This summer my husband and I celebrated our 20th anniversary with a trip to Italy. We didn’t really feel comfortable leaving the kids with family for two weeks, so we decided to take them with us. The trip went exactly as I’d expected.

The first time I went to the Peggy Guggenheim museum in Venice, Italy, it was 2022 and I was there on a 3-week study abroad in Florence. I got to spend the weekend of my 40th birthday in Venice, seeing as much art as possible in 48 hours. The museum itself is one of my favorite places for lots of reasons, but what was really memorable to me during that visit was that there was a family there at the same time as me, moving through the rooms at about the same pace. A mom and dad and two sons who seemed to be either older high school age or early college. I didn’t meant to eavesdrop, but it was difficult not to in these small rooms when the parents took turns explaining each painting with such enthusiasm and depth of knowledge and the sons seemed genuinely interested and participated in the conversation by asking relevant questions. From my perspective as a mom to 3 elementary-aged kids at the time, this family seemed so enviable. I couldn’t imagine what feats of parenting it would take to raise my kids to actually care about art. When we were all taking breaks for cappuccino in the museum cafe, I apologized to the family for eavesdropping but complimented them on their incredibly engaged and analytical conversations in the galleries. The mom replied that she and her husband were both college art history professors, so… Oh. That makes sense. It gave me much to think about.

I would never claim to be an expert parent (or even an above average parent, honestly), but it does feel important to me that kids get to experience the world through different perspectives. I don’t want them to grow up insulated from reality and not to be able to relate to or have compassion for those living with less, but I always want them to see how much bigger the world is and all that is there waiting for them if they venture out. I didn’t expect that we’d be able to take our kids to Europe until they were much older — my youngest is 8 and has Down syndrome so traveling with her will always be a little bit more challenging — but choosing the most chaotic storyline is my MO.

On this trip, our family spent 5 days in Venice — 2 Biennale days, one road trip to Gardaland (Italy’s largest theme park), 1 miscellaneous art day, and a travel day— and then a week in Florence. For kids that are happiest when left alone with a screen, I knew this was going to be a challenge, but hopeful because at least you can get chicken fingers and fries basically everywhere… it wouldn’t be completely awful.

The Venice Biennale is incredible and, in my opinion, best viewed alone so that you can process your own thoughts and reactions to the art and take all the time you need with each piece. The Biennale is a global art festival that takes place every other year and includes film, dance, and architecture in addition to the visual art. Each year a themed exhibition is curated from work by artists all over the world in two main venues and 80+ additional country pavilions in the venues and throughout the islands which feature one artist from each participating country.

This year the theme was In Minor Keys, and sadly, the curator Koyo Kouoh passed away suddenly while still working on the exhibition. It was continued by her family and colleagues, but the resulting overall effect of the Biennale was quite weak compared to the last two I have seen. The upside is that it felt like a decent opportunity to introduce kids to an art event of this scale. The work was interesting enough but I didn’t feel like I was missing much when I had to rush through with Gloria, my 8-year-old on piggy back. The volume of art was overwhelming to the kids, but my favorite moment was when we entered the main exhibition at the Giardini venue and my 12-year-old asked for my phone to take pictures because “this is actually really pretty.”

So back to the Peggy Guggenheim: On the morning of our last full day in Venice we decided to visit, taking my oldest and youngest. The 12-year-old preferred the comfort of the air conditioned apartment to sweating in art galleries, so we let her skip this one. The 13-year-old had been pretty agreeable when it came to the art stuff and he was a lot of fun. He humors me when I want to explain the importance of weird statues or abstract paintings. He points out every phallus and breast, usually with a smirk and side-eye. We move quickly, but I make sure that my husband gets the time he needs to see everything and hear the stories behind some of the most significant pieces that shaped modern art history. (Note: Peggy Guggenheim, niece of the NYC Guggenheim, basically singlehandedly created the market for abstract expressionism and is the reason artists like Jackson Pollack became a big deal. Her home/museum is stuffed full with art by Kandinsky, Picasso and Braque, Alexander Calder, Elsworth Kelley, Giacometti, Brancusi, Joan Miro, Yves Tanguy, Max Ernst, and more.)

