No. ONE

CAROLINE ABSHER

Brooks We are here in my studio in Los Angeles, and it seems that our conversation has started with us talking about Peter Doig.

Absher The way he depicts his world resonates so deeply with me because I see everything as emotional.

Brooks I think this is one reason why you and I connect. We are both attuned to emotion.

Absher Yes, I can sense that in your work and in you as a person. The strange way Doig depicts space is just as much of a central character in his work, too.

Brooks He is probably the most important contemporary painter for me. I saw his survey show at Tate Britain in 2008 and it changed my life. Up to that point, I had neither a real understanding nor a real appreciation for contemporary art. I had been living in London for a few years, and I naively dismissed a lot of what I was seeing in galleries. There were things Doig was doing with his paintings that showed me what might be possible and this made me want to pursue painting.

Absher His work struck you but you didn't know why?

Brooks Yeah. I just felt so moved and inspired.

Absher That's where the magic is.

Brooks Absolutely. It's always the things that resonate in ways that you don’t quite understand that make you hungry for more.

Absher Another reason I love him is because you can tell that he's also doing a lot of layering and problem solving in the work. You can see him deciding oh, maybe this color is not the color and I'm going to do something else totally different. There are certain parts of the paintings that feel very straightforward, but I love to see points where an artist struggles in what is ultimately a successful painting.

Brooks That’s such a great point. As a painter, yes, I can see some of the problematic—for lack of a better word—junctures in the process of his paintings. They feel alive in that way; you can feel and see the act of painting.

Absher Yes, and really, it’s not even a struggle; it's just decisions, pathways, and doors. I have always loved the idea that you have to destroy something in order to resurrect it and bring it back to its best form. Most of the paintings in my solo show “The Silver Cord”[on view at The Journal Gallery in Los Angeles from April 10 - May 23] were “finished” at one point and then I decided they were destined to be something else. I use certain transparencies or maybe scratchy pigments to show evidence of time and history; I want the painting underneath to live and breathe through the painting on top of it.

Brooks My process is less layered than yours, at least, I think in terms of composition. But colors and surfaces often do get altered quite a bit.

Absher I love all of the images and cutouts you have around your studio. I've never seen this Doig painting [Figure by a Pool, 2008-2012] and now every time I think about it, I'm going to think of you.

Brooks Yeah, that’s an advertisement from a show he had at Michael Werner in 2012. I ripped out a lot of those Werner ads around that time. Doig, Kirkeby, others.

Absher The way that that ankle is drawn is so crazy. [laughs]

Brooks Yes it is. [laughs] Wonderfully so!

Absher I often think about him and Hernan Bas together.

Brooks Oh yeah?

Absher Yeah, and I think your work really pairs well with both.

Brooks A very nice compliment, thank you.

Absher The thing about Bas that I love…it's like he presents all of the information with such drama, and then Doig kind of takes it away. I wonder if they would ever do a show together...

Brooks I’d love to see it.

Absher Me too! Doig also does such strange things with space.

Brooks I love that that is one of the things that draws you to Doig, because that’s one of the reasons I’m drawn to him, too. And in my own work—and I know the same is true for you—I don't particularly care about space. Sometimes this is a hindrance for viewers, because they want to be told exactly where they are, exactly what they are looking at, especially in work that is more or less representational. The instinct to want not to be lost might be understandable, or even natural, but I'm not trying to tell you where you are. [laughs] I am not trying to give you any more information than what I’ve given you. I have read Doig talking explicitly about his paintings existing within their own realm. He’s not trying to accurately depict some place that actually exists; this painting [Figure by a Pool, 2008-2012] is a great example, because there is and isn't space.

Absher Discovering Doig was really freeing for me because it was this moment where I realized that I did not have to follow any rules. Once I departed from the rules, it became so much easier to work; everything kind of opened up at that point. I understood you can put a tree anywhere, you can put a horizon line anywhere, you can these people can be floating. It doesn't even matter. For me, it seems so obvious now, but for a lot of people who look at paintings, this is something that they really struggle with. If, say, a shadow is going the wrong way…

Brooks Exactly. And, of course, if an accurate depiction of space or an accurate depiction of directional light are the things you, as an artist, or as a viewer, care about, then that’s wonderful. Those should be things that you fixate on when you make work, or things that you seek out when you’re looking at work. But you can do other things. You can do anything! When I figured out I that I didn’t have to do the things I didn’t care about, it freed me up to make the work that I want to make and the work that I can make, which is not the work that anyone else can make.

