1. Where do you call home, and how would you describe Stacy Leigh?
I’ve called Manhattan home for more than 20 years, but I’m a native New Yorker, born in Long Island and raised in Brooklyn. I’d describe myself as an unfiltered, sometimes bawdy (okay, often bawdy!) but surprisingly serious person. I’m a bit of a recluse and, as corny as it sounds living in Manhattan, a big-time nature lover. I have an extensive container garden on my roof that I’ve been tending for over a decade. My garden, along with my art, quite literally keeps me from going full-on bonkers.
2. Did you study art, or is it inherent?
I didn’t formally study art, though I did attend NYU film school before ultimately dropping out. I didn’t get far enough to claim it as an accolade. Whatever creative skills I have come from intuition, trial and error or both. Early in my painting days, I watched documentaries about the Masters and became obsessed with the glowing effect of glazing. I taught myself how to glaze using acrylics, which I still use today.
3. You began your career on Wall Street before turning fully to painting. What was the catalyst?
I was a stockbroker at a firm at 14 Wall Street, an adrenaline-fueled, testosterone-driven field at the time. Despite my success opening accounts, being taken seriously by peers and executives was difficult. I had to fend off a lot of unwanted attention, even from CEOs. At one firm, the CEO assaulted me. That was the final straw. I mentally checked out. I couldn’t compartmentalize the stress of managing high-net-worth portfolios, and I was miserable. My husband, with tears in his eyes, urged me to pursue something creative. I gave my two-week notice the next day.
4. Your recent series Escape to B Roll was inspired by imagining an alternate reality away from the city’s hustle. What triggered that impulse, and how did it translate into your visual vocabulary?
The B Roll series was born out of feeling trapped in my apartment. I own a condo/loft and am living through one of those New York City nightmares you only hear about in folklore, a malignant narcissist board president, a five-year-long lawsuit (I’m the plaintiff), and the kind of dysfunction that embodies Jenny Holzer’s “Abuse of Power Comes As No Surprise.” You can’t choose your neighbors.
I poured all the emotional weight of that concrete existence (even my floors are soft concrete!) into the B Roll paintings. I wanted to be inside those paintings so badly. Whether or not that intent is visible, the works saved me by lifting me up.
5. You’ve described omitting human figures in that series and letting objects and spaces carry human energy. What does that choice allow you to explore that figurative work might not?
There are times when omitting the human form allows for a more subtle interpretation. A car can represent an emotion or person, like my repeated use of the Pontiac Barracuda. In House Full O’ Ho’s, the curvy red Barracuda symbolizes strong feminine energy with sexual overtones. I paired it with an earthy green house and a kiddie pool and the title to tell a story about marriage and how life affects intimacy. Leaving humans out can sometimes give multitudes to my intent.
6. Your paintings hover between the familiar and the uncanny the suburban lawn, the everyday car, the quiet of space. How do you view the tension between realism and “almost-real” in your work?
I don’t over think the duality, because I paint from memory and imagination. Trying to control realism would just constrain me. My refusal to use reference photos is probably why things look uncanny. Richard Prince once told me that painting from memory is what makes my work good because everything is off-kilter. Lately, I’ve been thinking about experimenting with my own photos, if only to see if I have the painterly chops.
7. Color plays a strong role in your recent work often bold, saturated, slightly surreal. How do you approach color?
I usually build my palette around one strong feature often the sky. Sometimes I just go with intuition and choose whatever color I want to look at in that moment. Other times, like when I’m painting foliage, I use livelier hues to complement and balance the greens. My early figurative paintings were rich jewel tones, which may be why I later swung in the opposite direction. My recent work is more middle ground, though still pretty bold.
8. You describe your style as “self-taught” and not easily boxed into a movement. What freedoms and challenges does that bring?
I’ve tried to categorize my work in both style and content, and I always come up short. It probably falls somewhere within outsider art. Being self-taught is challenging because I don’t have a historical art vocabulary; referencing symbolism is harder without that foundation. But it’s also freeing for exactly the same reason, I can forge my own path without being encumbered by what’s “right” or acceptable. That said, the camaraderie and network of art school (especially places like Yale) cannot be replicated, and that is a genuine limitation.
9. When beginning a new body of work, what are your first steps? Do you sketch, photograph, imagine, or jump straight into paint?
My process is kind of laughable. I have a loose idea or narrative in my mind, and it just stays there. I don’t sketch or photograph or prepare, I simply work it out mentally and then dive straight into the canvas raw-dog. It’s not the way! It’s a flawed non-process full of unnecessary struggle. I should really try sketching ideas first. It actually seems like it could be fun.
10. Objects in your compositions often read like characters. How do you conceive of narrative?
My paintings come from personal experience, which makes it easier to work from imagination. I credit my youth of obsessively watching films; my mind runs mini-movies all day long. Film uses objects to tell stories due to time constraints, I think I do the same. I keep a mental library of ideas for paintings and photos, though nothing is ever set in stone. I’ll change course if something doesn’t serve the narrative. When humans are omitted, I imagine it’s more fun for viewers to figure out what’s going on.
11. You’ve said you hope viewers feel calm, nostalgia, maybe escapism. How do you balance that with the less comfortable undercurrents—the off scale, missing humans, hints of isolation?
Great question. It challenges what “comfortable” even means. As an only child, I revel in isolation. I can toil alone for hours. With viewers, I hope the landscapes and objects evoke nostalgia, a place where I personally find calm. I’m not sure there is a balance between calm and uncanny; that balance becomes its own emotion. Humans need to sit with it and feel all the feels. I don’t want my paintings to be too pretty or easily digestible. A little discomfort can be a good thing.
12. Which artists, filmmakers, or photographers influence you, and how do their methods resonate in your work?
I love contemporary art and would be disingenuous not to immediately credit John Currin—his facial expressions, contorted proportions, even his color choices have all influenced me. I also love Christian Schad, Lisa Yuskavage, and Jim Shaw. My favorite filmmakers are Darren Aronofsky and Kubrick, plus all the B-roll in documentaries.
For photographers, I’m drawn to Gregory Crewdson and Helmut Newton—for very different reasons. I feel like there’s a dash of Schad and Kubrick in my paintings… but I wish there were a huge serving of Currin! Overall, I think my work has a cinematic sensibility.
13. How has your practice evolved, and what remains constant?
I’ve become more experimental with subject matter which, for me, means more brave and authentic. I expose more of my internal dialogue in my work now. Sharing personal narratives unlocked a visual language I didn’t access when relying on human figures to communicate. This evolution has sometimes gotten me labeled a feminist artist, perhaps because my narratives are more overt now or because my early paintings featured female figures in a traditional, deadpan, male-gaze style.
What remains constant is my love of painting straight from imagination and skewed memory.
14. What role does the viewer play in your work?
The viewer plays a huge role. As I paint, I’m constantly thinking about how someone might perceive what I’m offering though that doesn’t influence the work itself. I want viewers to know there is a narrative, but still have room to interpret it. I may be communicating something specific, but everyone sees art through their own spectrum, and I love that.
15. Any upcoming projects you’d like to share?
I just closed a solo show, State of Disrepair, with Harper’s Gallery in Chelsea. I’ll spend the next few months building 1:4 scale sets and photographing them for an art book I’m creating. At the same time, I’ll be experimenting with new paintings I’ve been thinking about for a while. I love hunkering down in winter and being an unhinged, feral, creative tornado.
16. How can people find you on social media?
Instagram is the only option: @thestacyleigh
Images courtesy of Harpers, New York
Interview by Jimon