In the oppressive heat, we take a break for cool beverages in the café and are sat at the same table I sat at in 2022. Our experience is nothing like that lovely family with two art historian parents… Gloria crouches on the floor with her cartoons, feeling the cool stone near the air conditioner. There is a bit of an impatience to move on rather than sit and reflect, but I sip my pre-lunch Aperol spritz and feel slightly encouraged that at least we’re doing SOMETHING. I had no intention of getting an advanced degree in art history when I had that conversation with that family in 2022, but here I am, about to graduate with my MA in modern and contemporary art history in December this year. What felt like an impossibility is somehow coming into focus as we keep moving forward.

I’m realizing that you really don’t know what you’re going to get as you raise children. They become who they’re going to become, you just kind of shuffle them through different experiences and see which ones become pivotal moments in their lives, opening up their minds to new possibilities. It’s not something to be scared of. It’s okay if they don’t catch my enthusiasm for the themes in contemporary art that unite artists around the world. It’s okay if they can’t admit that they enjoyed anything about Italy, but I hope that they do absorb the ability to observe things from a new perspective, challenge themselves to try new things, and make the most informed choices they can for their own future.

Nancy Youdelman’s Self Portrait As Ophelia,

From Shakespeare to Millais to Feminism

Every once in a while there is a character that becomes a symbol with so much meaning beyond what its author imagined or intended. Ophelia, from Shakespeare’s Hamlet is one of these characters. In this examination of Nancy Youdelman’s interpretation of the character, we will also look at the significance and meaning of this character in modern art history. We will also explore the idea of “intersemiotic translation” and how it relates to the myriad Ophelia artworks in contemporary art, including Youdelman’s. Ultimately, it is through this intersemiotic translation that we are able to relate to the Ophelias in the way we do and it is the foundation upon which Youdelman built her sculptural version in 1977.

Nancy Youdelman’s Self Portrait As Ophelia is an installation sculpture inspired by Shakespeare’s tragic character in Hamlet. In the play, Ophelia finds herself in a terrible place, feeling scorned and pressured to choose between committing herself to the church as a nun or to kill herself. Without showing it on stage, we learn through one of the characters that Ophelia has drowned. Ophelia has been represented in art throughout the ages and used to represent various female archetypes such as the fallen woman, vulnerable woman, mysterious women, and aspects of women that cause anxiety because it makes them more difficult to control or manipulate. The most well-known artistic interpretation of this character is a painting by John Everett Millais, titled Ophelia, painted in 1857-58. Millais was a founding member of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, a group of young British painters in Victorian England that felt art had grown dull and monotonous. They felt it needed to be revived and to aim again for the kind of work that they perceived as the greatest of all, that of the High Renaissance, before Raphael’s rise to fame which many point to as a transition from Renaissance ideals to excess of Mannerism. Millais’s Ophelia has made a substantial impact because it brought to life a character that was familiar and it allowed viewers to feel the despair of this fallen woman. Millais went to great pains to represent every botanical mentioned in Hamlet related to Ophelia and this painting combines the genres of portraiture, still life, and landscape equally well. Millias’s Ophelia is rendered beautifully and if you are not familiar with Hamlet, it may be unclear as to whether this woman is dead in the brook. As in the play itself, the death is not in the foreground. In the play Ophelia’s suicide happens offstage and is just referred to by one of the characters, but here we notice mostly the technical, detailed care the painter has given to every aspect of this work.

Ophelia, John Everett Millais, 1857-58. Oil on canvas. 76 x 112 cm. Tate, London, UK.

Elizabeth Siddell is the model portraying Ophelia and she is well known as the model for many Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood paintings. She is the subject of a paper by Griselda Pollock and Deborah Cherry, “Woman as Sign in Pre-Raphaelite Literature” in which they discuss the treatment of Siddell in history. Like so many women who worked alongside famous male artists, Siddell made her own art and poetry but was only known in relation to the men. She was considered weak and sickly. Pollock and Cherry intend to bring actual life back to historical women such as Siddell who deserve to be known as whole human beings and not just for what use they brought their male peers.