Absher Exactly. The unlearning of the academic training that I had was really important for me, and in a lot of ways I'm still unlearning it. I do still feel a sense of failure when I don't achieve a certain shading technique, when I paint and don't achieve a certain volume, or the volume doesn't make sense. I have realized, though, that that's just the internal language I learned from my institutional art education, and it's not really real. It doesn't even matter. Often, the next day, when I try to look at what I’ve made through the lens of an objective viewer, sometimes there's this split second of clarity where I can see my work without that noise, and I see it and I'm like, it's perfect. It's kind of an amazing feeling when that happens.

Brooks Right.

Absher But it is battle, dealing with those feelings, learned from my academic training, where I think everything has to make sense.

Brooks You went to Pratt?

Absher Yes, but I went for art history. But there was a foundation year, so I did do all the normal training…color theory…all of that. I was able to go to Pratt because I went to a tax-funded boarding school called The Governor’s School for the Arts and Humanities. To apply for that school—I was fourteen—I brought in this big oil painting of the lunch lady at my school, and I got in. I can't believe it existed, a school like that. They helped me with my portfolio in a way that got me to Pratt. The campus is really beautiful and special. I felt so lucky to have been able to be there. The art history department was really amazing. What about you, did you go to art school?

Brooks No I did not. In many ways, I don't have those voices that you have, but I have had other voices—though not really at all now—that say to me not only are you not doing it right, but you don't know what you're doing at all, or you’re not even allowed to do any of this. I do think having having some background in these these traditional ideas can be enormously helpful, but they’re not for everyone. And these ideas can also be harmful to making good work, because if there is that voice that says this shadow isn’t right, well, what the fuck does that mean in a painting? A painting is what it is. It is only itself.

Absher Something that I always say is that everything is abstract. Everything. It's just shape and line on a piece of paper or a canvas. I really go back to that all the time. Marks are just marks. Do they look good together? And that's it, that's all you need to know.

Brooks When I think about the painters who I am really drawn to, they are almost exclusively figurative painters, but there's a wonkiness to the work. Peter Doig is a great example; Marlene Dumas is another example; Kitaj, Colescott, Munch, Matisse, especially my two favorite Matisses, which both happen to be at MOMA, The Piano Lesson and...

Absher The Red Studio?

Brooks I do love that painting, but not as much as The Moroccans.

Absher Oh, right!

Brooks Those paintings are so wonderfully weird.

Absher Yes. And it’s because Matisse—just like these others you mention—decided what he wanted to keep and what to leave out…it's all about editing. You don't need to describe something if it doesn't resonate with you, even if it's the floor. If the floor isn't resonating, then just don't draw it. Everything can be floating.

Brooks Right. If you have time while you are here in L.A., go see Gustave Caillebotte: Painting Men at The Getty. It’s fantastic. He was an Impressionist, so there's obviously some degree of freedom with how he is making his forms and marks, but there are particular parts of those paintings that are just wild.

Absher Really?

Brooks There's a painting called Portrait of Mr. G [Gallo] which features a man—whose face is so tenderly painted—sitting on a brocaded sofa, and there is a pillow next to him that is just a beautiful mess. I’ll show you a photo I took. [pulls up photo on phone]

Absher Oh, wow. That is crazy. [laughs] I love when paintings do this. The information that is unnecessary is not included, and the necessary information is given to you; he is telling you what to focus on. I think that's what our eye does when we're looking at things anyway. I really don't like it when there's the same level of information everywhere in a painting because it's almost like an iPhone photo. It's too much information. I'm drawn to paintings that work in the ways that my eye sees, where I choose what to focus on, and where I can see beauty in certain things that maybe other people don't.

Brooks I agree.

