‘I believed I was one of the cool kids’: Ingrid Persaud

The Costa-winning author describes her creative career, from embracing the arts scene in London to finding her voice as a writer in Barbados

It was the end of the 1990s, and I was in my 20s working as a legal academic at King’s College London, but I wasn’t in love with the law. I needed a change. During a sabbatical, I saw a newspaper advert for a foundation course at the Slade School of Fine Art. In a moment of madness I applied.

I arrived at the entrance interview, my hands swinging. Apparently, it was customary to offer a portfolio for scrutiny. Unfazed, I said I didn’t have one. Nor did I mention that Mrs Ali, my high school art teacher, expressly forbade me from pursuing the subject, citing a basic lack of talent. But she was 4,000 miles away in Trinidad, unable to stop me now. I told the interviewers I was enthusiastic. Would that be enough? I still don’t understand why, but they took a chance on me. I started a week later.

It was a baptism by fire, with long life-drawing sessions followed by group critiques. Every lunchtime I cried into my sandwich. My sketches were stick figures compared with the brilliantly rendered drawings my classmates produced. Mrs Ali was right: I didn’t have an artistic bone in my body. But I’d already paid a couple of thousand in fees, so contracted with myself daily to show up just one more time. The days became weeks that morphed into months. Eventually, I was hooked.

I emerged from those intense months of immersion in art and its history convinced that this was my calling. That crazy decision made me quit my job. It took me back to university, only I was now a Goldsmiths College art undergrad. This was followed by a masters in fine art at Central Saint Martins in London. Oh, and somewhere along the line we had twin baby boys.