Hyperrealism as Contemporary Voice: Refocusing my Practice

Studio Conversations: July 2025

Reflections on Being a Hyper-Realist Artist

Have you ever found yourself searching for the definition of who you are as an artist? That moment when you decide to stop apologizing for what you love and finally claim it without hesitation? That’s where I want to go today—to share my journey, hoping it might help you find the language and conviction to stake out your place, too.

As an artist, I move between traditional drawing techniques, the precision of hyperrealism, and evolving conversations in contemporary art. This intersection is where my work takes shape: precise, methodical, layered with questions about how art can reflect, challenge, and transform the world around us.

During my undergraduate studies in Montreal, I recall going to the museum to see a retrospective of contemporary art and saw Barnett Newman’s “Voice of Fire” for the first time. The piece, with its three towering stripes of saturated color, was unapologetically minimalist and dominated the entire room. In that moment, I realized that simplicity in line, form, and structure could carry significant weight. It could ignite a spark, invite reflection, and connect a viewer to something greater than themselves. This realization was pivotal for me, affirming the importance of creating work based on the style and materials that resonated with me.

FINDING MY LANGUAGE

Realism was not my initial focus in art. My journey began with a diverse range of experiments, drawing inspiration from artists like Miró and exploring abstract elements, technical color blocks, lines, and vibrant color fields. It was only after extensive exploration of various materials and techniques that I embraced realism as my style. This realization occurred when I completed my first large-scale portrait using colored pencils, marking a pivotal moment in my artistic development.

What does hyperrealism signify to me? In my artwork, hyperrealism goes beyond simple photographic replication. It serves as a compelling expressive medium, enabling me to delve into subjects I am deeply passionate about—such as identity, mental health, and environmental fragility—with the precision and clarity that resonate with me and are uniquely offered by this style. I utilize compilations, rather than relying on a single reference, to achieve balance, rhythm, movement, and a visual narrative that effectively conveys the intended meaning of the subject.

From a young age, I have been captivated by the precision inherent in maps and perspective. I would dedicate hours to examining architectural drawings, enthralled by the way form and space convey intention. During my teenage years, I explored library shelves, delving into works such as Raphael’s “School of Athens” with its perfect symmetry and Gentileschi’s radiant fabrics, in an effort to understand how artists crafted meaning through realism. Elements such as composition, line, form, edges, and values are all deliberate; they form a language that deeply resonated with me and left a profound impression.

My influences have widened over time. Arthur Erickson’s sensitivity to place, Moshe Safdie’s Habitat ‘67s hints of Brutilism, Philip Johnson’s clarity, Odile Decq’s fierce angularity. In painting and sculpture, I look to Calder’s play with balance, Sherald’s distilled color, Mondrian’s relentless grids. They remind me that precision doesn’t limit expression—it reveals it.

THE MEDIUM AS MESSAGE

Using colored pencils in my methods demands precision and control. The medium itself has become integral to my artistic statement, reflecting time, patience, and control. When applied delicately, it constructs translucent narratives—layers of texture, light, and color that seem almost whispered onto the surface in the depiction of skin, hair, fabric, and hand-crafted letters. There is an intimacy in this process as I work mere inches from the surface: the softness of the paper's texture, the scent of cedar as pencils are sharpened, and the quiet accumulation of pigment.

My work is never about a single aesthetic. It’s about meaning: how an artwork can hold complexity, invite reflection, remain open to interpretation. Sometimes my work is loud—text carved like tattoos into skin. Sometimes it’s quiet—portraits of 2SLGBTQ+ individuals answering hate with love and resilience.

WHAT CONTEMPORARY ART MEANS TO ME

Contemporary art, to me, is a refusal to simplify. It means accepting that every image carries history, both personal and collective. It’s about questioning conventions while staying true to the language that feels authentic. My hyperrealism is a bridge between the discipline of form and the challenge of saying something that isn’t easily categorized.

During more than a decade of formal study, I immersed myself in art history and architecture. Living in Montreal, with its proximity to New York and Europe, gave me access to an astonishing breadth of ideas. The streets of Florence, the Guggenheim, the vastness of Versailles—all gave me moments of reflection. What engaged me wasn’t just the visual impact but the insistence that art is a language.

Over time, I’ve learned this approach can be challenging for audiences and collectors who expect art to be purely decorative. I’ve often wondered how to make work about suffering, identity, queerness, the environment, when so much of the market is built on comfort. But complex subjects are often raw. That’s where the beauty lies. When you have a viewer respond by saying “the work is stunning,” maybe you’ve done something right and maybe that misconception about what the audience truly wants it something I have learned to hear.

A curator once mentioned to me, “Embarking on a career in art, particularly when focusing on pieces suitable for public galleries, can be financially challenging initially. However, perseverance leads to progress.” At that time, I suspected, and now I am certain, that this progress was never about monetary gain. The true achievement lies in the impact of your work—its ability to convey a message that resonates with and is noticed by others. Financially, at the outset of a series or when starting your professional journey, seeking external support becomes essential. Applying for grants is an excellent way to assist in this endeavor, as is identifying venues that offer support with travel and exhibition expenses. It is a demanding balancing act, but ultimately rewarding when you receive invitations to exhibit, are granted a solo exhibition, and know your work will be appreciated.

HOW I MOVE FORWARD

I’ve found a path in figurative drawing—especially portraiture—that feels honest. My florals are evolving in the same direction, drawing from vanitas and Roman monuments, speaking to environmental fragility. I’m experimenting with materials like marble dust, pure titanium and zinc pigments, metalpoint. Every choice is deliberate. Every mark carries its own history.

I’m interested in beauty, but not as an endpoint. It’s a threshold—a way to bring someone close before the complexity unfolds.

For anyone reading—especially artists and viewers curious about what drawing can hold—I’d offer this: Contemporary art is not a trend. It’s a way of thinking. A commitment to keep looking, to keep questioning, and to trust that what matters will eventually take form.

This is how I move forward: with drawing, with attention, with a belief that every mark has the potential to matter. I’m often unsure if I’m doing it right, but I’m determined to keep working, keep creating, and keep saying it anyway. Art is simply that breath in my day—it’s what moves me forward.