How I create... with poet and playwright Inua Ellams

From reading his poetry at Out-Spoken, to appearing on stage at our London Literature Festival, to hosting a special edition of his RAPP Party as part of our partnership with Montreux Jazz Festival and curating An Evening with an Immigrant for Multitudes 2026, he has joined us in many guises.

In 2025 he added another string to his sizeable artistic bow as curator of the latest of Koestler Arts’ annual showcase, Night Owls and Abstractions. Ahead of that exhibition, which took up residence on Level 1 of our Royal Festival Hall from October to December 2025, we took the opportunity to get to know a little more about Ellams, and understand how such an expansively creative person does what he does.

When and where do you find yourself at your most creative?

The mornings; in the shower; after experiencing an awe-inspiring work of art; after reading incredible poets and terrible poets alike.

How do you know when an idea is worth developing into something more?

When the idea refuses to let me go, when it holds me hostage and my attempts at pacifying it fail.

Which tools are key to your creative process?

Muji Ink Pen .05, Moleskine A5 hardback notebook, and my iPad.

Who are you creating your work for, and how free are you to create the work you want to create?

In all art forms, my first audience is myself, but after the first draft, I retreat to the back of the imagined auditorium and allow the world in; then I am creating work for them and do all that is necessary to hold their attention. But in poetry, I begin when the auditorium is full, eavesdrop on as many conversations as I can then whittle them down and wait until I can share what’s left.

How do you stay disciplined, and dedicated to your work?

Discipline has never been an issue for me. My problem is with finding the time to write all I want to, and read all I need to.

What do you do when you hit a wall; when you feel unmotivated or uninspired? How do you overcome this?

I switch art forms. I drop the poem and move to prose or drama, and my subconscious takes over and works out the problem.

Who do you look to for feedback?

My peers, editors, collaborators, colleagues, and friends.

How different is your creative process now to when you first began as an artist?

I think I am more instinctive, concise, nuanced, measured and make better first drafts. My mood boards and tastes have broadened, and I show more than I tell and listen more than I speak. At least, I try to.

What does success feel like?

I think this varies between art forms, but it always feels anti-climatic in poetry. There is always something else to write, and another line in an unformed poem just beyond hearing range. Each caesura is a temporary reprieve from an endless benevolent equation begging for your attention.

Is there a piece of advice you’ve received that you often find yourself returning to?

‘This above else, to thine own self be true’.

What’s the most recent thing you learned about yourself through your work?

That I have a false sense of responsibility to act.

How do you know when you’re done?

When the caesura expands…