Millais’s version of Ophelia becomes the most popular visual interpretation of this character from which many more art works are conceived. In the case of inter-semiotic translation, this painting became the baseline for all subsequent versions of Ophelia. So we have translations of a translation now… artists such as Nancy Youdelman have based their own Ophelia on Millais’s and not imagining their own version working solely from the Shakespeare play. This phenomenon is common among contemporary pop culture, especially, when we look at literature such as Lord of the Rings, the first artists to produce visual images of characters who had not been given form, two-dimensional or otherwise, create the standard from which all other versions depart.

Youdelman whose parents were both immigrants, her mother from Armenia and her father from Lithuania, grew up in Fresno, California, with her mother and younger sister, Rachel, after her father passed suddenly from illness when she was still in elementary school. In 1970 Nancy had the opportunity to be a part of the very first feminist arts program which was started by Judy Chicago at Fresno State. When the program was relocated to Cal Arts the following year, Nancy transferred and finished her degree there, having been a part of some monumental feminist art projects, including Womanhouse in 1972. After receiving her MFA from UCLA she worked and taught in Southern California, but eventually returned to the Fresno area to raise her two young children. She taught sculpture at Fresno State University and is now retired from teaching but is still working in her studio every single day creating sculpture that honors the legacy and resilience of women. Judy Chicago wrote in the introduction to Nancy’s 2017 retrospective that “Nancy’s work has a distinct nostalgia, tinged with the darker psychological undercurrents that can accompany memories and the passage of time.”

Youdelman’s version of Ophelia is made of a face, hands and feet that were cast by Nancy using her own body. The face is partially covered by what appears to be a cheese-cloth-type fabric. The pieces are then laid on a mound of earth covered in white flowers. This resembles a grave mound and also references the many flowers listed in Shakespeare’s poetry and Millais’s painting. Using real flowers in this installation is key because as they shrink and dry, viewers are made more aware of the passage of time and a deeper meaning of the ephemeral quality of life forms. Earth speaks to the death more directly and contrasts the Shakespeare image of Ophelia in the water. While Millais focused the image on beauty, here Youdelman has let death be present. In the essay by Gail Levin for Youdelman’s monograph show at the Fresno Art Museum in 2017, Levin describes that it was common for Youdelman and her family to spend afternoons picnicking at the cemetery as a way to remember and commune with her father. This kind of connection with death rather than to reject and ignore it, has given Youdelman a unique perspective on this topic. There seems to be curiosity around it in her work and an experimentation that presses into those darker human concepts. Levin also observes that Nancy telegraphs memories, identity, and feelings in her work, producing feminine sculpture that makes poetic statements in the tradition of the Surrealists or Neo Dadaists. One might connect Youdelman’s work to predecessors Merit Oppenheim who created the work entitled Object, a fur covered cup and saucer, as well as Robert Rauschenberg’s Combine pieces from the mid 1950s.

Feminist art often seeks to create visuals and experiences that are personal and also allow viewers to connect and relate to those experiences. Inserting her own self into this artwork, we have to wonder in what ways does the artist identify with Ophelia? Does she see Ophelia as a representation of all women who have to endure impossible things and make impossible choices? Has she dealt with mental illness or the overwhelm from being a mother and artist? Could this be a commentary on what it feels like to be a woman in the arts? In the paper The Avatars of Shakespeare’s Ophelia in Intersemiotic Translation” by Percec, Dana and Loredana Pungă, the authors explain that Shakespeare and the Victorian’s often glossed over the fact that insanity did play a part in Ophelia’s story, driven mad by her circumstances. In recent decades, artists are more apt to confront the issues of mental illness more directly. Most versions of Ophelia draw attention to the conditions of the artist model and what we know about Elizabeth Siddell, but it also provides a representation of woman pushed to death and allows viewers to relate to the kind of struggle or melancholic depression that the character endured. Youdelman’s Ophelia especially feels like a mourning piece, asking viewers to consider the personhood of the women who have propped up these artistic movements.

As stated by Chicago, Youdelman returns to the concept and investigation of death frequently in her work. The photographic series called Shallow Grave, from 1976, is six photographs that include an empty grave, three photos with Nancy herself being slowly buried with dirt in the grave, and finally, the last two, represent a body successively covered in the grave (Nancy did not remain to be fully covered, for safety). I bring this work into the conversation because I feel like it does something similar to the Ophelia work: it connects with people, especially women, who might struggle with mental illness or overwhelming thoughts. As an artist mother, Nancy was challenged with the balance of work and children, and this work reaches out for empathy and connection that can be felt universally, regardless of age, race, or gender.

