IN THEIR OWN WORDS
DAMIEN WAGER: THE EDIBLE ARTIST
Damien Wager is primarily a self taught pastry chef, who over the past 24 months has risen towards the top of the U.K. Pastry Chef rankings due to his numerous exploits.
After creating Edible Art Patisserie Limited in 2017, his debut book 'Edible Art', launched in October 2019, and has currently sold in 43 countries.
In August 2020, he opened the hugely popular Edible Art Patisserie in the prestigious district of Montpellier in Cheltenham, yet, the road to this success has been far from smooth.
Here, Damien writes openly about family, relationships and struggles with mental health.
"I got to sleep on the kitchen floor with the two Jack Russells who had a flea problem"
'Edible Art' hasn’t always been on the horizon, and nothing was ever handed to me. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that as soon as anything good came my way, I actively went out the way to subconsciously try and destroy it before it settled in and left a lasting positive mark within my life, and on the person I was.
Growing up was good, I thought. Mum tried her best and that’s all you can ask I guess.
I never wanted to be a chef. I couldn’t even ‘cook’ beans on toast when I was a teenager, which was ironic as that was a popular choice for dinner growing up.
My parents split before I was two. I would see my dad every other weekend, he’d pick me up from my mum's on the Friday evening and whisk me off to my Nan and Grandad's where he’d leave me for the weekend, occasionally showing his face on the Saturday, before picking me up early afternoon on the Sunday and dropping me back to my mum's.
I enjoyed this quality time.
I feel I have ticked every stereotype for growing up on a council estate with only one parent actively in my life:
Inappropriate mental and physical abuse, check.
Moved around and been to over five schools, check.
Taking these issues into adolescence and never dealing with them, check.
My life changed forever in the Summer Holidays of 2001, the year I started secondary school.
My Grandad passed away. Unfortunately this happened in front of me.
As usual, my dad had picked me up the Friday evening and took me to my Nan and Grandad's, this time for a week as it was the summer holidays. One morning I walked downstairs to see my Nan frantically trying to help my Grandad regain consciousness.
I remember the blood. He had had a heart attack and had fallen and hit his head. I should never have see that, but I can’t begin to imagine what my Nan was feeling and experiencing.
I’ll never forget my dad's response. His face was cold with a blank expression. He messaged for my mum to collect myself and my brother.
In true form, upon departing my grandparents house late that morning, my dad handed me £100 and ‘apologised for the trouble’. This was my father in a nutshell, however, he wasn’t to be a figure within my life for much longer.
In late 2014, on the last day of school before I started my GCSEs, my mum and step dad (at the time) decided we would give up our newly built 4-bedroom council house and relocate from Essex to sunny Cornwall where we, myself, my mum, step-dad, older and younger brothers, accompanied by our trusty ol' cat and 10-stone+ Rottweiler, would live snuggly in an 8-birth static caravan where the only thing in abundance more so than the confusion would be the damp that is easily accumulated within these atrocious dwellings.
My brother quickly wised up and moved back to Essex to stay with my dad. Being nearly 18 and out of school, this was a luxury that he could activate. Myself? I had to stay.
I started school, but by the end of year 10 I had a little over 60% attendance rate due to my mum encouraging me to stay at home. Nevertheless, I began to ‘create a life’ in Cornwall.
To me, Cornwall is where I grew up. When I look back now, it is a beautiful place, but getting to that conclusion wasn’t easy, especially after what was about to happen.
The site we were living on was quickly sold, and all full time dwellers were forced to move out. Would the council help? No. My mum willingly gave up her house in Essex which meant help from the authorities was not forthcoming.
The result? We were homeless.
I was 15, my little brother little over 5, both living in a family tent in a friend of my mum's back garden, sharing with my mum, step-dad, and of course the dog. Bizarrely, the cat stayed in the house at night.
After a few weeks and the weather deteriorating, we were ‘lucky enough’ to be allowed to stay in the house. I got to sleep on the kitchen floor with the two Jack Russell dogs who had a flea problem to say the least. To say the house was unkept would be kind. These ‘family friends’ were generous in letting us stay, but to say the house was clean would be a bare faced lie.
