On Confidence
We talk about confidence as though it's something you either have or you don't. But the women we admire most tend to describe it differently. As something earned, tested, and closely tied to the environments they work in, the people around them, and the courage to do things on their own terms. We spoke with three of them about what that looks like in practice.
Dutch artist Nuria Maria grew up around art and ended up inside it. She studied at the art academy in Maastricht, started out figurative, and gradually moved toward abstraction. Her paintings try to capture something specific but hard to hold: a quality of light, the atmosphere of a moment, the shift between seasons. She describes confidence in a similar sense: not something you have, but something you protect. Through vulnerability, through sincerity, through refusing to make work for anyone's liking but your own.
How do you relate to the concept of confidence?
For me, confidence has to do with daring to be vulnerable, open, sincere. Being interested in others and things outside your own world. Not feeling all too conscious of oneself constantly. Seeing things with a little bit of humour. Being true to oneself. I think people who dare to not fit in can be very inspiring. How confident we feel is shaped by the people around us and how we grew up — whether it feels safe to be yourself.
What makes you feel confident?
Finding joy in doing something specific. I have always had a strong sense that what I wanted to make would come out that way. It has to do with doing things for yourself initially, and realising how that changes your perspective compared to doing something for other people's liking. Creating gives me confidence, but so does being in nature. It puts things in perspective. I go for long walks, or when it's raining I go for car rides around the countryside, and it grounds me. And most importantly: being around my family. The bond I have with my parents and my sister is something that definitely shaped me.
You have a distinct point of view within your work. How have you developed it and how do you protect it?
I developed my style gradually, always with an urge to push as far as I could. I have worked like a maniac over the past years, because I wanted to. I can truly lose myself in painting and have always felt incredibly restless when I'm not making something. But I also need moments where I don't paint — to clear the mind and make space. It's a very important part of my process, often a time where I write about certain ideas or themes I want to build out in a show. My paintings, abstract or figurative, are carried by my emotions. I have always been obsessed with colours and beautiful things. I collect them, arrange them, get attached to them — which is perhaps not always considered the best thing to do, but it is who I am. I can spend hours arranging things by colour: in the house, on the shelves, collecting photos, postcards. I am obsessed with the visual and the emotional. This combination leads to where I am now. To protect that, I must allow myself to be vulnerable and as honest as I can be. If I want to protect my work, I need to protect the sincerity of it. And understand that in the end, what I make, I make for myself.
Are there artists or artworks that have changed your perception of confidence?
What inspires me most is when someone dares to be vulnerable, to show something true to them — whether in art, music or film. That doesn't mean the person themselves is necessarily confident, but the act is. That form of being brave inspires me. The artists that seem to make the least concessions often show the most joy in their work. A certain possessedness, an urge, that I find deeply inspiring.
Does confidence in your professional life look different from confidence in your personal life?
You don't have to feel good or confident emotionally to make something strong. And vice versa — you can feel incredibly joyful and make something that looks more intimate. With my work, it's easier to separate outside influences or critiques than when it concerns my personal life, where I am very sensitive. Deciding that you are the one to judge your own work is a strong position to work from. In my personal life, I can't just distance myself from other people's emotions or opinions.
We live in a time of constant comparison. How does that affect you as an artist, and do you think it’s harder today to create a distinct practice as an artist? In what way?
I don't compare myself to other artists. The tricky thing with social media is that you can create your own bubble without noticing, and these bubbles create a certain style you could get trapped in. It's important not to be tempted by that. This is different, though, from being inspired by others or appreciating their work. In that respect, social media has been an incredible tool to meet people in my field.
We tend to associate confidence with success, but in my opinion confidence is often built or strengthened when things don’t go as planned. How do you look at the relationship between confidence and getting it wrong? Is there an example you’d be open to share?
Perhaps the time I randomly moved to Rotterdam after the art academy. I'm not a city person at all, so it feels like a strange decision in hindsight. Before I moved there I had only been once, and that visit was inside a museum. Even though I desperately tried to make it work, I found myself running back to the countryside almost every weekend. It made me realise I need green around me, solitude and space to work. It convinced me to start looking for a barn in the countryside to live and work in. And I found that place. Being outside more absolutely transformed my work. I am a firm believer in letting things not go as planned — it will lead you somewhere else, if you are open to it. That is how work grows naturally. And it is something I really had to learn: to let go of constant control.