The Millais painting of Ophelia continues to be an intersemiotic translation from which artists translate their perception of the character through their own life’s perspective and experiences. A 2012 photographic interpretation of Ophelia by Gregory Crewdson, is featured as the cover art for the book The Afterlife of Ophelia by Kaara L. Peterson and Deanne Williams, and is set within a home, flooded with dark, dirty water. The figure seems to float in an unnatural way and the iconography of a bottle of pills and a romance novel on the coffee table and a portrait of an older man keeping watch from the wall above indicates that the subject felt immense pressure and dissatisfaction, possibly a lack of personal autonomy and has found herself in this situation, unknown if it is by her own doing or other causes. This interpretation brings Ophelia into the 21st century and although it is slightly fantastical, it’s isn’t actually outside the realm of possibility today for a house to flood and for there to be fatalities. Ophelia does not need to venture into the wild to meet her fate now.

Gregory Crewdson, Untitled (Ophelia), 1999, Pigment print, 48 × 60 in | 121.9 × 152.4 cm, Edition of 10 + 3AP. https://www.artsy.net/artwork/gregory-crewdson-untitled-ophelia-2

Also in 2012, Vogue published a collection of photographic reinterpretations of Ophelia. Brooke Golightly’s photograph titled Through All my Shame (fig. 7), feels very similar to Millais’ Ophelia, but the exposed subject is almost all there is to see, with the far bank of the stream almost completely bare, and the surrounding background blurred to abstraction. In her exposed state and with reference to shame in the title, one can speculate that there has been some sort of abuse, something sinister that has taken the life of this woman.

Brooke Golightly, Through All My Shame, 2012 https://www.vogue.it/en/people-are-talking-about/art-photodesign/2012/01/ophelia-from-photovogue#ad-image157534

Also from the Vogue 2012 collection, Britney Love’s interpretation of Ophelia takes the perspective from below the water (fig. 8 ). It is clearly a swimming pool instead of a natural flowing body of water but this Ophelia also wears a white dress and flowers accompany her, so it is clear that we are dealing with an interpretation of the same character. These examples are just a few of the artworks that have been created using the distinct iconography of Millais’s Ophelia which has been cemented into the cultural zeitgeist.

Brittany Love, Ophelia, 2012 https://www.vogue.it/en/people-are-talking-about/art-photodesign/2012/01/ophelia-from-photovogue#ad-image157534

Many artists have created art works that feature Ophelia as the subject. Each artist has translated their understanding of the story in their own unique way allowing viewers to connect with the character through means that are relevant to today’s society. Nancy inserts her own nostalgia and experience with death into the subject that shifts how viewers perceive this character. The sculptural installation is recognizable as Ophelia through iconographic signifiers and taken as a whole, Nancy Youdelman is asking viewers to consider the treatment of women, in our society today.

Bibliography

Chicago, Judy. “On Being a Woman and an Artist.” The introduction to Fashioning a Feminist Vision 1972-2017. Monograph exhibition catalog curated by Michelle Ellis Pracy. 2017.

John Everett Millais - Ophelia. Directed by Moritz, Reiner. ArtHaus Musik, 2012. https://video.alexanderstreet.com/watch/john-everett-millais-ophelia-2.

Levin, Gail. “Fashioning a Feminist Vision, 1972-2017.” Essay in Fashioning a Feminist Vision 1972-2017. Monograph exhibition catalog curated by Michelle Ellis Pracy. 2017.

Percec, Dana and Loredana Pungă. “The Avatars of Shakespeare’s Ophelia in Intersemiotic Translation.” British and American Studies 28, (2022): 51-66. doi:https://doi.org/10.35923/BAS.28.05. https://www.proquest.com/scholarly-journals/avatars-shakespeares-ophelia-intersemiotic/docview/2718689281/se-2.

Peterson, Kaara L., and Deanne Williams. The Afterlife of Ophelia. 1st ed. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012.

Cherry, Deborah, and Griselda Pollock. “Woman As Sign in Pre-Raphaelite Literature.” In Vision and Difference ed. by Griselda Pollock. Routledge, 2003.

