Mary Stephenson Paints a Pathway to Feeling

Mary Stephenson b. 1989, United Kingdom Follow +

For Mary Stephenson, absence creates space for deeper emotional resonances in her art.

Stephenson makes her U.S. debut this month with her solo show Heart Throbs (6 September–12 October 2024) at Chapter NY in New York.

Her paintings depict ghostly outlines of domestic elements like stairs, walls, and beds within deconstructed spaces. These otherwise uninhabited planes emphasise the nuances of solitude, while quietly suggestive of a desire for connection.

Stephenson applies thin layers of oil paint that seep and recede into the linen canvas, creating a delicate illusion of transparency. Subtle, alluring details like faint slits, sharp lines, and glimmers of light enrich her richly saturated compositions.

Ocula met with Stephenson to discuss her transition from school to studio, her obsession with the colour yellow, and how painting helps her transmute grief into strength and connection.

It's been over a year since you graduated from the Royal Academy Schools. How has this transition to working independently affected you?

The shift from school to my studio has been dramatic. The biggest change is going from constant company to now working alone. It feels like being on a long-haul flight—I can go for hours without speaking to anyone.

However, I never feel lonely when I'm painting. There are so many conversations going on in my head. The room feels full.

I now make either very large or very small pieces. I enjoy how the larger works envelop your peripheral view—they become something you can almost step into—while the smaller pieces feel more intimate and approachable, like bite-sized moments.

What inspires your painting process?

I'm interested in how we consume the visual world and how it slips into our unconscious. As a painter, it's about feeding the canvas, which becomes this fertile space for a dialogue with the unconscious.

The paintbrush becomes the spoon that feeds this dialogue. Just like with meals, the larger paintings take more time to digest, while the smaller ones are like canapés that you can fully take in at once. They each make a different kind of impact.

Could you tell me about the new show, Heart Throbs?

The show focuses on recalling and layering memories in liminal spaces, creating a dialogue between what's happening in my mind and the emotional response I experience in my body through paint. These absent spaces are filled with moments of intimacy and tension, reflecting the complexities of human experience.

While a 'heartthrob' traditionally signifies desire, I like to think of it as a root system that connects to deeper emotions. The paintings feature details intended to evoke connection and belonging; they explore themes of loneliness by infusing an absent space with presence.

My current process involves bringing together architectural elements and throbbing, membrane-like forms. This shift is both dramatic and subtle—for example, a small crease in a painting might create an iridescent effect, making the paint itself appear alive.

Are the spaces in your paintings imaginary or rooted in reality?

A bit of both—it's like painting a portrait of a combination of everyone you've ever met.

My paintings tend to start from something personal—a memory, trauma, or grief—but they become expansive playgrounds for others to engage with emotionally. They're grounded in personal meaning, but are also open to interpretation.

Could you talk about how you use colour?

Certain colours can trigger memories for me—they're not necessarily linked to emotions, but they awaken something in the unconscious.

The more I paint, the more I want to explore and refine my use of colour. There is still so much to learn about mixing colours. For my MA degree show, I worked with just four colours, pushing my practice within these constraints. Now, I'm expanding that approach.

I'm obsessed with yellow—I love its richness. In Vented Yellow Tray (2024), for example, I used four or five different shades of yellow to create a technicolour effect. I'm fascinated by how something that looks white can actually contain many colours. I want to explore that complexity.

How long might you spend on a painting, and how does your relationship with the work change over time?

I once finished a large painting in under an hour, which was a surprising and intense experience. I had this visceral response to something in my head, and everything—my mind, hand, and the space—aligned perfectly. But that's rare and doesn't diminish the value of works that take longer.

Some paintings take months and feel like relationships that need time and care. Sometimes you have to let go of your initial vision, which feels a lot like grief. You mourn what the painting was supposed to be, then pick yourself up and reimagine it.

How do people usually respond to your work? Has anyone ever surprised you with their reaction?

The responses I get are varied. I find it comforting when people interpret my work as both sad and funny, as those emotions often overlap for me.

Since my work is deeply personal, it's interesting when someone's reaction aligns with my own feelings behind a piece, creating a kind of camaraderie.

Finally, what's next for you?

I have a solo exhibition opening at White Cube in Paris early next year. All the work for the show is new, and I can't wait to share it. —[O]

Main image: Mary Stephenson, Strong Parasols (2024) (detail). Oil on linen. 160 x 200 cm. Courtesy Mary Stephenson. Photo: Tom Cater.