That was my living situation for a year or so whilst studying for my GCSE exams.
I remember mates asking to come round or come and see where I live, some still friends to this day who I have never even told about any of this, but I always had an excuse.
"The decorators are in " or "family are down" were two popular choices of mine. Long story short, they never knew and it goes without saying that I used to stay out a lot at weekends.
Growing up was good, I thought. Mum tried her best and that’s all you can ask I guess.
I never wanted to be a chef. I couldn’t even ‘cook’ beans on toast when I was a teenager, which was ironic as that was a popular choice for dinner growing up.
My parents split before I was two. I would see my dad every other weekend, he’d pick me up from my mum's on the Friday evening and whisk me off to my Nan and Grandad's where he’d leave me for the weekend, occasionally showing his face on the Saturday, before picking me up early afternoon on the Sunday and dropping me back to my mum's.
I enjoyed this quality time.
I feel I have ticked every stereotype for growing up on a council estate with only one parent actively in my life:
Inappropriate mental and physical abuse, check.
Moved around and been to over five schools, check.
Taking these issues into adolescence and never dealing with them, check.
My life changed forever in the Summer Holidays of 2001, the year I started secondary school.
My Grandad passed away. Unfortunately this happened in front of me.
As usual, my dad had picked me up the Friday evening and took me to my Nan and Grandad's, this time for a week as it was the summer holidays. One morning I walked downstairs to see my Nan frantically trying to help my Grandad regain consciousness.
I remember the blood. He had had a heart attack and had fallen and hit his head. I should never have see that, but I can’t begin to imagine what my Nan was feeling and experiencing.
I’ll never forget my dad's response. His face was cold with a blank expression. He messaged for my mum to collect myself and my brother.
In true form, upon departing my grandparents house late that morning, my dad handed me £100 and ‘apologised for the trouble’. This was my father in a nutshell, however, he wasn’t to be a figure within my life for much longer.
In late 2014, on the last day of school before I started my GCSEs, my mum and step dad (at the time) decided we would give up our newly built 4-bedroom council house and relocate from Essex to sunny Cornwall where we, myself, my mum, step-dad, older and younger brothers, accompanied by our trusty ol' cat and 10-stone+ Rottweiler, would live snuggly in an 8-birth static caravan where the only thing in abundance more so than the confusion would be the damp that is easily accumulated within these atrocious dwellings.
My brother quickly wised up and moved back to Essex to stay with my dad. Being nearly 18 and out of school, this was a luxury that he could activate. Myself? I had to stay.
I started school, but by the end of year 10 I had a little over 60% attendance rate due to my mum encouraging me to stay at home. Nevertheless, I began to ‘create a life’ in Cornwall.
To me, Cornwall is where I grew up. When I look back now, it is a beautiful place, but getting to that conclusion wasn’t easy, especially after what was about to happen.
The site we were living on was quickly sold, and all full time dwellers were forced to move out. Would the council help? No. My mum willingly gave up her house in Essex which meant help from the authorities was not forthcoming.
The result? We were homeless.
I was 15, my little brother little over 5, both living in a family tent in a friend of my mum's back garden, sharing with my mum, step-dad, and of course the dog. Bizarrely, the cat stayed in the house at night.
After a few weeks and the weather deteriorating, we were ‘lucky enough’ to be allowed to stay in the house. I got to sleep on the kitchen floor with the two Jack Russell dogs who had a flea problem to say the least. To say the house was unkept would be kind. These ‘family friends’ were generous in letting us stay, but to say the house was clean would be a bare faced lie.
That was my living situation for a year or so whilst studying for my GCSE exams.
I remember mates asking to come round or come and see where I live, some still friends to this day who I have never even told about any of this, but I always had an excuse.
"The decorators are in " or "family are down" were two popular choices of mine. Long story short, they never knew and it goes without saying that I used to stay out a lot at weekends.
Upon moving to Cornwall in 2014, this pretty much ended the (little) time I spent with my father every other weekend, and the phone call a week went to every other week, then every month, to eventually not speaking at all.
