Corinne Anderson

This painting oozes with longing. The two lovers, separated by space and time, reach for one another as their souls embrace in the middle. There's such passion in that embrace, their muscles accentuated by Mateu's geometric painting style. Enveloped and collapsing into her forbidden lover's arms, the woman surrenders as her hair cascades into a dark abyss — a foreshadowing of where she's headed if she cannot break the chains around her wrists.

In this surreal dimension that Mateu has created for us, we see the swirling vortex of space. Maybe it's a wormhole that allows the lovers to be together for an instant, maybe it's a sign that they're star-crossed (literally across galaxies from one another), maybe it's a reminder that their bond is beyond our realm.

The blue plinths jutting out of the abyss prominently display the story of these lovers, connected by specific tarot cards. One of the most noticeable is the Ace of Cups — symbolic of deep feelings, compassion, intimacy, and finding the heart of the matter. Further back, we see the Four of Swords — a withdrawal, a time for turning inward and transforming, like a butterfly. Clearly, Mateu left these as Easter Eggs for us to understand the story on a deeper level.

All of this is enough to grab someone's attention, but it's the way in which Mateu painted it that leaves me breathless. The hard lines and contouring add so much depth and texture, but in unexpected ways that are at once familiar and new.

I groped around for a long time deciding how to explain this painting. I decided to explain the story I saw playing out in my head while I stared at it, but when it comes to the description of how the artistry moves me... I'm just speechless.

"Rebirth and Reclaim" is an empowering piece that speaks especially to my feminine side. Although I do believe that men or those who identify as male can still relate to this work of art, I selfishly want to focus on its value to women.

The dark background and nakedness of the subject hint at a past trauma, something that made her feel alone or isolated or broken down. She rips apart her chest, the veins and tendons in her hands rippling with a previously unknown strength. And just when she thinks she cannot take any more, a few green leaves unfurl from within, followed by the bud of a flower, followed by a whole garden of beauty.

This is the transformation that I hope every woman feels once they reclaim their power in a world that constantly seeks to restrain her from doing that.

My one critique that is important to discuss? The breasts. Unless the goal is to make them look fake, there needs to be some adjusting to their rigidity and overall shape to match the realism portrayed throughout the rest of the artwork.

I don't see truly original art every day, which is why I commend Jennifer Kiss for this exquisitely unique piece of work.

In this fairy tale, there is danger, mystery, cuteness, and even a sense of domesticity. There is a clear way to appease the beast (feeding it carrots) but it takes courage. These concepts fit into the literary framework of Magical Realism — viewers must accept certain facts about a strange world as if they were their own.

With this in mind, it would be fantastic to have an entire series devoted to this realm, where things are like dreams and dreams are the basis of reality. Well done!

Limitations are part of life. Even for those who are wealthy or healthy or celebrated or successful, there is always a limitation set before them. Whether it's of their own making or not, they must face the limitation all the same. I find "Haiku III" to be emblematic of this unanimous struggle not only because Jodi Fuchs challenged her creativity by setting limitations, but because the piece itself is explosive in its portrayal of the inner turmoil inherent in overcoming obstacles. There's the self-doubt, cutting across the other emotions with rough black brushstrokes. There are the moments of ascendent confidence, rising high in a solid gray line but tapering at the top. There's a burst of anger and passion, splattered across in red. And then there's the glowing center where it's known that "this too shall pass" — perfectly represented by an imperfect shape in dark yellow. It all combines to make my heart flutter in anticipation, feeling as if I'm about to confront something that is holding me back.

"Into an Unknown World #2", unlike the first in the series, starts with a familiar pattern. The gridded lines in the dark red patches appear like cities from above, the streets criss-crossing and trying to remind us that there should be order and organization in our lives. But the swatches of color surrounding these small islands of urbanization carry the energy of conquest, or maybe one of reclamation. Meanwhile, the gray outer boundaries are reminiscent of the sea, lapping at the shores with a soothing yet persistent rhythm.

In some ways, this piece feels antagonistic, like "the world is falling apart at the seams." But in other ways, it feels optimistic and hopeful, like "our world is changing on its own terms." Either way, this piece is exuberant. It could be the kind of artwork that, when seen, urges the viewer to wonder which side of the spectrum they belong to that day... and then come back the next to see if their mind had changed.

Cranes are highly symbolic creatures, not only in Japan but all over the world. They often symbolize balance or living in harmony with others. "Dancing Cranes" speaks to balance on many different levels, but it's most powerful in relation to the philosophical concept of yin and yang. The Edward Hopper-ian water on the left of the canvas is ominous in dark grays with white-tipped waves but inside the space with the cranes, there is a warm, glowing light coming from that direction. Both cranes are in a state of agitated motion, one reaching up with wings outstretched while the other bends low with both feet on the ground. Balance is about meeting in the middle, finding a central place where dueling subjects, like light and dark, can coexist.

I like your experimentation with the lace background and am impressed by your ability to impart detail with such a rough surface.

From a theory perspective, I think there's more here than just levels of femininity. With the subject holding a mask to her face there is a sense of deliberate mask-wearing. I don't see it as her hiding her face, but rather choosing to put on a certain face. The lace background speaks specifically to the domestic side of femininity — household chores, sewing, laundry — while also denoting a kind of elegance or sexiness. Lace is one of those materials that are so distinctly feminine, yet often aimed at seducing the masculine, so it's an interesting choice. All together, these elements of the piece exude a confidence that is both sure of itself and artificially constructed.

Please keep experimenting with textiles in your work, I really think you're onto something here.

Your knowledge and curiosity about materials shine through in this piece, Joyce. There are certainly some undertones of stratification — layers that may or may not be more wholesome than the others. I like the jagged and rough upper juxtaposed by the rounded pattern beneath.

Your process sounds absolutely fascinating. I would love to see your studio with all these dioramas.

The lighting is impressive - I'm wondering if you do any post-production editing?

The juxtaposition of lines is really nice in this piece, Melissa. Although the woman's dress is the first point of focus, the longer I look the more I appreciate the details and perspective within her surroundings.