Exploring The Intersection Of Science And Creativity
Andi Kopek discusses Shmehara, his fusion of poetry, art, and animation, revealing how neuroscience, empathy, and global perspectives shape his boundary-pushing work. A meditation on creativity’s unifying force.
Andi Kopek is a rare creative force—a polymath whose work defies easy categorisation. With a background in neuroscience and a passion for storytelling, he seamlessly bridges the worlds of science and art, crafting pieces that resonate on both an intellectual and emotional level. His debut poetry collection, Shmehara, is a testament to this fusion, blending verse, illustration, and animation into an immersive experience that has captivated readers and critics alike.
Based in Nashville, Kopek is not just an artist but a vital presence in the literary community—whether through his thought-provoking column in Killer Nashville Magazine, his dynamic workshops, or his engaging podcast, The Samovar(t) Lounge, where tea and candid conversation flow freely. His work delves into the raw edges of human experience—suffering, joy, resilience—yet always with an undercurrent of empathy and universality.
In this interview, Kopek reflects on the inspirations behind Shmehara, the interplay between science and creativity, and the power of art to transcend divisions. He shares insights into his meticulous, multi-layered creative process and offers sage advice for writers tackling complex themes. With a novel-in-progress exploring the tensions between humanity and AI, Kopek continues to push boundaries, proving that the most compelling art often lies at the intersection of disciplines—and daring us to see the world anew.
A visionary artist, Kopek masterfully blends intellect and emotion, crafting deeply resonant work that challenges and connects. A true literary innovator.
What inspired you to explore such deep themes of suffering, joy, and resilience in your work?
“Inspired”? You mean who or what “breathed life” (etymologically speaking) into these themes brewing in my mind for a while? That would be my therapist, who encouraged me to return to creative writing. It helped. And also unlocked forgotten doors to dormant parts of myself. As I reflected on my own experiences and life itself, those thoughts gradually took shape on the page, eventually becoming Shmehara. In a broader sense, everything around me—what I see, feel, and the people I encounter—played a role in inspiring this story.
How does your background in both science and art influence your storytelling approach?
Science and art aren’t so different—both require creativity, curiosity, and a willingness to explore the unknown. Science taught me to see the world with precision and logic, to break things down to their smallest interactions, always asking how and why. That same scientific curiosity finds its way into my poems and storytelling. In a way, I’ve been doing the same thing all along—whether with an Eppendorf tube or a pen—exploring the world and telling its stories, just through different media.
Can you share the process behind combining poetry, illustrations, and animation in “Shmehara“?
With pleasure. Shmehara began with poetry—its raw, unfiltered emotional core. From there, I wanted to expand my artistic expression, creating an illustration for each poem. But then I became fascinated by what I call the “flow of creativity.” How would a visual artist interpret my words? When I write poetry, I see it—not in words, but in images. So, I reached out to several talented artists around the world to see their unique visual translations of my work. Their illustrations brought new dimensions to the poetry.
Then came animation. Oddly enough, the COVID pandemic played a role—specifically, the rise of QR codes. I realized I could take illustrations further, turning them into what I call Dynamic Illustrations—animated versions accessible via QR codes in the book. The process was arduous, but incredibly rewarding. And they provide a new way to appreciate poetry, something I didn’t anticipate. A psychiatrist friend pointed out that these animations make poetry more accessible to people with shorter attention spans, like those with ADHD. That insight warmed my heart.
In what ways do you think art and storytelling can bridge divides in a divided world?
First, it is heartbreaking that the world is so divided—because it doesn’t have to be. To me, these divisions are artificial, arbitrary. At our core, we are one species, built the same way, driven by the same biological and emotional forces. No matter where we come from, we feel joy, grief, love, and longing in remarkably similar ways.
Art and storytelling tap into these universal emotions, reminding us of our shared humanity. They show us that while each of us is unique, we ultimately want the same things—peace and respect. I see art and storytelling as unifiers of humanity by revealing our similarities while helping us appreciate and respect our differences. I believe that art, in all its forms, is a universal language.
How do you balance the personal with the universal in your work, particularly in relation to conflict and war?
Hmm, I don’t consciously balance the personal and the universal—they naturally intertwine in my writing, and their relationship is not necessarily balanced. I can only write from a deeply personal place, whether drawing from my own experiences or imagining myself in someone else’s shoes. I explore my own internal conflicts and wars, and in doing so, I often find that these truths resonate with others. That, to me, is the bridge between the personal and the universal—when something felt deeply by one becomes understood by many.
Could you describe the role of empathy in your creative process and how it shapes your work?
Empathy is the heartbeat of my creative process—but it’s also a heavy burden. Even small moments, like seeing a roadkill while driving, can overwhelm me; I don’t just see it, I feel it. I imagine the animal’s final moments, its suffering, and that emotional weight stays with me. Over the years, I’ve learned to control it, to disconnect when necessary.
But when I write, I allow myself to connect fully. I let myself feel the story, immerse in emotions of my characters. This makes writing an intense, sometimes exhausting process, but I hope it is also what gives my work its depth.
What advice would you give to aspiring authors looking to tackle complex and sensitive topics in their writing?
Don’t shy away from complex and sensitive topics—write about them. But first, know yourself, both as a writer and as a human. Your perspective is your foundation, so be clear on why you’re telling this story. Always do thorough research, and make yourself an expert on the topic you are writing.
Art and storytelling should challenge and provoke thought. While it’s important to be respectful, it’s also okay, in my opinion, to make your audience uncomfortable—discomfort sparks reflection. I want also to emphasize that confidence in your work will make you “immune” to the inevitable negativity of ignarogant people (and if you don’t know what that means, you need to read one of the poems from Shmehara).
Writing about safe, simple topics might feel easier, but if your heart isn’t in it, it’s a waste of your energy and passion.
What’s next?
I’m currently working on a novel—a poetry-prose hybrid with Dynamic Illustrations—where I explore the “conflict” between humans and AI. With a touch of humor and irony, I push the boundaries of storytelling, while questioning what it really means to be human in an increasingly AI-driven world.
