In conversation with our 2025 early career awardees: “Being in a space with other artists and seeing how they work really makes you want to push yourself to try something new”
Step into Studio 108 at Acme’s Warton House and you enter a space of possibility and experimentation. Home to our early career artists, the studio is always in flux—reshaped by each new cohort.
In this conversation, the four recipients of Acme’s 2025 Early Career Programme awards—Eilen Itzel Mena, Meej Douglas, Oto Holgers Ozoliņš, and Matilde Araoz Ellis—share how having access to a dedicated studio space has opened up new directions in their practices. From painting and sculpture to sound, performance, and sculpture, their diverse approaches come together to form something unexpectedly unified. Here, they speak about their beginnings, the evolution of their work, and the impact of creating alongside one another.
Could you tell me a little bit about your background as an artist and your practice before you got the award?
Oto: I’ve been working in sculpture since my Bachelor's and Master's. At the Art Academy of Latvia, it was a straightforward process—you’d get a topic, a problem, a form, and you’d just have to make something. I was always really into the technical side of things—materials, tools, processes. Back in art and design high school, I built my own workshop out of bricks and concrete blocks, just learning how to do it from YouTube videos.
Getting into the Academy was kind of surprising, honestly—I had to sculpt and draw a live nude model for the first time in my life and then replicate a classical plaster sculpture. Then COVID hit, and that really shifted my practice. I started carving a wooden spoon every day for 400 days straight. After that, I quit smoking and trained for a marathon. That period taught me the value of repetition, of doing something over and over to build an art project. Now, my practice revolves around that idea, but in anecdotal ways that are familiar and recognisable to a viewer.
Meej: I studied photography for my undergraduate degree, but quickly realised I didn’t enjoy working strictly within the medium too much. I didn’t want to go through the hassle of switching courses, so I started making films instead. I’d been doing that since I was a kid, just not in an artistic context. That was just before COVID, and during lockdown I started experimenting with green screen films.
At the time, I was really focused on simulating the experience of depersonalisation and derealisation, to raise awareness of it. I was fascinated by how cinematic techniques could be used to replicate that experience. For my Master's, I shifted to fine art because I wanted to keep making films but without getting stuck in the technical side—I wanted to develop my ideas more than my technique. On the MA, I began working with performance, sound, installation, and writing, all of which have become integral to my practice. They either feed into the films or sit alongside them.
Mati: I did my undergraduate degree in photography in Falmouth, Cornwall, where I focused mainly on analogue processes—darkroom work, cyanotypes, that kind of thing. Oto's doing a lot of that now. I graduated right before lockdown and took a few years away from education. During that time, I tried to maintain a practice while working various jobs.
Lockdown gave me the time to experiment again, and I realised I wanted more support and freedom—especially to work across different media. So, I went back to do a Fine Art MA. I ended up making mostly film work, with a strong emphasis on sound. Thematically, my work explores folklore and belief systems in different communities, and how those systems can be reinterpreted to make sense of personal or collective experiences. After my MA, I spent two months in South America researching these ideas, and I’m still processing all of that—I’m not sure what form it’ll take yet.
Itzel: I’m originally from the Bronx, New York, but I did my BA in Los Angeles at the University of Southern California. I studied sculpture, mostly because it was the most multidisciplinary department—people were making objects, performing, doing all kinds of things. My focus became performance and conceptual art through sculpture.
At the same time, I studied urban planning, focusing specifically on food justice—how to bring affordable, healthy food to underserved urban communities. That really opened my eyes to the systemic disadvantages faced by Black and brown communities in the U.S. I also studied abroad in Bahia, Brazil. I didn’t make art while I was there, but when I came back and no longer had access to workshops or studio space, I just started drawing every day.
Something about that daily drawing practice became very intuitive. I was drawn to crayons—childlike materials—and really started tapping into that inner child, the Afro-Latina part of me that had lived in Latin America. That eventually led to painting, and I noticed that a big part of my practice was community-based. Then, me and a friend started a social practice called Honey and Smoke, which really kicked up during the pandemic as people were seeking ways to connect.
Initially, my painting was rooted in identity—specifically, the legacy of transatlantic slavery. But over time I realised that even before that, I was painting things that made me happy. That shift led me to explore joy as a political act. Now my work is about the politics of joy—how Black and brown communities wield joy as a form of resistance. The paintings are childlike, vibrant, intuitive—I want them to be visually undeniable.