Up until June 2018 I didn’t speak to my father for nearly 13 years. He didn’t bother with me, nor did I with him. In fact, I have a large family, over 20 first cousins. I don’t speak to any of them, and quite frankly, that’s the way I like it.
I left school, unsurprisingly with worse grades than I was predicted and should have obtained. I went to college and moved out as soon as I could.
The rest, in terms of the start of my chef career, is history. That part of my life can be found in any previous interviews I have done and a story which, quite honestly, I’m tired of talking about.
To me, the real story is what has happened through either my own or others doing during the course of my life.
Do I blame the past, my upbringing and experiences for my own failures? No.
Do I feel If I had acted or judged situations differently my life may have been different? Yes.
When I was 19, my girlfriend at the time fell pregnant. It was a shock, but we decided to keep her. Life can be adapted and changed and I was determined to offer my daughter everything that I didn’t or couldn’t have. Dare I say, I grew to be very excited about being a father.
This, however, wasn’t to be. She passed away and a large part of myself died too. Things have never been the same since that day and a level of anger has never disappeared.
The relationship quickly ended. As you can imagine, that experience is hard to overcome and the pain was too much to even be around each other by the end.
I met someone else and got married in 2014. That marriage lasted 3 months.
I met (what was to become) my second wife in 2016. We were together nearly three years and married in March 2019. We then separated just before the launch of my debut book back in October 2019.
Some people will read this and say I’m a fuck up and take bets on how long my shop will withstand being under my control. To those people, I welcome your bets.
Rightly or wrongly, I’ll never neglect my business.
I incorporated Edible Art in 2017 and have always done everything to expand and grow. I’d die for my company if it meant guaranteed security for my future family and children. I need it to be a success as I have big dreams which are coming faster than expected, whether I want them to or not.
I have seen what having nothing is.
I’ve had nothing to live for, and that culminated late 2019 when I publicly broke down on my social media and wholeheartedly requested help. Mental health has always been a burden for me, and I’m not afraid to admit that. I’m highly strung and very sensitive.
To this date, no family have been to visit my shop.
My mum. I haven’t spoke to since March. There was a conflict regarding my current partner and manager of the Edible Art brand, so I chose to side with the person who has shown me more loyalty and respect in my life, and sadly, that wasn’t my mum.
My dad. I haven’t seen for a year again, and I fear the years of no contact will happen once more.
He was a huge fan of my ex-wife and it was her who was the middle person when my father made contact after his partner passed away in 2018. Without her in the picture, I feel the connection between my father and I will be lost once more.
Up until June 2018 I didn’t speak to my father for nearly 13 years. He didn’t bother with me, nor did I with him. In fact, I have a large family, over 20 first cousins. I don’t speak to any of them, and quite frankly, that’s the way I like it.
I left school, unsurprisingly with worse grades than I was predicted and should have obtained. I went to college and moved out as soon as I could.
The rest, in terms of the start of my chef career, is history. That part of my life can be found in any previous interviews I have done and a story which, quite honestly, I’m tired of talking about.
To me, the real story is what has happened through either my own or others doing during the course of my life.
Do I blame the past, my upbringing and experiences for my own failures? No.
Do I feel If I had acted or judged situations differently my life may have been different? Yes.
When I was 19, my girlfriend at the time fell pregnant. It was a shock, but we decided to keep her. Life can be adapted and changed and I was determined to offer my daughter everything that I didn’t or couldn’t have. Dare I say, I grew to be very excited about being a father.
This, however, wasn’t to be. She passed away and a large part of myself died too. Things have never been the same since that day and a level of anger has never disappeared.
The relationship quickly ended. As you can imagine, that experience is hard to overcome and the pain was too much to even be around each other by the end.
I met someone else and got married in 2014. That marriage lasted 3 months.
I met (what was to become) my second wife in 2016. We were together nearly three years and married in March 2019. We then separated just before the launch of my debut book back in October 2019.
