Elizabeth Johnson: You say in your Gross McCleaf Artist Statement that you are fascinated with a sense of "between-ness" and of “feeling nowhere and everywhere at once." How have you come to inhabit a disassociated, mystical, or quiet point of view? Do your unconscious and daydreams influence your art?

Nicole Parker: You hit the nail on the head with disassociated. I would also add liminal: being suspended in a transitional state or positioned at or on both sides of a boundary or threshold, such as between the past and present, between waking and sleeping. I think about standing on a beach with one foot in the sand and the other in the water, or in a doorway with clear views of two rooms without stepping into either space. I love liminal because of how well it expresses a concept that’s followed me throughout my life. My images are symbolic and reflective of my worldview and sense of self, and how I grew up. My household was very eclectic and full of different influences; I have Korean heritage, but my family’s collective cultural identity is ambiguous and very hard to name and identify. I’ve gone through many levels of understanding this small part of myself, and although I have a strong sense of self, it’s difficult to explain verbally to others. My work is not about my cultural identity; instead, it represents the way that my upbringing has taught me to see and understand.

NP: I have a strong psychological/visual association between colors and sounds, one always evokes the other. I think because of this, sounds get attached to my visual memories. Both these landscapes were based on a memory of an activity rather than a specific event or place. The details are literally fuzzy and foggy. When I think of walks I used to take with my sister and my dog when I was young, I remember snow, houses in the dark, and stories my sister told me. When I think of driving, I think of white noise, headlights, taillights. Many of the pieces in the show, but especially these two, are also influenced by certain songs or types of music. 3:36 is named for a track on Andrew Bird’s album Norman, which is the soundtrack to a film of the same name. I loved this album as a teen and still listen to it a lot. That track has always sounded brown and rusty.

EJ: You say in your Statement, "I'm most attracted to the odd and quiet moments of everyday life in a world that is large and loud." Does shielding yourself from sonic irritations balance your ability to modulate them? Do you work from your own photos or film stills? Do you seldom include figures because you favor solitude? Do you like imagining bodiless vision?

NP: It’s funny you mention film stills. Film has a much greater influence on my work than photography. I watch a lot of movies and get tons of inspiration from certain cinematographers and how film compositions are set, lit, and staged. I used to want to be a figurative painter, but then I realized what interests me and is most memorable and impactful are places and things.

To me, the figure is both too ambiguous and too targeted. I have a hard time separating the body from the individual, but I don’t think the body always tells us everything we need to know. My body doesn’t describe me fully, but my memories and experiences do.

When I remember an event or even when I’m dreaming, I never see myself. My body is almost outside of my own perception, so it doesn’t interest me anymore to include it.

NP: I’m not interested in human figures anymore, but I will always love painting animals. I do think they mirror humanity somewhat but are less inhibited and easier to interpret. Deer fascinate me.

They’re not dangerous, but sometimes their presence can feel unsettling because when I notice them, I realize they’ve already been watching me.

In Neil Gaiman’s book Coraline, a cat character is asked its name and says something to the effect of “cats don’t need names because we know who we are,”. I love this line and think it says something insightful about animals versus people. I use animals symbolically: seeing certain types makes me feel certain ways, so I use them to convey that emotion.

Dogs mean something familiar or missed. Deer represent something omniscient and maybe unsettling but not menacing––they ask questions they already know the answer to. Toads are academic. Birds are chaotic and sometimes volatile. 

EJ: Bedtime and Breakfast elicit thankfulness for safety, a cozy home, and memories of childhood. Were these pieces influenced by the COVID lockdown? Would you say you respond to landscapes differently than to interiors? Were these pieces rendered from photos? Do you approach light effects directly in paint or work up drawings first?

NP: You nailed it! They were both memories of something cozy and comfortable, lots of warm sensations and weak light. They were both planned out during the height of COVID lockdown, though Breakfast wasn’t finished until later. I think of landscapes and interiors similarly: it’s always about the flavor of the light and the air. I like interiors because they usually involve more defined shadows, which take on their own personalities. I like shadows because they’re essentially little echoes or memories of something else that show up in an imperfect way. They are also so fleeting. These days I do very little drawing or sketching. If whatever I’m painting involves some structure or precision, like architectural details, I draw it first in colored pencil straight onto my panel, but for light effects and things with soft edges, I make it up as I go. Vague color studies and written notes about colors help convey what I want to convey. For example, there’s a note on my phone: “the sky today is like peachy mustardy with Wedgewood blue at the horizon, try titanium white, Indian yellow, Pyrrole orange, black.” 

NP: Painting used to be more of a means to an end, but a professor once told me that I paint like a printmaker, and that completely changed my view of my process. Lately I’ve been noticing how I paint and what my knowledge about the process can add to the interpretation of the work.

There are many pieces in this show that involve repetitive, intricate movements bordering on tedious/maddening, which I’m realizing reflects the emotions I want to convey about the piece. One of my newest pieces of a giant lawn around a tiny house illustrates this best: it’s basically just grass forever. 

EJ: Where will your exploration take you in the next few years? Are there topics that you are thinking about a lot now that may arise in your work later?

NP: Memory and visual perception will always have a heavy hand in my subject matter, but I’m focusing more on the physical house as an allegorical self-portrait. I used to consider myself a pretty straightforward landscape painter, but really, I’m interested in place and space.

November 16 - December 23

Nicole Parker is currently based in Maryland. She received her BFA and Certificate from the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts (PAFA) in 2018. During her time at PAFA, she was a recipient of the Richard C. Von Hess Memorial Travel Scholarship, which allowed her a month of travel in Germany, the United Kingdom, and Iceland to explore individual artistic pursuits of her choosing. 

After graduating and completing her overseas travel, she had her first large solo exhibition at the Rouse Company Foundation Gallery at Howard Community College in Maryland, where she previously studied during high school. She had her first Philadelphia exhibition in 2021 at Gross McCleaf where she is represented. 

Nicole has also enjoyed making work and learning from other artists at Pyramid Atlantic Art Center in Hyattsville, Maryland, where she was previously an Artist in Residence, and is now a Printmaking Associate. She has exhibited her paintings and prints in numerous group exhibitions along the East Coast, including in Pennsylvania, Maryland and New York.