Absher Different artists will always choose to highlight different things, and that's why it's so cool that we're sharing our vision of our world. I think sometimes about Alice Neel, and the way that she painted the people in her life repeatedly in reclining seated positions…it seems very easy at first, but there's so much to it. It's her world, it's her life, it's her language. It's a whole universe.

Brooks Exactly. As I've gotten deeper into my own practice, I am confident that I have developed my own language. There's a dialect for the drawings, there's a dialect for the paintings, but they they cross over and share a language. With each new painting, with each new drawing, the language deepens, and that feels exciting.

Absher It does. And I love that you said that because my favorite part about making art is that there is a progression and it feels like every single thing that I make opens a new door. I'm learning something from everything I do. It scares me to think of making something that doesn't open up a door. I don’t mean to romanticize this idea of constant progress and motion. I think that it's also fine to paint apples for a decade like Cézanne; he was pushing himself with each and every one, flattening planes and describing space in new ways. I think that it's pretty much impossible not to push yourself when you're really interested in something, but there is that really strange gray area related to this notion of productivity, drive, and capitalism. I really try to differentiate those ideas from each other, but it's difficult. They seem like they're maybe the same thing, but they're not.

Brooks You’re right, they're not. What you say about Cézanne is true; you could paint apples for a decade because you were lost, or you could paint apples for a decade with intention because you had a question you were trying to answer, or something you were trying to figure out. In his case, I'm sure it was the latter.

Absher Yes. What you just said reminds me of the simple truth that it's all about intention.

Brooks Yes.

Absher Yes. And, to me, if the intention is to make a work of art for a show just to be sold, then then the painting is pretty much lost. You have to really set the intention before, and it has to be personal in order for it to feel like something.

Brooks I agree. I absolutely would love to sell everything I make. [laughs] That would be great. [laughs] But I don't think I've ever made a single work with that as the primary or sole intention.

Absher Yeah.

Brooks There are, of course, often elements within my work that I feel like people are interested in, and I do wonder sometimes what I can do with that. But my works aren't products. I can’t make anything that way.

Absher Yeah. Lately I have been thinking about…this sounds really dark, and I’m actually an optimist [laughs]…but we might be the last couple of generations of artists who can be completely, purely expressionistic creators: this is what I see, this is what I make, take it or leave it, maybe buy it [laughs]. The way that things are going…I'm not sure that it will be possible for much longer. Is that crazy to think that way?

Brooks No, you might be right. I think it's really hard right now to predict even the immediate future, let alone several decades into the future, because things are changing so fast and for so many reasons, one of which is AI.

Absher Yeah, although I think we're going to be making art forever. Artists have always been here, they always will be; but I think in terms of like, declaring yourself a professional artist…I don’t know. For now, the fact that I do declare myself to be a working artist means that I owe it to myself to be true to myself. There's no way around that for me.

Brooks I very much feel the same way. I don't mean to be overly dramatic, but often I feel like the only thing that matters is my work. Yes, my relationships with other people and my experiences matter, but the work matters so much, because that is what will last. And I don’t think about that in terms of…

Absher A legacy.

Brooks No, not at all. The feeling, the desire, the reasoning is more inexplicable than that.

Absher I have this cave painting tattoo and it's a human hand. Somebody described it as I was here.

Brooks It really is that simple. I want to ask you a little bit about your upbringing. You grew up near Greenville, South Carolina?

Absher Yes, I say I’m from Greenville, but really I’m from a little town called Taylors. It’s remote, in the mountains, in the woods.

Brooks As someone who grew up in a remote, rural place, what was your entry point into art?

Absher Thank you for asking that question. I love to tell the story of my beginnings as an artist. I always painted and drew and made things. We lived so remotely that there was no one around; I had three brothers and we had each other to hang out with but because they were all boys, I was kind of the odd one out. I was on my own a lot. I had so many so many rich, beautiful experiences, creating a universe in my mind, spending time in the woods, hanging out with really cool trees. The trees became my friends. There is a real spiritual connection that children can have with place and with nature, and I got to experience that because nobody was ever worried about me. Nobody ever really looked for me; they knew I was off in the woods and I would be back soon. In the woods, I started to construct things and draw with sticks. I was working as a little artist out there; I was a little sculptor building things. I was obsessed with fairies and I would build these really elaborate, multi-storied fairy homes out of moss. There was there was this beautiful swamp in the woods that was crawling with all of these critters and turtles. You know how they say the world we grew up in doesn't exist anymore? I think it's true. If I went back to those woods now, it would feel different, it would look different, not just because I'm older, but because so much of the land has been privatized. I went back to that place now, there would be some guy threatening me to get off his land. I loved the freedom of just being a kid out there. I think that's why I'm an artist.

