Karen McCool was born in Philadelphia, PA in 1967 and raised in West Chester, PA, where she lives and paints today. Since 2019, she has honed her painting practice to playfully illustrate human connection through nostalgic vignettes of daily life. Characterized by humor, the light-hearted renderings are created in an alla prima style with bold color. McCool’s work is exhibited throughout the greater Philadelphia area. In 2022, she had solo exhibitions at Beacon Art Gallery, Stone Harbor, NJ, and The Chester County Art Association in West Chester, PA. McCool was also included in the 2023 Historic Yellow Springs Juried Art Show. Her work is in collections throughout the US.
What draws you to use #foundphotos from Instagram as inspiration for your paintings?
I use “found photos” (images that have been separated from their original owners) in part because I love that they are complete strangers while also being very familiar. I’m inspired by the word “Sonder” from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.
“Sonder: n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.”
Here's a link to the video: “Sonder: The Realization that Everyone has a Story” (Go watch it. I’ll wait).
Most artists are storytellers at heart, and many of these old photos have great stories to tell (if only in my head). I’ve met some very cool collectors of found photos on Instagram who’ve been kind enough to allow me to use their photos as references for my paintings. (Turns out, not everyone on the internet sucks! Who knew?).
I love painting strangers and thinking about how their lives connect with my own. We all share a common history, and we are all connected. In fact, humans are wired for connection. We're also wired to love tacos and unlikely animal friendship videos on YouTube. (And if you don't love watching a golden retriever and his duck bestie, who hurt you?)
How has your mother's experience with dementia influenced your fascination with memory and nostalgia in your work?
While looking through family photo albums with my mom, I realized that even when she didn’t recognize the people, she still clearly felt a bond with them. And that human connection extended to photos of people she’d never met. If the subjects in the photo were smiling, she’d smile, and if they appeared sad, she was sad. She’d absorb and reflect the emotions on their faces, which isn’t surprising. Google will tell you that infants can distinguish between smiling and frowning faces as early as three months old. That’s how humans work. It’s science. Or math. How would I know? I’m an artist, not an electrician.
(Oh! Also, that’s how advertising works: it appeals to our emotions. It only takes thirty seconds of watching people living their best life on a sailboat before you start wondering if you should, indeed, ask your doctor if Skyrizi™ is right for you. And you don’t even have Crohn’s disease).
Ahem.
On a serious note, dementia is a sobering reminder of how easily memories can be lost. There are many questions I regret not asking my mom, like who was her first love or what her family’s holiday traditions were like growing up in Scotland. I missed the opportunity to see her as a fully-formed human being, and not just “my mother”. We need to remember we each have our own struggles we’re going through, and we should be kinder to others (i.e. don’t be a wanker).
Oh, and call your mother, you ingrate.
Can you describe your process for selecting vintage photos and transforming them into narrative paintings?
The most arduous part of my process is finding the right image. Scrolling through thousands of photos on Instagram can be exhausting. Seriously, no one works harder than me. (Other than people who actually work). I’m searching for images that immediately convey a feeling or that spark a memory from my childhood.
Errrr wait ... were you asking about my technical process for painting? If so, then that involves the following:
- Drawing a grid on my surface (the grid helps me to better see negative shapes when doing my under-drawing).
- Using a proportional divider. (I'm not anal-retentive, YOU’RE anal-retentive).
- A great deal of erasing and re-sketching in charcoal or graphite.
- Cursing.
- A little banging of my head against the wall until I get the drawing right.
- More cursing (my family is part eye-talian ... this is our nature).
- Questioning my life choices, followed by, (when lucky), a celebratory "Hell Yaas!" when I've managed to capture something close to what I wanted. Or, alternatively, a “Hell Naaw!” and painting over the entire thing with oil ground.
- Rinse and repeat.
How do you use bold palettes and thick brushstrokes to convey the themes of shared memories and human connection?