"For me, this is maybe the first time in—I don’t even know how long—that I can actually just focus on doing what I want to do."
It’s interesting that all of you mention COVID and lockdown as a turning point—it seems like that experience really shaped your practices in different ways. I know you’ve only been in this studio for three months, but has it changed your practice in any way?
Itzel: Since being here, I’ve felt this shift in my spirit—I really want to do more lens-based work. Not necessarily filming my own footage but working with old archival material and using it to connect the dots between different parts of the diaspora I’ve been thinking about. That’s been on my mind a lot, especially because a few of the artists here work with lens-based media. Seeing them on their computers editing makes me think, “I should be doing that too—I need to get these clips together!” I’ve got so many ideas now, but I feel like I’m shifting into research mode. I just need a break from making with my hands for a bit. Right now, I’d rather be on my computer, using a mouse, piecing things together and editing.
Mati: I’m kind of the opposite. Seeing Oto and Itzel working so physically makes me want to get off my screen—but I’m not totally sure what to do yet. I’ve worked with clay over the last few years, using site-specific materials. One of the sculptures in my degree show was made from clay I dug up in Cornwall, at the site of what’s becoming a lithium mine. I also brought some clay back from Bolivia, which is where I’m from, from a similar kind of site. Even though that sculpture was technically digital—it was 3D-printed—I’m thinking more now about how I can actually work with my hands and that raw material in a more direct way. Being in a space with other artists and seeing how they work really makes you want to push yourself to try something new.
Meej: Yeah, I totally agree with Mati. Watching people working with their hands makes you want to do it too. I’ve been experimenting with random physical things lately, probably nothing that’ll go anywhere, but just for fun. Like Itzel, I’ve had shows running the whole time we’ve been here, so I haven’t had the headspace to really pause and think about where I want to go next. It’s been more about preparing for install and being in exhibition mode. But now that I’ve got a bit of a break, I think I’ll use the studio space more intentionally. Just having a space that’s separate from home, where you can be messy, really encourages you to veer off course a bit and try things. That said, I’ll definitely keep sound and video as my core practices.
Oto: For me, this is maybe the first time in—I don’t even know how long—that I can actually just focus on doing what I want to do. Before, it was always the last couple of weeks before the end of a semester when I’d finally get to make the stuff I really liked. The rest of the time was spent just getting through assignments and doing work. But now, I can just wake up and do whatever I want, and it’s kind of amazing.
I was actually scared of that moment—you know, the one we’re all sort of waiting for, where you can just be an artist. I worried that when it finally came, I might realise, “Wait, what if I actually don’t like this?” [laughs]. But what’s been interesting is that things that used to just be ideas—like doing cyanotypes or black-and-white photography—I can now spend three full days experimenting with. Seeing what works, what doesn’t, what I enjoy. That’s been a major change for me, and honestly, it’s really nice.
"I love the idea of all our work coming together—we each specialise in such different mediums, and I’m really curious to see how that plays out. I think it’ll push me to think even more outside the box… and I’m already kind of out of the box!"
And just to follow up on that—Oto, you spoke about imagining what it would be like to be an artist with a studio, and then suddenly you are one. I’m curious: did any of you have expectations going into the residency or the studio space? Have those expectations aligned with the reality so far—or did you not really have any, and just came in open to whatever?
Oto: Yeah. I remember asking one of the teachers who helped create the Helen Scott Lidgett Award in Latvia, like, “But what am I going to do there?” [laughs]. I was worried—I only really knew how to use drills and tools, and I thought, what if I needed to cut something or make something loud? Will that be a problem? He just said, “Ah, you’ll get used to it. It’ll be fine.” But that really was one of the main things I was thinking about—what I would do in a studio without all my usual tools.
Itzel:
You can be loud! [laughs].
Meej: I came to the open studios here a few months before the residency started, so I had a sense of the space. Once I saw it, I was really excited to have room to make larger-scale work again. I also wanted to test out projection and green screen stuff, and this space is ideal for that. I don’t have the space to film or experiment like that anywhere else.
Mati: I honestly can’t remember what expectations I had, but I think I assumed I’d come back from Bolivia and be like, “Okay, I know exactly what I’m going to do now.” But actually, it’s been the opposite—I feel a little more lost, but in a good way. After the structure and constant deadlines of studying, it’s just been so nice to have a bit of breathing room, without pressure. I thought I’d come in with a clear plan, but instead, I’m just enjoying the space—like meej said, especially having the physical space to play and figure things out.
