Facing You
When I started I didn’t fully understand painting is an endeavor in which you never reach the end. The process is always changing in ways that surprise and one is always learning. I don’t think of my work so much as “portraiture”, but I’m comfortable with the word “figurative”. The figures in my paintings are parts of a larger composition in which the human shapes fit with other shapes both positive and negative to assemble a whole image. A painting is a construct and that opens the door to many freedoms within the process. My paintings evolve over time and often the most difficult part is destroying pleasing parts of a painting that don’t work because they take away from the larger composition. Sometimes one must abandon the entire painting and start over from the beginning, but that is also part of the learning process. In the end the mark making is what counts. How the smudging or blurring of a line into another line, or the blending of one color into another color, or the underpainting coming through the image. These things give the painting its meaning.
-Reed Clarke
Facing You
I find constancy and comfort in the outdoors - it is where I go to heal and to celebrate. My observations in nature evolved through the study of science, writing, art and photography. The transition from photography to printmaking felt intuitive. Initially, I chose the horse as a totem around which the themes of vulnerability and stewardship are explored. I have expanded those themes to include plant and figure studies – drawing on memories while interpreting the shapes and textures found in the landscape.
I work on industrial copper plates with traditional methods (etching, aquatint, drypoint, soft ground). I embrace the irregularities found in the copper as a reminder of process: a note that working images into metal is exacting and unpredictable.
-Patricia L. Giraud
Facing You
The evolution of my artistic process has been marked by a dynamic interplay between intentionality and serendipity. While I’ve explored a wide array of mediums—acrylic, oil, markers, ink, and more—the one unchanging element that threads through all my work is a deep, unwavering preoccupation with the human form as the central subject, the axis around which my explorations and experiments inevitably revolve. It is a pursuit that feels both peculiar and inescapable, especially when the subjects are those closest to me—my sister, for instance as deprived in the piece entitled “Anastasia”. In rendering the familiar, I am always struck by the paradox of intimacy and alienation; the process of painting someone I know deeply inevitably strips away layers of personal recognition, allowing the image to emerge as something autonomous, an entity with a life and identity distinct from its real-world counterpart. This phenomenon fascinates me and drives my continued engagement with portraiture. Recently, my focus has expanded into the realm of archetypes, with a particular emphasis on villains—figures who, in the Western cultural imagination, occupy a space both feared and revered. These characters, often crystallized in the collective unconscious as rugged symbols of rebellion or moral ambiguity, present a rich terrain for reexamination. In my painting “Volodymyr”, I approached the figure of the villain with an intent to subvert traditional depictions by infusing the character with a sense of softness and romance. I sought to deconstruct the hardened, almost folkloric imagery that dominates the American psyche, and in doing so, to propose an alternative narrative—one that invites empathy and serenity into the portrayal of this archetype who by definition has a very one-dimensional means to be received. Through this work, I aim to challenge not only the viewer’s perception of villainy but also the broader cultural archetypes that shape our understanding of identity, morality, and heroism.
Moreover, in the piece entitled “Mount Sinai”, a young nurse is portrayed either on her way to the hospital or returning from it. Though rare, there are moments when I encounter a stranger who seems to radiate a luminous aura, as if I’ve stumbled upon something extraordinary, like a rare bird or a mythical creature. In this painting, my focus is not just on the physical person, but on the spirit she embodies in that fleeting moment of quiet resilience. Through “Mount Sinai”, I sought to capture this intangible essence, immortalizing the rare convergence of human presence and spiritual luminosity.
-Yasmina Nysten
Facing You
What connects these three women, Joan of Arc, Judith and Ophelia? Nothing less than their profound commitments to their impassioned causes. Marked by time, history and a perilous moment, they speak truth to power with their own bodies, even to the point of death.
Joan hears the voice of God, sees the future rippling through her, and know she has a role to play. The moment I tried to capture here is the one in which she sees her own death as the grave consequence of saying “yes” to God, of answering her calling in the affirmative. She feels the fire blazing through her voice, and she leans into her fate. Thy Will Be Done.
Ophelia’s story is one in which she has no voice. Her singular act of agency lies in embracing her own death. Is it an accident that she drowns? Or does she die by her own hand, slipping into the water, letting the weighty fabric soak and shrink around her obedient body. The moment I tried to capture is the morning of her death, in the clarity of the early light, as she has a premonition of how the day will play out. She will lose her heart as well as her balance, surrendering to her ultimate sacrifice. As she makes her voice heard through the translucent veils around her, she impels us to consider her in a kinder moment. Remember, remember me before I was mad.
Judith, from the first testament, finds herself in an embattled village, widowed. In desperation, she hatches a plan in which she will assassinate the leader of the invading army, Holofernes, through cunning and seduction. I tried to capture the hour before, while she’s at her bath in preparation, her moment of rapturous confidence and clarity in which she knows that Victory Is Mine.
