Nikos Hawkins - Poet


Nikos Hawkins is an aspiring poet/visual artist from our very own Diamond Hill historic district. A frequent writer and community enthusiast, Nikos has a strong passion for creative arts and all that encapsulates the human experience. His work exemplifies what it means to strive for greatness and allowing the power from childlike imagination to never cease.

Contact Info:

Instagram - @beautifulviolence

When did you know you wanted to be an artist? 

Ever since I was in elementary school, I always knew I want to do art. The feeling became more definitive and refined as I grew older; once I graduated high school I started focusing tremendously on my writing, in all forms.

How does your personal story/background influence your work? 

My personal upbringing is the core and inspiration of all my writing. Including all other experiences and exposures, I just allow my pen the freedom to manifest. Afterwards, I try to articulate the vision. It's all history from that point on.

Which of your works are you most proud of? 

To date I feel that my two most important pieces are "Diamond Hill" (the intro) and "The Aftertaste", one of which isn't complete because I want its inception to be as natural as possible. 

What is the hardest part about being a professional artist? 

I think currently there are two obstacles: one is not having everyone comprehend/foresee your vision. The second is wanting to create incredible pieces of art but knowing I need to have experience under the belt to have the opportunity to do so.

What artists inspire you?

What advice would you give aspiring artists who come from minority or under-represented groups? 

"Hard work beats talent when talent doesn't work hard." It's what my coaches told me when I played football. I found out this is exceptionally true because of you are not prepared for your moment, your opportunity to show the world what you are capable of, the chance will fade away. And stay consistent with it, for talent may win battles but consistency wins wars. 

At a fork in the road, a dark silhouette came up to me and shouted...

Young king, I sing, the psalms of your death
Glazed palms full of sweat
And regretful things
Like an eardrum loosing its grip over what hears
listen well, clear the sludge within your ears
You summoned me in bayous
candles burnt skin
Debauchery stained carriages and haikus/
I came to comfort you with smoke when you requested just a pillow and a warm bed/
mastered tongues
manipulating enemies
you have been spoon fed
— Excerpt from "The Aftertaste"