How about you, Itzel?
Itzel: I was just ready to get to work, honestly—because I paint really large, and I was excited to finally have space to do that. I love how much light there is in the studio, although I was a little nervous at first—like, how am I going to paint with all these windows? But I was really happy with how they divided up the space—it gave me the walls I needed to test things out and work the way I wanted. Other than that, I didn’t have many expectations. I was just excited to stay in London a bit longer and have more interaction with the art world outside of academia. I’m not from here, so I was really looking forward to the visits and connections, with curators and mentors.
It's so valuable having that space—both physical and mental—especially with the constant pressure to always be making. Now that you've settled into the studio, and we’ve covered some of your background and expectations, I wanted to ask: what are you most looking forward to over the next few months? You’ve mentioned the mentors and visits, and of course there’s the open studios in May and the final exhibition.
Oto: Yeah, I’m really looking forward to the studio visits and mentoring sessions. I think they could really help give some direction, especially because the show still feels so far away. It’s also hard to plan anything back in Latvia while I’m here, and everything there is kind of paused—like people don’t offer opportunities right now just because I’m away. So, everything that might happen—exhibitions or whatever—is like a year after this residency ends. Right now, I feel like I’m just making things without a clear reason, which maybe is a good feeling—or maybe not. I don’t know. I’ve worked without a salary for years, with some exceptions, so that part doesn’t bother me. But part of me is scared to try something ambitious because I feel like there isn’t enough time. And another part of me still really wants to push and make something meaningful out of this. So, I think mentoring will help me get some perspective.
Meej: I’m really excited to just get on with my film. In the last show I was in, I showed a short snippet—that’s all I’ve managed to finish so far—and even just during that show, and since we’ve had the studio, I’ve had so many new ideas for it that I haven’t had the chance to bring to life yet. I’m really looking forward to having the time and headspace to do that. And yeah, I’m also excited about the mentorship. I want to speak to people across different areas I’m interested in—someone in academia, a filmmaker, a curator. And of course, the show at the end—I haven’t exhibited work with people outside of my collective for over a year now, so I’m looking forward to seeing how our practices sit together. I think it’s going to be fun.
Mati: Yeah, for me, it’s mostly the mentors too. I was really grateful for the list Acme sent—it felt super relevant to my practice, and it was clear they’d put a lot of thought into it. Some were people I already follow or am in conversation with, and others I hadn’t heard of but now want to know more about. So, I’m excited to meet them and see where those conversations go. I’m also looking forward to working with a curator over the course of the year for our exhibition. I’ve never had that kind of dialogue before in the lead-up to a show, so I think that’ll be good practice for the future. And it’s exciting to think about how all our works, which are different, might come together in one space. That feels like a challenge in the best way.
Itzel: I’m also excited about the mentorship and getting to know the art ecosystem here in London, outside of the academic bubble. And I’m looking forward to the show. I love the idea of all our work coming together—we each specialise in such different mediums, and I’m really curious to see how that plays out. I think it’ll push me to think even more outside the box… and I’m already kind of out of the box! So that feels exciting and affirming. I’m just really happy to be in that kind of creative space.
"Being connected to Acme definitely ties you into the wider art world. There are events, people to meet, opportunities. So, in that sense, it feels like you’ve got a foot in the larger ecosystem. But having the physical studio is also such a gift—it allows you to retreat into your own space."
Are there any other upcoming projects, exhibitions, or plans you'd like to share?
Itzel: One of the main things I’ve wanted to focus on here is my social practice, which I had to put on pause while I was at Slade School of Fine Art. My collaborators and I in LA have been working to bring it back. I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to build community in a place that I’m not from—while being mindful of honouring those who have already been doing that work.
We actually started our own mentorship program back in 2022. A big part of our practice involves designing—not just graphically or spatially, but also educationally. We created a workbook outlining how we’d like to be mentored—ideally over 10 sessions across five months. That’s sparked deeper conversations between me and my collaborator about how to cultivate intimacy and care in our own dynamic, not just through projects meant for others. I’ve also been thinking more about how to hold myself accountable to my values within my own practice.
Speaking of community, do you see this studio space—and each other—as its own kind of ecosystem? Or does it feel more like a separate bubble within the larger London art world?