Brooks And how did you end up in New York?

Absher For some reason, I always wanted to come to New York, which was weird, because I was so obsessed with being in nature. I just followed that impulse, though, and only applied to schools in New York.

Brooks Was there support in within your family for the idea of you going to New York or did they think you were crazy?

Absher I was definitely the odd one out in my family, which has a lot to do with being the only girl. I'm fascinated by family dynamics, and how having siblings or not having siblings or how age differences and that sort of thing can inform your personality and affect you career choices and your inclinations. I think that I, being a little isolated and odd, developed a sort of anti-what-the-rest-of-my-family-was-doing attitude. If they were going to stick around, then I was going to New York. They understood that there's no way they were going to stop this girl from doing what she wanted, so they supported me.

Brooks That’s great.

Absher In Kentucky, where you grow up, did you have a lot of nature around?

Brooks I didn’t grow up in the countryside, but yes, there was a lot of nature around. I was a very solitary kid, too, and didn't have a lot of friends. I had a very rich imagination, a rich internal life, and I was outside a lot. I drew and painted, and while I didn't build houses for fairies like you, I was obsessed with matchbox cars and had a permanent city set up in our basement.

Absher Oh, it’s like the boy version of what I made. [laughs]

Brooks Yes, in a way. [laughs] There were multiple tables corresponding to different parts of town, and I had made cardboard bridges and had tiny little doll houses—so small they would fit in your hand—which I had taken from my sister’s discarded toys, and there were trees from train sets. I even had enamel paints and repainted some of the cars. It was quite elaborate, and that city must have existed untouched by anyone else for, I don't know, five or six years at least, maybe longer, until it was finally dismantled. I must commend my parents for letting me do all of that because it took up a lot of space, and we didn’t have a lot of extra space.

Absher Oh, that’s great.

Brooks Like you, I loved to be outside. What you said about kids having a spiritual connection with place and nature really resonates with me. Behind my childhood home there was a field, and at one end was a little forest, and I can remember feeling like who knows what goes on in there? I can remember being enamored with what felt to me like the mystery of the world. I wanted to dive into that feeling.

Absher Exactly.

Brooks Before you went to New York had you ever been to a museum or gallery?

Absher I had been to the High Art Museum in Atlanta for school trips, but it felt very disjointed and strange. I was young and didn't really know what I was looking at. I never thought art was something I could pursue professionally, because it felt like an elitist world that was far away and inaccessible. I think that one of the reasons I retain some semblance of representation in my work now is to make sure that it is accessible. I still cling on to figuration because it's a narrative device, and I want people to understand what I'm trying to say. I want to guide people into my world. Sometimes I feel like I'm making work for that younger version of myself to see. And not to be too esoteric, but I don't totally believe that time is linear. I really don't. I think that there is some connection between that little girl and me, and I’m so grateful to be doing what I’m doing now, and I want to maintain that connection to her.

Brooks Was there a catalyst that made you think that becoming an artist was something that was really possible?

Absher I followed my intuition by going to New York, and then I became obsessed with art history. After I got my undergraduate degree, I began to travel the world. I spent all my savings on traveling but before the tour guide industry was privatized, I made money by going to museums and talking about the art with people. These families would love what I was showing them, and I essentially became their tour guide. I was just so passionate about the subject matter and loved being in museums. Once, in Rome—I was just a little backpacker, you know—I went to the Coliseum and it was like six in the morning and there was already this crazy line outside, and I struck up a conversation with someone and eventually I gave them a whole tour of the Coliseum. I was maybe eighteen.

Brooks Oh, wow.

