Janice Nowinski spends months, sometimes years, working on small figurative paintings. Her subjects are suspended between flesh and paint. They barely cohere—one slip, and they’re just a smear. The paintings are felt into place to find a just-so balance of opposites: blunt, tender, awkward, graceful, remote, intimate and exposed. This is the result of perfect pitch painting—the subtlest color, the most nuanced edges, figure/ground finesse, and again, that tightly stretched line between paint and its transformation into light, air, space, weight and flesh. Essay by curator Anne Harris.
Janice Nowinski spends months, sometimes years, working on small figurative paintings. Her subjects are suspended between flesh and paint. They barely cohere—one slip, and they’re just a smear. The paintings are felt into place to find a just-so balance of opposites: blunt, tender, awkward, graceful, remote, intimate and exposed. This is the result of perfect pitch painting—the subtlest color, the most nuanced edges, figure/ground finesse, and again, that tightly stretched line between paint and its transformation into light, air, space, weight and flesh. Essay by curator Anne Harris.
