Anne Mei Poppe
- Anna Lilli Garai
- 4 days ago
- 6 min read
Anne Mei Poppe is a painter based in the Netherlands. She worked for years in finance before turning fully to painting in her late twenties. Drawing and going to museums had always been part of her life, but becoming a mother made her decide to leave her job and focus on the studio. She now paints without sketches or fixed plans, and her recent works are larger and more physical than before.
In our interview, Poppe talks about changing direction, learning to trust her own rhythm, and working without knowing the outcome in advance. We also speak about daily studio life and her upcoming solo presentation.
Q: How did your non-linear artistic path begin, and how did painting become the direction you chose to follow?
A: Painting and drawing have been part of my life since early childhood. My mother studied art history and took me to museums constantly, while my father used to paint landscapes and scenery with me during holidays. At the same time, I was raised with the idea that you should study, build a solid career, and be independent.
When I was twenty-nine, I became pregnant, and I think that shifted something fundamental in me. At the time, I was working in asset management as a Sales Director, selling funds to institutional investors and family offices. I started asking myself different questions: What kind of mother do I want to be? What kind of example do I want to set?
I decided to enroll in an art course again, and that marked the beginning of my art practice. It was never planned — it felt as though it happened to me rather than being something I deliberately chose. I began selling work, created an Instagram account, and gradually built a network around my practice. After three years of combining my art with my corporate job, I finally quit. You could say I shifted from living mostly from my head to living much more from my heart.
Q: What made you trust that such a change in life and work was possible for you?
A: Becoming a mother made everything feel more urgent and more honest. I realized that nothing is permanent and that paths aren’t fixed. That insight was surprisingly freeing. I didn’t so much trust that the change would work out — I trusted that staying where I was no longer felt right. Once I accepted that you can go anywhere from anywhere, the transition felt less like a leap and more like a natural continuation.
Q: When you start a painting without knowing where it will end, how do you begin?
A: I usually begin with a rough idea — perhaps a loose composition or a color combination. I try to stay very open during the process, because often what you imagine beforehand doesn’t actually work in practice.
If I already know exactly how a painting should look, I tend to postpone starting it. That’s usually a sign I’m too close to certainty. Instead, I begin with movement, color, or a gesture and allow the painting to unfold gradually. I prefer to stay close to curiosity rather than outcome.
Q: How do you notice when you are staying too close to what feels familiar or “successful”?
A: When I begin a new painting, I actually prefer not to know where it will end. If I already have a clear image of what the work should look like, that’s often the moment I realize I’m staying too close to my comfort zone.
By now, I recognize those safe places well — certain color combinations, compositions, or gestures that I know will “work.” Paradoxically, that kind of certainty can feel paralyzing. It’s often a signal that it’s time to move away from what’s familiar.
Q: You speak about working beyond comfort. How do you recognize when it is time to take that risk?
A: If I want to grow or learn something new, I know I need to take risks. It’s interesting how unconsciously we settle into routines and familiar patterns. For my upcoming solo exhibition, I consciously challenged myself to let go of that security.
At one point, I began working obsessively on a canvas measuring three by five meters, for which I had to rent a temporary studio. I had no idea whether I would ever be able to show the work, and I strongly suspected it would be completely unsellable — but that was precisely the point. Because of its scale and the limited time I had, I was forced to paint quickly and instinctively, using a different technique. It’s an approach I now want to translate into my smaller works as well. Eventually, I was given the opportunity to present this painting during my solo presentation at Mini Galerie this February.
Q: You work from intuition rather than control. How do you experience what Jung called the “collective unconscious” while painting?
A: When I’m not occupied with my thoughts while painting — which is why I love listening to podcasts in the studio, to keep my mind distracted — I work almost entirely from intuition. It’s fascinating to notice how certain elements keep appearing: figures, movements, motifs that only later reveal their meaning.
I believe every artist has access to this intuitive layer — what Jung referred to as the collective unconscious — but that it takes courage to truly trust it, myself included. It means accepting that you don’t always understand what you’re making while you’re making it, and that meaning often emerges later, sometimes through the eyes of someone else. That openness makes the process vulnerable, but also intensely alive.
Q: Certain figures and gestures keep coming back in your paintings. At what point do they start to make sense for you?
A: I’ve had several experiences while creating commissioned works where I painted a symbol or detail that turned out to be deeply personal and meaningful to the collector — without knowing it beforehand.
We often want to explain everything and make sense of everything immediately. But we don’t always have to. I believe we can learn to trust ourselves and our intuition more, and allow meaning to reveal itself in its own time.
Q: Working at a much larger scale forced you to paint faster and differently. What did that change in your process?
A: The scale, combined with limited time, removed the possibility of overthinking. I had to work quickly, physically, and intuitively. There was no space for hesitation or correction. That urgency shifted my technique — it made the process less precise and gave the work a certain raw energy. It’s something I’m now very curious to explore further in my smaller works as well.
Q: Your solo presentation at Mini Galerie is coming up. What can you tell us about this new body of work?
A: "Connecting The Dots" is a vibrant and intuitive series that celebrates freedom, expression, and the subtle moments of connection woven into everyday life. Each painting honors fleeting sparks — a shared glance, the gentle synchronicity between chaos and harmony, the quiet joy hidden in ordinary moments.
The layered compositions reveal both the expansiveness and intimacy of human experience, inviting viewers to slow down and notice how the pieces of their own lives fall into place. In this series, I explore the idea that meaning often emerges through intuition rather than logic, where bold forms, soft abstractions, and fluid gestures echo the ways coincidences and encounters shape our paths. What may appear spontaneous becomes, on reflection, part of a larger pattern — an unfolding narrative that connects the dots of lived experience.
Q: Looking ahead, what directions do you want to explore next in your practice?
A: I want to continue working in the space between certainty and uncertainty — pushing intuition further, exploring scale, and allowing the work to evolve without fixing it too early. Above all, I want to keep surprising myself.
Again, you can go anywhere from anywhere.