There's a physical dimension to confidence that doesn't get discussed seriously enough — what you wear, how a space makes you feel, whether a room was designed with your body in mind. How much of confidence is environmental?
This is something I think about constantly. There's this saying: attention beautifies everything. In architecture, the use of materials, measurements, light, climate, colours all influence how we feel physically and emotionally. On a bigger scale, I think places with characteristic elements — unique buildings, local shops, subcultures, small companies instead of big franchises — affect the mindset of people enormously. A city should create the opportunity to explore: new things, old things, rarities, expertise. That helps to discover and develop one's identity. I am currently building my own space: a barn I bought in Limburg, a big renovation project with the goal of creating an inspiring place designed for art and design to come out at their best.
Are there people, places or rituals that reliably bring you back to yourself? Is there a part of your life where you're still building confidence?
People: my family, always. Places: the south of Limburg, where I come from, and Finland, where my grandmother came from. Rituals: a glass of wine with friends, playing the piano, going into nature. I think every time you take steps doing something new, you are re-testing your confidence. That challenge is healthy. I should not take my own confidence for granted. I feel like I have to earn part of it over and over again, and I owe it to myself to keep challenging myself like that.
Eva Langret has spent her career shaping how people encounter art. Born and raised in Paris, she studied economics before completing a master's in art history at SOAS in London. Her early work was in public galleries championing African, Caribbean and Asian artists, and she went on to direct a London gallery focused on artists from Africa and its diaspora. She now leads one of the world's most influential art platforms, overseeing its artistic programme and working with over 150 galleries, collectors and curators across 43 countries. She describes confidence not as boldness but as clarity — the quiet conviction that you can handle whatever outcome occurs, even when things don't go as planned. For her, doubt isn't the opposite of confidence. It's the key to it.
Confidence is a word we use constantly but rarely examine. What does it actually feel like to you?
People often mistake confidence for cockiness or arrogance. I think confidence feels like a sense of internal peace and self-trust — the quiet conviction that you can handle whatever outcome occurs, even if things don't go as planned. It’s the absence of the ‘negative noise’ that clutters the mind and the feeling of a certain clarity of vision. It’s an inner compass that centers decisions internally and frees oneself from the need of external validity. With confidence, you can be free to be your actual self, including your flaws, without the fear that others are judging. Confidence means accepting one’s imperfections and being okay with the prospect of not having all the answers and being comfortable admitting when you are wrong or struggling, without it damaging your self-worth.
You have a distinct point of view within your work. How have you developed it and how do you protect it?
I’ve developed my point of view through experience, seeing a lot of art and reading a lot about art. Everything that I know and that I do is informed by an ongoing conversation with my peers, colleagues, artists, those who came before me and those who make up the art world today. The art world is constantly evolving and so my point of view also changes to reflect the times. I don’t feel particularly protective of my point of view and I am constantly learning. I think it’s important to be open to doubt and self-criticism. It’s the key to evolution.
Are there artists or artworks that have changed your perception of confidence?
Confidence is an integral part of the artistic process. Being an artist requires confidence in one’s artistic vision, to be able to share it with the world, take risks, explore new creative paths. Dealing with failure is also an integral part of the artistic process – and this requires confidence – to try again and again, to find solutions, to constantly question one’s practice and the ways to advance it.
"I don’t feel particularly protective of my point of view and I am constantly learning. I think it’s important to be open to doubt and self-criticism. It’s the key to evolution."
Does confidence in your professional life look different from confidence in your personal life?
In both my work and my personal life, I find that confidence stems from simplicity. I try to keep the noise to a minimum and to simplify my context. Then the way forward becomes more evident and I feel confident in my decisions.
Do you believe the age of constant comparison has changed how we relate to the concept of confidence? In what way?
With social media, we have moved from building confidence – a personal, internal process of growth based on experience and learning; to seeking validation – a public process of comparison. Now real confidence requires the ability to put up “blinders” and practice self-discipline in looking away from the screen to focus on the work itself.
What's something that didn't work out the way you planned — and ended up mattering more because of it? Could you share an example?