-Pippa Arend
When I started I didn’t fully understand painting is an endeavor in which you never reach the end. The process is always changing in ways that surprise and one is always learning. I don’t think of my work so much as “portraiture”, but I’m comfortable with the word “figurative”. The figures in my paintings are parts of a larger composition in which the human shapes fit with other shapes both positive and negative to assemble a whole image. A painting is a construct and that opens the door to many freedoms within the process. My paintings evolve over time and often the most difficult part is destroying pleasing parts of a painting that don’t work because they take away from the larger composition. Sometimes one must abandon the entire painting and start over from the beginning, but that is also part of the learning process. In the end the mark making is what counts. How the smudging or blurring of a line into another line, or the blending of one color into another color, or the underpainting coming through the image. These things give the painting its meaning.
-Reed Clarke
Facing You
I find constancy and comfort in the outdoors - it is where I go to heal and to celebrate. My observations in nature evolved through the study of science, writing, art and photography. The transition from photography to printmaking felt intuitive. Initially, I chose the horse as a totem around which the themes of vulnerability and stewardship are explored. I have expanded those themes to include plant and figure studies – drawing on memories while interpreting the shapes and textures found in the landscape.
I work on industrial copper plates with traditional methods (etching, aquatint, drypoint, soft ground). I embrace the irregularities found in the copper as a reminder of process: a note that working images into metal is exacting and unpredictable.
-Patricia L. Giraud
Facing You
The evolution of my artistic process has been marked by a dynamic interplay between intentionality and serendipity. While I’ve explored a wide array of mediums—acrylic, oil, markers, ink, and more—the one unchanging element that threads through all my work is a deep, unwavering preoccupation with the human form as the central subject, the axis around which my explorations and experiments inevitably revolve. It is a pursuit that feels both peculiar and inescapable, especially when the subjects are those closest to me—my sister, for instance as deprived in the piece entitled “Anastasia”. In rendering the familiar, I am always struck by the paradox of intimacy and alienation; the process of painting someone I know deeply inevitably strips away layers of personal recognition, allowing the image to emerge as something autonomous, an entity with a life and identity distinct from its real-world counterpart. This phenomenon fascinates me and drives my continued engagement with portraiture. Recently, my focus has expanded into the realm of archetypes, with a particular emphasis on villains—figures who, in the Western cultural imagination, occupy a space both feared and revered. These characters, often crystallized in the collective unconscious as rugged symbols of rebellion or moral ambiguity, present a rich terrain for reexamination. In my painting “Volodymyr”, I approached the figure of the villain with an intent to subvert traditional depictions by infusing the character with a sense of softness and romance. I sought to deconstruct the hardened, almost folkloric imagery that dominates the American psyche, and in doing so, to propose an alternative narrative—one that invites empathy and serenity into the portrayal of this archetype who by definition has a very one-dimensional means to be received. Through this work, I aim to challenge not only the viewer’s perception of villainy but also the broader cultural archetypes that shape our understanding of identity, morality, and heroism.
Moreover, in the piece entitled “Mount Sinai”, a young nurse is portrayed either on her way to the hospital or returning from it. Though rare, there are moments when I encounter a stranger who seems to radiate a luminous aura, as if I’ve stumbled upon something extraordinary, like a rare bird or a mythical creature. In this painting, my focus is not just on the physical person, but on the spirit she embodies in that fleeting moment of quiet resilience. Through “Mount Sinai”, I sought to capture this intangible essence, immortalizing the rare convergence of human presence and spiritual luminosity.
-Yasmina Nysten
Facing You
What connects these three women, Joan of Arc, Judith and Ophelia? Nothing less than their profound commitments to their impassioned causes. Marked by time, history and a perilous moment, they speak truth to power with their own bodies, even to the point of death.
Joan hears the voice of God, sees the future rippling through her, and know she has a role to play. The moment I tried to capture here is the one in which she sees her own death as the grave consequence of saying “yes” to God, of answering her calling in the affirmative. She feels the fire blazing through her voice, and she leans into her fate. Thy Will Be Done.
Ophelia’s story is one in which she has no voice. Her singular act of agency lies in embracing her own death. Is it an accident that she drowns? Or does she die by her own hand, slipping into the water, letting the weighty fabric soak and shrink around her obedient body. The moment I tried to capture is the morning of her death, in the clarity of the early light, as she has a premonition of how the day will play out. She will lose her heart as well as her balance, surrendering to her ultimate sacrifice. As she makes her voice heard through the translucent veils around her, she impels us to consider her in a kinder moment. Remember, remember me before I was mad.
Judith, from the first testament, finds herself in an embattled village, widowed. In desperation, she hatches a plan in which she will assassinate the leader of the invading army, Holofernes, through cunning and seduction. I tried to capture the hour before, while she’s at her bath in preparation, her moment of rapturous confidence and clarity in which she knows that Victory Is Mine.
-Pippa Arend
