enough.

Despite having my iPhone art exhibited in London, New York, Denver and San Francisco, despite being called an “expert” at using apps to make photographs look painterly, despite teaching a class on iPhoneography at a local art center … how could I have delusions of grandeur and refer to myself as an artist? I was “clearly not an artist.” It was undebatable.

And life would have continued in this ho-hum way had I not become pregnant in 2013. Suddenly, there were no expectations of me. I could quit my job without any other explanation besides “I want to enjoy this time.” I could digitally manipulate photos all day long, because it made me happy. And everyone knows, a happy mama makes a healthy baby.

I felt free. My sense of self-esteem and self-worth had never been stronger. I didn’t have to do better, be better, or actually even do anything. Not doing a job was completely acceptable — to everyone around me, and, therefore, to myself. I took long walks, I read books, I wrote, I enjoyed listening to music lazily sunning myself on our deck. It was the happiest I had ever been in my life.

When our daughter came along, it wasn’t what I had expected. I have never shared with anyone how intensely depressed I was. I had looked forward to being a mom my entire pregnancy but that first week, that first month, that first year…it was torture every day. I hated it. I hated being saddled with a child who had 32 allergies. I hated being under house arrest. I hated her dependence on me for survival. I hated being a housewife and that feeling of having to justify I was “doing my bit” by child-rearing, house-cleaning, laundry-folding and cooking. Was this what my life had become?

Thus, began a downward spiral of fading self-esteem. Guilt, shame, self-doubt, a feeling that I hadn’t made any right choices in my life…a sense of being a liability more than an asset…a free-loader…I wasn’t supposed to be just a housewife or just a mother. I had been told my entire life that I had the brains and the smarts to be more than that. And here I was, not a writer, not an artist. Just an utter disappointment … a mother who didn’t even enjoy being one. I conjured up ways of killing myself in a way that would be least cumbersome for those I’d leave behind. I researched so many options. Such a despicable human being with no respect or gratitude for life.

One night, I swallowed a bottle of painkillers and promptly threw up. That was the lowest moment of my life but also the most pivotal one. As my life flashed before me, I envisioned a different version … one in which I was painting on a beach with my toddler building a sand castle beside me, enveloped in the warmth of the sun, embraced by Mother Nature as we were – flawed and broken.

The next morning, as my little one smooshed Tempera paints on our wood floor, I quietly watched. She giggled as she deliberately poured paint on a surface she shouldn’t have, swiping it around, wiping it on our clothes, getting our furniture messy. Instead of feeling infuriated, I joined her.

My drooling, teething baby was showing me the world through her perspective. She was making her own version of art with no rules, no color theory, no sense of what art even was. She didn’t have anything to prove to anyone, any statement to make or any canvases to sell. She was simply playing! Oh to have that freedom! I clutched on to it and I held on tight.

What made her smile gave me an oasis – I bought some paper and “real” paints so I could feed my soul. Soon, scribbles turned into stories, thumbprints became art marks and messy fingers bore testimony to days filled with creative explorations. And I found myself exhaling.

For the first time, I felt like an artist. A “real” artist. And I didn’t need any external validation or approval for calling myself one. In fact, when I first displayed my paintings at the Los Altos Library in 2017, I wrote “self-taught artist” in the little bio and got a chuckle out of it. I was an artist without any training, without a certificate, without permission from the powers that be. It felt rebellious. It felt oh-so-right.

I had rediscovered an energy and a passion I felt I could no longer experience. And I slowly started sharing it with the world.

And now, a decade later, I have amassed a library of mixed media art. I am not a specialist, I don’t have a niche, I won’t ever be known for “that one thing” like most famous artists are, but I have something more than what is widely recognized as success: I have a whole community of empowered women who are returning to art as beginners.

They know they’re not going to feel invalidated, inadequate, judged, approved or disapproved. They aren’t graded or penalized for self-expression. They can simply be who they want to be. They can have fun! They can finger paint. They can let go. And in doing so, find the artist that has always been within them. Just like I did.

Appreciate the insights and wisdom. Before we dig deeper and ask you about the skills that matter and more, maybe you can tell our readers about yourself?