Does anything ever work out exactly the way we planned it? Yet we’re almost always ok, so long as we can accept that change is part of the process.
Simay Demirel was born and raised in Istanbul and moved to Paris in 2016, where she works as a consultant with fashion houses including Lemaire and Alaïa. But her real fixation lives elsewhere. Through her accounts Where I Would Like to Read, she began curating the kinds of spaces that make you want to slow down — interiors built for reading, for looking, for paying attention. It grew into something larger: a personal collection of over 400 vintage and rare books on art, design and lifestyle, and Demirel started curating displays for galleries and showrooms across Europe. She describes confidence as something she has never had to chase, not out of certainty, but because holding back has never come naturally. She is drawn to what she doesn't yet know, and that has always been enough to keep going.
How do you relate to the concept of confidence?
It’s a form of freedom to me. The ability to be fully myself. Some are born with that sense of ease and others learn to grow into it over time, I guess. In my case it’s always been part of my nature. I’ve never been overly concerned with how I’m perceived. What grounds me is what I choose to cultivate and preserve: The space I created for myself, my personal relationships, and my work. That's where I invest my energy.
Your work has a clear point of view. How have you developed it and how do you protect it?
My work is deeply personal, so I approach it with the same honesty I give to anything that matters to me. It began with an Instagram page, bringing together a community of readers around places that inspire them to read. From there, it naturally evolved into sharing and curating selections from my own library. Today, I source books I would genuinely want to keep for myself, and create displays for galleries and brands. The intention has always been to create a space where people can immerse themselves in the kind of inspiration that vintage imagery offers. I find that staying close to my own vision, and staying consistent with it, is what protects it.
Are there any books or authors who changed your perspective on confidence and what it means to be confident?
I have a collection of over 400 vintage and rare books, and reading the parcours of different artists, where they come from and how they built something for themselves later in life, is so inspiring to me. Isamu Noguchi for example, the genius that he is, was actually deeply self-critical. He resisted the idea of ever feeling complete, and saw creation as an ongoing process rather than a finished statement. I tend to be less critical about my work, but I understand that quiet perfectionism. It’s reassuring to know even someone like him carried that tension.
"I’ve never been overly concerned with how I’m perceived. What grounds me is what I choose to cultivate and preserve: The space I created for myself, my personal relationships, and my work. That's where I invest my energy."
We tend to associate confidence with success, but in my opinion confidence is often built or strengthened when things don't go as planned. How do you look at the relationship between confidence and getting it wrong?
Absolutely, life happens while we’re busy making plans. After school I was meant to follow a more traditional path, working full time at an office behind a computer. Instead, I chose to take a risk. I kept part of what I was doing as freelance work, collaborating with a selection of brands I genuinely respect, and dedicated the rest of my time to more personal, creative projects that felt deeply nourishing. To find a rhythm that worked, I had to allow myself a period of uncertainty. But great things take time.
How does what you put on your body affect how you feel?
A look can completely define the level of power or clarity I step into. For important occasions, I tend to rely on wardrobe staples. I like consistency, I find that it allows my work, or what I’m there to do, to stand out rather than the clothes themselves. I’m not someone who enjoys taking risks with what I wear.
Are there people, places or rituals that reliably bring you back to yourself?
Definitely going back to Istanbul. I try to go at least twice a year, and every visit deepens my connection to my roots. I’ve grown to be very independent, building a life for myself away from where I grew up, but I’m still very family-oriented, so being with my parents there—or with my partner in Paris is when I feel the most like myself. And in Istanbul, I have little rituals. I like going to the oldest, most humble places—whether it’s a restaurant, a bookstore or a hammam. There’s something very grounding in that continuity.
Is there a part of your life where you're still building confidence?
I wouldn’t say there’s a specific area where I’m still building confidence. Not out of certainty, but because I don’t naturally hold myself back. I’m a curator and a visual researcher, and I’m drawn to what I don’t yet know. That curiosity, willingness to remain a student, has never intimidated me.
Do you believe the age of constant comparison has changed how we relate to the concept of confidence?
It definitely must have, for some people at least. Constant comparison can shift confidence into something more performative. I try not to let it affect the way I operate. I’m far more interested in what makes each person distinct, so comparison has never felt natural to me.
