Oil on panel, 2026.
A woman stands before a deep blue sky, directly facing the viewer. A brown bat swoops in front of her, its thin, leathery wing obscuring one of the woman’s eyes. She raises a gloved hand and peeking out beneath her glove is the gleaming tail of a dark scorpion, her skin raw and fiery beneath it. The sleeves of her dress evoke the body of an animal – covered in black and white fur and set with seven green and expressive cat’s eyes. In her other hand, she holds a Mahl stick. In the background, orange-leaved mesquite trees stretch their sloping and chaotic branches earthward, under the tiny winking eye of the waxing moon.
This painting arose from grief of the loss of my companion animal of 14 years, my cat Violet. As I looked ahead toward a life without her, all I knew for certain that would remain with me was the act of painting, so I hold my Mahl stick like a scepter. One of my north star painters is Leonor Fini, whose Self-Portrait with Scorpion is referenced here; the scorpion’s tail is the sting of grief. Violet’s eyes have embedded themselves into my sleeves, outfitting the arms with which I paint; before her death she would sit on my lap as I painted, watching the paintings unfold. Bats are one of the main motifs in my paintings, and for me, they are guardians, messengers, protectors, helpers, and psychopomps. In this painting, this bat is nearby as the subject integrates the pain of grief to begin making something new.