Some people will read this and say I’m a fuck up and take bets on how long my shop will withstand being under my control. To those people, I welcome your bets.
Rightly or wrongly, I’ll never neglect my business.
I incorporated Edible Art in 2017 and have always done everything to expand and grow. I’d die for my company if it meant guaranteed security for my future family and children. I need it to be a success as I have big dreams which are coming faster than expected, whether I want them to or not.
I have seen what having nothing is.
I’ve had nothing to live for, and that culminated late 2019 when I publicly broke down on my social media and wholeheartedly requested help. Mental health has always been a burden for me, and I’m not afraid to admit that. I’m highly strung and very sensitive.
To this date, no family have been to visit my shop.
My mum. I haven’t spoke to since March. There was a conflict regarding my current partner and manager of the Edible Art brand, so I chose to side with the person who has shown me more loyalty and respect in my life, and sadly, that wasn’t my mum.
My dad. I haven’t seen for a year again, and I fear the years of no contact will happen once more.
He was a huge fan of my ex-wife and it was her who was the middle person when my father made contact after his partner passed away in 2018. Without her in the picture, I feel the connection between my father and I will be lost once more.
|
|
However, life isn't all doom and gloom.
It was Pastry that kept me going. It was an outlet and a source of focus when needed.
Pastry for me is a way of life, it’s not a job and for that I feel blessed. I genuinely love what I do, so to have the opportunity to do it whilst being my own boss truly is magical. Even now, I can finish work, go home and pick up where I left off in terms of finalising new ideas, writing my second published book, planning for classes or simply planning the itinerary for the shop moving forward.
The decision to open Edible Art was one I took with both hands.
The decision to continue to battle through life is one I struggle to keep hold of, at times with just a few fingers
I have discovered that you can only overcome your inner demons by facing them.
Some people may find this all a little too real, and to them, I apologise that my story makes you uncomfortable. To those who understand the struggles and appreciate the honesty, I look forward to welcoming you into my shop to sample my desserts and see what has been created as a result on a vision from within.
However, now I feel I have something to really strive towards, and one day I’ll have a family and possibly children to support. These will undoubtedly stoke the fire within even more and that determination to not only succeed, but lay down a foundation for my family’s future security will be even more important.
So to all the fans of the Edible Art Patisserie, please understand that all is not as it seems and don’t judge me on my past, judge me on what myself and my team put in front of you, as I can assure you, this is only the beginning!
www.edibleartpatisserie.com
Visit Edible Art Patisserie at Unit 19, The Courtyard, Montpellier Street, Cheltenham, GL50 1SR
All images courtesy of FayDit Photography: www.fayditphotography.com
It was Pastry that kept me going. It was an outlet and a source of focus when needed.
Pastry for me is a way of life, it’s not a job and for that I feel blessed. I genuinely love what I do, so to have the opportunity to do it whilst being my own boss truly is magical. Even now, I can finish work, go home and pick up where I left off in terms of finalising new ideas, writing my second published book, planning for classes or simply planning the itinerary for the shop moving forward.
The decision to open Edible Art was one I took with both hands.
The decision to continue to battle through life is one I struggle to keep hold of, at times with just a few fingers
I have discovered that you can only overcome your inner demons by facing them.
Some people may find this all a little too real, and to them, I apologise that my story makes you uncomfortable. To those who understand the struggles and appreciate the honesty, I look forward to welcoming you into my shop to sample my desserts and see what has been created as a result on a vision from within.
However, now I feel I have something to really strive towards, and one day I’ll have a family and possibly children to support. These will undoubtedly stoke the fire within even more and that determination to not only succeed, but lay down a foundation for my family’s future security will be even more important.
So to all the fans of the Edible Art Patisserie, please understand that all is not as it seems and don’t judge me on my past, judge me on what myself and my team put in front of you, as I can assure you, this is only the beginning!
www.edibleartpatisserie.com
Visit Edible Art Patisserie at Unit 19, The Courtyard, Montpellier Street, Cheltenham, GL50 1SR
All images courtesy of FayDit Photography: www.fayditphotography.com
|
|