The colors in my paintings are generally a lot more saturated than "real life" because memory is more than just seeing; it's always colored by emotions. Studies have shown that the more emotionally charged the event, the more vivid (i.e., intense, graphic, colorful) the memory. Also, you’ve heard the expression “seeing the world through rose-colored glasses”, yes? Well, I paint memories through Kodachrome-colored glasses. I don’t know what that means either, but I thought it sounded good. Remind me to put that on my website.
I often use thick paint because (A) I'm using photographs as reference, and I want there to be no mistaking that it’s a painting. (B) I love texture. And (C) Did I mention I love texture? I truly do. While I love photorealism in art, that's not what I'm after. I add texture to give my work an extra dimension, like a memory you can touch and feel. I like that idea. Unless you’re touching and feeling it in a creepy way, then maybe keep your hands to yourself. (Don’t make it weird).
What role does humor play in your art, and how do you incorporate it into your nostalgic vignettes?
Seeing my mother’s mind slip away and now, my father’s sister being ravaged by dementia, was and is, terrifying AF. The older I get, the more worrisome it is every time I can’t remember what the hell I went into the kitchen for. Since dementia is such a scary topic, I guess I’m searching for excuses to laugh. It’s my coping mechanism. Well, that and martinis.
But yeah, for the most part, I’m looking for humorous or joyful themes to incorporate into my art. Or even better: images that make me laugh out loud.
That's not to say I won't ever create paintings that are melancholy or tragic. In fact, occasionally, I feel drawn to paint images from WWII (my grandmother was an Eastern European Jew, and I wonder if there was a bit of transgenerational trauma there, as it was something she never wanted to talk about). Sometimes, the only healthy response to what’s happening in the world is to be sad or outraged, and expressing that through art can be healing. (Also, after the toppling of Roe v. Wade and the global rise of extremist authoritarianism, creating some pro-democracy art may be in my near future. Stay tuned, I guess?).
In the meantime, life is short. I might as well smile while I still have teeth (and yes, I do want that tee shirt).
How do you hope viewers will respond to the transient and often humorous moments depicted in your work?
I hope people see themselves in the strangers I paint. (See “Sonder” above). By recognizing ourselves in others, we’re reminded of all we have in common and that we're all in this together. We all want the same things: to love and be loved, to be accepted for who we are, and to feel a sense of belonging. We all have our own ambitions and worries and we're all fans of Betty White. (And if you're not a fan of Betty White, are you even human?)
[Yes, I quoted myself from my original interview in Create! Magazine because I’m lazy. But in my defense, can you believe they asked me for another written interview? If I could express myself well in writing, I wouldn’t need to paint, would I? Please direct all complaints for this long-winded nonsense, riddled with curses, to the staff of Create! Magazine. This is entirely their fault.]
Ahem.
Finally, I hope viewers are reminded of a story from their past. Everyone has a good story to tell, and sharing our experiences builds understanding and empathy—things we desperately need. We do this by talking to each other. (That's right, I said talking. For you young whippersnappers: it's what we did before texting. You should try it sometime. And YES, I used the word whippersnappers instead of scallywags because I’m not a pirate.)
Ultimately, if my painting sparks a conversation or leads to reminiscing about a hilarious story or an inside joke, my job here is done.
What has been the impact of exhibiting your work throughout the greater Philadelphia area on your art career?
The biggest impact on my career of exhibiting locally is that I've been able to meet many other artists who I now call friends. As it happens, artists are pretty cool people! (Except Gauguin. What an asshole he turned out to be.) And if Brené Brown taught us anything, it’s that deep connection only happens when we are vulnerable with each other and allow ourselves to be seen. We all want to be seen. (I mean, unless you're wearing pajamas with orange Cheeto dust all over them and haven't showered in a week, then maybe you’re just looking to be understood). So yeah, I’ve found the local art scene to be a very nurturing community, and I really love supporting other artists. The more we nurture community, and the more we make connections, the happier we become. At least, that’s been my experience. Your mileage may vary.