I am a self-taught mixed-media artist and creativity facilitator for women. For the last seven years, I have brought mindfulness, vulnerability, out-of-the-box-thinking and creative play to my studio, teaching thousands of women to feel confident in their own unique brand of art. I have been a brand ambassador and teacher for companies like Gelli Arts, Hero Arts, Colorado Craft Company, Brea Reese, Momenta, Derwent, Grafix Arts, One BadAss Art Journal, Catherine Pooler Stamps, Maker Forte, and MadeTV. I have also created my own series of stamps and stencils for Maker Forte, Unity Stamps Company and Crafty Meraki.

I have been making gratitude tags for the last seven years, handing them out to people in our community and in my travels — strangers with whom I have brief interactions probably just that one time. They are experiments in mixing mediums on different substrates, they are little vignettes of colorful joy, they are poetry, they are courage, they are art. They fill people’s hearts because it makes them feel seen, appreciated and valued. They fill mine because I’m purposely amplifying the happiness quotient in this world — one person at a time. Making something with one’s hands is a sacred experience. Losing oneself to the process is a gift.

My professional goal is two-fold: to empower women to reconnect with their three-year-old-uninhibited selves and with their new-found artistic confidence create something that will uplift, encourage and inspire the everyday invisible workers in our communities. I want people to feel more connected to themselves and to those around them.

We interact with so many people in our day-to-day lives without fully recognizing their value: the receptionists, the grocery clerks, the mail drivers, the janitors and custodians, the hotel check-in staff, the cabin crew on an airplane — these are just some examples of people going about their jobs with no expectation of appreciation.

My goal is for those of us who are artistically inclined to use our creative prowess to make these people feel seen. And, in turn, encourage them to see others.

There is so much advice out there about all the different skills and qualities folks need to develop in order to succeed in today’s highly competitive environment and often it can feel overwhelming. So, if we had to break it down to just the three that matter most, which three skills or qualities would you focus on?

Self-love, listening to your heart, and not giving up — those are the three main guiding principles that have made me the human and the artist I am today.

We get beat down by many outside forces that stop us from starting … the ideas that people have of who we are and what we should be. I have struggled with them my entire life only to realize that what you’re truly passionate about can never lead you astray. Time and time again, if you find yourself circling back to the things that bring you joy — be it cooking or painting or writing — then have the courage to pursue those avenues.

Trust your instincts, overcome external limitations, and pursue what resonate with your innermost desires. By doing so, you will be able to create a life that feels true to your core. Our passions are not mere distractions but essential components of our identity and well-being and only when we follow our hearts can we create a life that is both. fulfilling and meaningdul.

Looking back over the past 12 months or so, what do you think has been your biggest area of improvement or growth?

I stumbled my way into art almost a decade ago just as I was losing my sense of identity and purpose in life … it coincided with becoming a stay-at-home-mom, questioning everything I had stood for in terms of feminism, feeling entirely disempowered (financially, mentally, physically) and drowning in self-loathing and self-pity. Art became my sanctuary — my “white hole” if you will.

And I’ve done quite well for myself in the last five years, building a brand around MansiMakes, encouraging and uplifting women shrouded in self-doubt by sharing how I use creative expression as a tool to express my darkest fears, wholeheartedly embrace my imperfections, and re-discover what ignites me.

In this past year, immersed in a world of reels and shorts, I’ve unwittingly become a content-creator, a people-pleaser, a hustle-chaser. And as I’ve traveled in the last couple of months with a limited supply of art materials, I’ve realized there is so much more one can do when unencumbered by the self-imposed pressure of creating for someone.

As much as I love leading online workshops, when I create for myself the dynamic is so different.

It’s having the time to explore and play in silence, to lose myself completely in the practice, to see something emerge, to let something go, to feel the struggle every time, to experience the exhilarating feeling of being one with the process … it’s having a moment with myself. A relationship where there is no judgment, no questions, no direction … a relationship with my art that only I understand.

I have long derived my sense of purpose from helping others overcome. I’ve always felt a sense of accomplishment when my encouragement has led a woman to feel empowered enough to say “I’m an artist.” I revel in knowing that a little bit of nudging can bring our courageous three-year-old-selves to come out and play. I delight in appreciating people, in letting them know they are valued, in helping them realize they are loved just as they are. Nothing has given me more joy in the last few years than handing out gratitude tags, which I call my “little tokens of love.”

In the last 12 months, my biggest realization has been that I want to continue doing all of the above but in a way that feels unhurried, more intentional and, most of all, gentler to me. I want to create art for myself. And then hand out my creations to others. I want to amplify the happiness quotient in this world in a way that honors others but also while protecting the sanctuary that art has been for me.

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