Larissa Lockshin: Clear Moon, Frost Soon
With the show set to conclude at the end of September, the prospect of not experiencing her works in person would have left me clinging to a reservoir of assumptions. Lockshin paints on satin, a material so shiny that it becomes an active surface, shifting under different lighting conditions or perspectives. Her artistic process demands both rigor and swiftness, resulting in markings that exude a sense of urgency, reminiscent of a hazy memory or fleeting gaze. The exhibition, titled “Clear Moon, Frost Soon,” resembles a visual poem so far as a poem’s intention is to make you feel something.
In that room, I felt curious, discerning a trace of femininity within her art — a reminder of girlhood, of eyes encountering the world with newfound clarity and an overwhelming desire to recreate that initial sense of wonder before it withers away in routine. She communicates in the language of colors and symbols, infusing her works with a sensibility that resonates with familiar patterns found in nature.
Following the exhibition, Lockshin sat down with office to delve deeper into the poetic underpinnings of her work and the experience of smearing her story onto satin.
What is your creative process like when you start a new piece, and how do you decide on the direction it will take?
It's really just my mood. The first mark will indicate the second mark, et cetera. It's hard to explain how I know when to stop — sometimes I don't quit on time. The paintings are very easy to overwork, and I'll have to start again with a completely new piece of satin. I’ll paint for a while, not overthinking it, and then I'll step back and see where it is. Then back to the fugue state, and so on and so forth.
Your work is described as having "soft ocellated forms" and "mottled marks." Can you elaborate on the symbolism and emotions these shapes and marks represent in your pieces?
I would attribute it to the materials. I use soft pastels and oil sticks, drawing materials, so the pigment is applied directly by hand rather than with a brush. I'm applying a lot of pressure so the forms and gestures become more concentrated and urgent. The paintings don't intend to be representations of nature, but I try to capture the feeling of a hazy memory, or a fleeting glimpse.
What motivated your transition to using hand-dyed fabrics and hand-carved frames in your artwork, and how do they contribute to blurring the lines between painting and sculpture?
All of the paintings are on satin, which is so shiny that it becomes an active ground and changes in various lighting or positioning to the viewer. The negative space is important — the luster prevents the painting from being only an image. The viewer is required to move around it as they would a sculpture. Because I see them more as objects than images, I felt that the carved elements on the frames would emphasize that. The dyed fabric adds another layer of depth and variety to the work, in my opinion.
Untitled (Cinder Hill), 2023
Oil and soft pastel on dyed satin with carved wood frame
60.5 x 48.5 in
Untitled (Forgotten Gift), 2023
Oil and soft pastel on dyed satin with carved wood frame
60.5 x 48.5 in
Untitled (Glimmer Mist), 2023
Oil and soft pastel on dyed satin with carved wood frame
48.5 x 60.5 in.
Your carved clouds, butterflies, and flowers are said to evoke poetic nostalgia without being sentimental. How do you strike this balance in your work?
The motifs are also pulled from nature, but I try to use things that have a feeling of universal recognition outside of language or culture. I like the idea that symbols like this have appeared throughout time, in cave drawings and stone carvings and kids carving shapes into tree bark.
How do you choose the titles for your artworks, and what significance do these titles hold within the context of your exhibition?
I take each painting name from an existing racehorse in the historical database that is available. There is a rule that no two horses can ever have the same name, so as time goes on, the combinations of words become stranger and more disparate. I see the names as mini poems.
Your art is said to capture "various states of being." Could you elaborate on the different emotional and psychological states your art explores?
If my work should make people feel a certain emotion, it feels like a success. It's not intentional, but maybe my energy stays with the piece a little bit.
What role does the concept of being "mesmerized" play in your work, and how do you aim to transport your viewers into a state of fervor and zeal? It reminds me of creation from a child’s POV — an innocent, unsullied form of expression.
My process is not at all logical and I don't plan anything in advance. I usually paint with music playing — I listen to a lot of 90's dance playlists and Vivaldi — and I totally zone out. I think I'm trying to activate secret parts of my brain, hidden memories or emotions I haven't felt for a long time. It helps me remember that I am human. After I work for a while, I step back and try to analyze the piece — create a vague plan for its future. It never turns out the way I think it will, and that's both fun and frustrating for me.
