Frances Miculis

Journal

Process notes, exhibition updates, and material experiments from the studio.

Eight Works, One Question: My YoungArts Application

Eight Works, One Question: My YoungArts Application

I just submitted my application for a national YoungArts award. Here's how I chose the eight works — and the question that ties them together.

I just hit submit on my application for a national YoungArts award, and I'm still buzzing. The application asked for photos of eight works and an explanation of how I chose them. Everything about my submission was intentional — the order, the flow, and the descriptions. I chose to write about the thoughts behind each piece rather than the materials. Everyone uses paint; that isn't what makes a piece unique. The thoughts in my mind and the stories of how each work evolved are what connect them. A moment of growth This summer I studied at the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn and at the Savannah College of Art and Design in Savannah, and my mind exploded onto paper and into mixed media. Working alongside young artists from literally around the world, and getting feedback from accomplished professors, was life changing. It also means I'm at a fortunate moment where I have a connected body of work to share. How the pieces talk to each other In Hair Day, we zoom into the faces of three bold female figures — the same kind of bystanders who watch from the background of The Imperfections of a Butterfly. Facial expression and body language carry through Thriving or Grieving and Foundational Figures 2 too. But the connection that resonates most is simpler: the thoughts and feelings I have as a young woman in high school living in New York City. Why Not Just Say Hello, The Imperfections of a Butterfly, and The Spotlight are crowning achievements for me, and they all ask the same question in bold, provocative imagery: Why don't you care? I think a lot of teenagers are asking themselves that question. Very few have the courage to ask it openly and put themselves on display. Many hide it behind confidence, ambivalence, attitude, or just looking like they don't care. Taking the risk Why Not Just Say Hello was made at Pratt in a compressed time frame. I wanted a large-format self portrait unlike anyone else's, while knowing it would be hard to finish in the time I had. Once I took the risk and started, I never looked back — it took several late nights. Taking calculated risks runs through my art, and it's part of who I am. What's next I'm extremely proud of how much I've grown as a visual artist over the last two years, and excited to have shared this work. There's so much more I want to say about each piece than the word limits allowed — so expect more of those stories here soon.
Summer Group Show Recap

Summer Group Show Recap

Notes from installing my work in this summer's group show — and what I learned seeing it on a wall with other artists.

This summer I had work in a group show, and installing it taught me more than making it did. Seeing my pieces on a gallery wall — hung at a height someone else chose, lit by lights I didn't control, sitting next to work by artists I'd never met — changed how I understand them. Pieces that felt finished in my room suddenly looked like they were still talking to each other. A few things I'm taking back to the studio: - Scale reads completely differently on a clean white wall than it does surrounded by clutter. - People spend longer with a piece when there's a small, strange detail to find — the mirrored paper did that work. - The best conversations I had all weekend were with the other artists in the show. Seeing how they solved problems I'm still stuck on was the real prize. More shows soon, I hope.
The Process of Layering

The Process of Layering

Why I never start with a blank canvas, and how destruction becomes part of the image.

I used to be afraid of ruining a piece. Now I count on it. Every work starts with something already there: a newspaper clipping, a failed sketch, a color I mixed by accident. The first layer is rarely pretty. It's information — texture, tone, a suggestion of where the piece might want to go. The second layer argues with the first. The third layer tries to make peace. By the fourth or fifth, the image starts to tell me what it is instead of the other way around. That's the part I love most: the moment the work takes over.
Materials I'm Loving Right Now

Materials I'm Loving Right Now

Oil pastel, wax resist, and the cheap markers that bleed in the best way.

A quick list of what's on my desk this month: - Oil pastel over acrylic: the resistance creates a chalky, luminous surface. - Wax resist under ink: unpredictable, which is the whole point. - Dollar-store markers: they bleed through thin paper and make lines I could never plan. - Found paper from old magazines: the typography becomes texture.