Everything has its first time. Our first day at school, our first love, that first kiss we never quite forget. Our first job, our first child. Each feels like opening a blank book and starting to write the story ourselves — nervous, uncertain, but terribly excited.

And for an artist, there is another first. One that is equally tempting and terrifying: the first solo exhibition.

What does it actually feel like? Imagine standing in a busy square and sharing your deepest fears, biggest heartbreaks and happiest memories with complete strangers. Sounds dramatic? Perhaps. But when your art is deeply personal, showing it to the world can feel remarkably close.

Today, Xina Yousfi shares the story of her first solo exhibition — six months of preparation, plenty of self-doubt, big dreams and the courage to put herself out there. But enough from me. I will let Xina tell you the rest.

Well, not quite. We haven't got to the ceiling just yet!

It actually started with an Instagram post. The girl named Jess had just opened Dear Musa, an event space in Montréal, and was looking for an artist to paint its ceiling. I came across her invitation and, without giving it much thought, decided to take on the challenge.

I probably should have been terrified: I had never worked on anything of that scale before, let alone painted a ceiling. Yet, there was no fear. I knew almost immediately that this was something I wanted to do.

What began as an unexpected opportunity gradually became something far more personal. We called the mural The Birth of Musa, and its concept, celestial emergence, reflected a moment of change in both our lives. Jess was stepping into a new chapter by opening her own space, while I was learning to trust my imagination enough to bring it into the physical world. At its heart was the idea of becoming the version of yourself that exists beyond the limits you have placed on yourself, particularly as a woman.

But bringing that idea to life presented a challenge of its own. My paintings had always been emotionally intimate and relatively small. How could I preserve that same feeling on such an enormous scale?

The answer, I realised, was devotion. If I wanted the painting to carry the same emotional weight as my smaller works, I had to put just as much of myself into every part of the process. That meant being deliberate about the music I listened to, the thoughts I carried, even the friends I invited into the room.

And the ceiling itself became part of that experience. Painting it was physically demanding, often involving hours spent lying on my back, but I loved the idea that anyone entering the room would have to look upwards, almost surrendering to the world I had created above them.

I spent two months working on it, from early September to late October, before returning for a few final adjustments in February. It was more than my first large-scale work; it changed my relationship with painting and, in many ways, set the tone for my entire 21st year.

You might think the story of the ceiling mural belongs to a completely different chapter. But wait, give me just a few more minutes, because that mural is actually where my first solo exhibition began. And the funny thing is, none of it was planned.

When I first agreed to paint it, I knew there wouldn't be any payment involved. And honestly, I was completely fine with that — at that point, I felt I was getting something valuable from the experience anyway.

But then, as time went on, I started falling more and more in love with the space. I loved being there, I loved what we were creating, and I kept thinking, wouldn't it be amazing if I could actually show my paintings here? I wanted to ask Jess. I really did. But I was so shy! And then, before I could even bring it up, she came to me with the exact same idea. She wanted to organise a solo exhibition for me, partly as a thank-you for the mural, but also because she genuinely wanted to help me get the visibility I needed as an artist.

We started planning everything in October, and the exhibition eventually took place the following May.

For me, having my first solo exhibition wasn't simply about putting my paintings on the walls and inviting people to look at them. It was about showing myself to the world for the first time: my heart, my emotions and my vulnerability. And that is exactly why I didn't want people to simply walk in, look at a few paintings, have a drink and leave. I wanted them to feel something. I wanted them to experience what I had been feeling while creating all of this.

And that meant I had to think about the exhibition in a completely different way.

You know what nobody tells you about having your first solo exhibition? How much you actually have to figure out on your own!

I knew how to paint. I knew what I wanted to create, and I had a very clear vision of how I wanted people to experience my work. But organising an exhibition? I had absolutely no idea what I was doing!

And the funny thing is, Jess wasn't from the art world either. She had experience organising events, but not art exhibitions. So there we were, two people who were incredibly excited about this project, trying to figure out how to make it happen.

I had so many questions:

So I started doing my homework. I would visit galleries, pay attention to all those little details I had never really noticed before, sit down and read, watch videos and try to understand how everything worked. Even something as simple as choosing the right font for an artwork label became something I had to research.

Was it hard? Yes! Did we keep pushing back the opening date? Absolutely! We initially thought we could have the exhibition in November. Then November didn't work, so we moved it to January. Then came February, March, April and, eventually, May.

But I think that was an important lesson in itself. Sometimes you need more time, and that is okay. I wasn't going to rush through the process just to say I had done my first solo show. I wanted to do it properly.

I didn't want people to simply walk around looking at paintings on white walls. I wanted them to enter my world. So, I designed the exhibition around three stages, each with its own atmosphere and meaning.

The first stage was about entering my inner world.

The main exhibition space was filled with my paintings, but I wanted it to feel more like someone's home than a gallery. So we created a warm, intimate atmosphere, with flowers, candles, food, a bar and a female DJ playing music. And to make that feeling of being in my home even more personal, we actually recreated my kitchen!

Jess had an open kitchen in the space, so I brought things from home and arranged them exactly as they were in my own. Everything stuck to my fridge, my books, all those little personal objects — I wanted people to see the side of me that doesn't usually make it into a painting.

I have always found the behind-the-scenes part of someone's life fascinating. We see so many perfectly presented things these days, but rarely the little details that make a person who they are. So I thought, why not show mine?

The second stage was about illumination.

From the main exhibition space, visitors entered another room, where The Birth of Musa, my ceiling mural, was waiting for them. I chose different music for each room to create a shift in atmosphere, almost like turning a page from one part of the story to another.

And the final stage was about emergence.

My speech. But I didn't want to simply stand there thanking everyone for coming. I wanted to leave them with something to think about.

I actually love asking uncomfortable questions! Sometimes we need to confront ourselves with the things we have been avoiding. So I asked everyone three questions:

I thanked everyone for coming and asked them to take at least one of those questions home.

Now, I know I have made the whole experience sound wonderful. And it was! But there is something I haven't told you yet: I was absolutely terrified. What if people weren't impressed? What if they didn't think my work was good enough?

I genuinely thought nobody would come. And then people started arriving. My friends, complete strangers, influencers, people I had never met before. The space was full! I was so grateful, but also so nervous that I barely remember parts of the evening.

But I should tell you something else. Before the exhibition, I actually wrote myself a pep talk. And it wasn't a gentle one!

“You were born for this. Stop reducing yourself to an ordinary life. Stop being so humble. Be the person you keep telling yourself you want to become.”

I know that sounds dramatic! But I needed it. I am actually very shy, and I don't always tell people when I am scared. So sometimes I have to be the person who pushes myself.

And there is a reason I speak to myself this way. When I was 16, I couldn't imagine a future for myself. I thought my mind was a curse. And now, that same mind allows me to create things I never thought possible. When I am making art, I feel electric. Magical, even! So yes, I am proud of myself. I have worked hard to get here. And I have big ambitions.

So, if there is one thing I would tell another young artist preparing for their first exhibition, it is this: be indisputably convinced that the world needs you. We spend far too much time waiting for someone else to give us permission to do the things we love. And sometimes, the only person who can give you that permission is yourself.