Oto: I feel like I’m a bit outside all the bubbles right now. I’ve kind of fallen into the same habits I had in Latvia—just going to the workshop, making things. But that’s on me. I know I need to be putting myself out there more, going to openings, making connections. I’m still trying to figure out what I want to make here. Time feels like it’s slipping through my fingers. I keep trying to make a plan—library one day, an opening the next—but then I’ll end up spending three days making a fishing rod. That’s just how it goes, I guess. But I like that we have the mentoring programme, and even things like this interview—it gives structure and makes you pause and reflect. That’s valuable.
Mati: It’s still early days, so the rhythm of everyone being in the studio at the same time hasn’t quite kicked in yet. Usually, it’s just two of us in different combinations. But I think the open studio and upcoming visits will help build that momentum. Right now, it still feels a bit scattered—but I imagine that’ll shift. Coming straight from a Master's, where you're constantly surrounded by artists, it does feel strange to suddenly be on your own, but this space is really helpful with that.
Meej: I think, like you were saying, the beauty is that it’s both—a bubble and a community. Being connected to Acme definitely ties you into the wider art world. There are events, people to meet, opportunities. So, in that sense, it feels like you’ve got a foot in the larger ecosystem. But having the physical studio is also such a gift—it allows you to retreat into your own space. I live nearby, so I’ll often stay late working, alone in the dark, just focused. That solitude can be so necessary too.
Eilen Itzel Mena's visual arts practice is deeply rooted in documenting a femme afro-diasporic intersectional experience. She focuses on depicting growth and transformation through an understanding of community, ancestry, purpose and the connection between the child self and the adult self. She is interested in investigating the way that folks in the African Diaspora are in pursuit of joy as well as their personal and communal purpose through using a variety of materials. She uses painting, drawing, printmaking, sculpture, installation and performance as tools for the pursuit of joy.
In 2017, Eilen was awarded a BA in Fine Art from the USC Roski School of Art & Design. This past June, she received an MFA in Painting from the UCL Slade School of Fine Art. She has shown work internationally and has also received various artist grants.
Eilen is the 2025 recipient of The Adrian Carruthers Award, in partnership with the Slade School of Fine Art.
The overarching locus to Meej Douglas’ practice is a motivation to critique the categorising and confessional conventions of clinical language in the psychiatric arena.
A Burroughsesque and Deleuzoguattarian approach to filmmaking, writing, and sound form the methods through which the artist attempts to subvert these conventions, in order to put forth alternative devices for articulating one’s subjectivities.
Douglas harnesses a cut-up method to their writing practice, which draws upon the schizoanalytic, rhizomatic, and chaotic. Thence the ‘central subject’ ceases to be so clearly defined and explored as some sort of specimen to be understood and delineated. Instead, there is a comfort in sitting within the ineffable.
Often spawning through the artist’s writing practice, Douglas’ oeuvre exists in constant autosarcophagy - where a visceral and biomythographic use of repetition and contradiction unveils the ineffable; the processual self-cannibalising and regenerating of the initial text’s contents produces or uncovers (often nonsensical) meaning.
Douglas is a 2025 recipient of The Helen Scott Lidgett Award, in partnership with Central Saint Martins and the family of Helen Scott Lidgett.
Oto Holgers Ozoliņš' artistic practice, rooted in process-based sculpture, explores themes such as personal growth and countering idleness. During lockdown, Oto carved one wooden spoon a day for 400 consecutive days, which resulted in his first solo show. This habit-building approach not only led him to attempt to build a boat, quit smoking, running a marathon, and training for a triathlon, but also reshaped the meaning of applying form to traditional materials.
Now, his work centres around decision-making and mapping out his own limitations, forging new links between materiality and performativity.
Oto is a 2025 recipient of The Helen Scott Lidgett Award, in partnership with Art Academy of Latvia and the family of Helen Scott Lidgett.
Matilde Araoz Ellis is an Anglo-Bolivian artist based in London. Her practice spans across sound, moving image and sculpture to explore spaces that exist in a fragile balance, interconnected by economic histories and geopolitics of mining.
Her work often reimagines existing stories: historically, mythically and speculatively, inviting viewers to reconsider how collective and personal histories shape our understanding of the present and the possible futures that emerge from it.
Matilde is a recipient of the Goldsmiths MFA Award in partnership with Goldsmiths, University of London.