Absher So cute, right? [laughs] I just remember feeling so connected to the history of art and wanting to wanting to continue that, wanting to see what I could do with my own visual language. I think part of the appeal was more of an interest in the past. I love the past. I love thinking about my own past. I know that letting go is the the best thing, but I do prefer to hold on to certain things because it really informs my work and my life. I think total detachment is a little strange.

Brooks I agree. So much of my own work is influenced by or is about the past. It isn't that I hold on to everything, but the things that I do hold on to really mean something, and part of what I'm intending to do with my work is to bring those things into the present to share them with other people, and hopefully to propel them into the future.

Absher Yes.

Brooks We can’t live in the past, because that isn’t healthy, but we absolutely need to learn from the past. In a lot of ways, the details change, but the basic essence of what it means to to exist and to be a human being doesn't change. So much of what people have have been through is represented in the history of literature and art and to completely ignore those things, or to pretend like they don't matter, is so ignorant.

Absher You’re so right. It's truly incredible how cyclical it is, and we fall for it every time. Every time.

Brooks It seems that there are certain number of generations—it really is almost like living memory—as soon as the people who lived through something are all gone, then we collectively forget those experiences and lessons.

Absher But it's also in our bodies, in our DNA. Our bodies remember.

Brooks Absolutely.

Absher Cycles are part of nature. If we look at time as a graph, there is a never ending cycle that we are in naturally, and then there's this giant spike of something else entirely, which is technology. I feel like those two things they cannot coexist peacefully, so we are going to fail ourselves over and over again. That's just how it works. Sometimes I'm scared for the future.

Brooks It does feel like things are changing in such a rapid way that it is untenable.

Absher But really, there is only fear and love; the fear mind and the love mind. I really try to stay in the love mind as much as possible, but also I'm human and sometimes the fear takes over. Right now, there is collectively a lot of fear.

Brooks It’s definitely in the air.

Absher Right now, my work has felt like it is partly about not giving into despair. My daily practice feels like an act of resilience and strength. That in itself—regardless of how the work ends up looking or where it goes—is enough for me to just show up and make work through these feelings of uncertainty.

Brooks If you're a person who is paying any attention at all to what is happening in the world, of course there are moments of despair. But it’s almost impossible to make work from or to live from that position. Things feel pretty dire in a lot of ways, but you also can't let that paralyze you.

Absher You have to be able to show up for other people and not just wallow. I spent a lot of time in my twenties dealing with things like this in the wrong way; I definitely let it get to me, and it took up a lot of time. But I have been relearning, rewiring, and I know I want to be here for people that I love. And I want to make work and share it. Sometimes there's this moment when you're looking at your own work that is really hard to explain… it's like the feeling of your heart like leaping…where you're looking at it and saying oh, I did that? I can't believe that I achieved this feeling from my own experiences. In my early twenties, I kept searching and searching and searching. And that searching feeling is almost like you're collecting new emotions as though they were little flowers in a field. You pick one up and say oh, I haven't felt this before. If I can get a painting to feel new like this, then that is everything.

Other Swans conversation No. Five

Caroline Absher was born in North Carolina in 1994. She received a BFA from Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, New York. Absher's recent solo and group exhibitions include “Persona” at Fredericks & Freiser in New York, New York (2025); “Lighting (Striking) Blue” at Loyal Gallery in Stockholm, Sweden (2024); “City Life” at V1 Gallery in Copenhagen, Denmark (2024); “Blue Dream” at Shrine in Los Angeles, California (2024); “Back to Oz” at Fredericks & Freiser in New York, New York (2023); Tennis Elbow 107 at The JournalGallery in New York, New York (2022), “Women of Now” at Green Family Art Foundation, Texas (2021), The Armory Show (2022,2023,2024) Independent New York (2024), among others. Absher has participated in artist residencies such as The Macedonia Institute, New York, further expanding her artistic practice. 

Work by Absher is held in the permanent collection of the Portland Museum of Art. She lives and works in Brooklyn, New York.

Her solo exhibitions “The Silver Cord” is on view at The Journal Gallery Los Angeles (April 10, 2025- May 23, 2025).