Traveling Canvas Abnormal Coven artists from left to right: Nataly Barajas, Angel Lesnikowski, Cookie Zeches, Adrienne Diaz, Jess Shubin, Trishelle Jeffrey, Ruth Soderlund, Kelli Fanning, Carolyn Zutler, and Skylar Basharian. Not pictured: Tia Pfister and Maria Rosas.

One thing I observed in my undergrad studies was that all the great art movements that propelled the development of art were created by groups… never individuals. Yes, there has always been this idea of the “genius” individual artist, but that genius doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Creative minds are soaking up information and imagery from their daily lives and the culture they are surrounded by as a way of life. Picasso had Braques and all the homies in Paris at the turn of the 20th century, and Pollack had Krasner, Frankenthaler, Mitchell, and Hartigan (and all their Abstract Expressionist male partners who were always stealing the women’s innovations and claiming them for their own).

When I graduated from Fresno State in 2023, I knew that in order to keep the momentum going, I needed a group to keep sharing ideas and remain challenged. I started inviting people to a monthly critique group at my house and I was pretty surprised how almost everyone I invited said yes and was willing to drive the 30 minutes outside of Fresno to where our family lived at the time. Mental note: everyone needs community and is just waiting for an invite.

We had been meeting regularly for several months when I stumbled upon an essay called On Pandering by Claire Vaye Watkins, published by Tin House on their website, but seems to be currently unavailable. In this essay, Watkins, a creative writer, tells the story of her realization that she had been writing in a way that she felt would please her mentors, but it didn’t align with who she really was and the way she actually wanted to write. She mentioned wanting to be the next Cormac McCarthy because he was a favorite among the older, male writers whom she wanted to impress. As a newly-graduated painter, this provided a remarkable flash of clarity for me. I realized that the issues I’d had in the studio were usually because I went in to paint feeling like my former teachers were looking over my shoulder, often paralyzed because I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do. I realized that I needed to talk to the other women from the critique group about this.

Coincidentally, a friend who had just joined the critique group had brought up an interaction that was an interesting (and very common) example of the ways women step aside to give men all the space they need to talk, not bothering to argue if they disagree, for the sake of moving the conversation along peacefully. This was another eye-opening moment for me. I realized that not only could a group of women help each other by creating a sense of accountability to create work that is true to ourselves, but also to help each other see ways in which we can speak up for ourselves and spread an equality that de-centers masculinity. I texted the article to all the female members of the critique group and we scheduled a day to meet.

It was May 2024 and 8 of us met at Adrienne Diaz’s house. We had a great, empowering discussion and agreed that we would all really enjoy meeting every month to keep the discussion going. This is the beginning of the Abnormal Coven, a multi-generational group of female/femme artists who meet monthly and share skills and ideas. Since that first meeting, we’ve added to our number, done numerous creative projects, and collaborated on a very ambitious project called The Sisterhood of the Traveling Canvas.

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Canvas is currently being exhibited at Arts Visalia until March 29th, and will be exhibited in Fresno at City Hall for the month of November 2026. This was such a valuable exercise in working together, sharing ideas and concepts, and meeting deadlines as a group. Starting with just a roll of canvas and stretcher bars, 13 Coven members each built a stretched canvas during our November 2024 meeting, and we each took one home to paint, draw, or collage an image that represented something related to femininity or our experience as a woman in society. From there, we planned to pass the canvases along, one by one, until each had been painted on by every artist participating in the project (along the way we continued to add to the coven and the roster for the project shifted just a little and we ended up with 12 artists completing a dozen canvases). As artists, we definitely needed the pressure of a deadline, so we were delighted to be added to the March 2026 exhibition at Arts Visalia along with sculpture by Nancy Youdelman and paintings by me. We had several group work days and got the project done just in time!

I think that the things we’ve learned in the coven and throughout this project have been extremely valuable. For instance, when the group was small — under 10 in attendance at the meetings — our conversation was incredibly focused and somehow always really meaningful. Once we grew larger, we noticed that the conversation would splinter into more than one group. This did something to the intimacy and authenticity that had came so easily before. We had a valuable discussion about whether this meant that we needed to stop inviting new people, or if we should keep the invites open and see what happens. We talked about what it would mean to truly build community versus creating a clique. It was clear that if our bigger goal is for the benefit of the Fresno art community, and not just our own comfort and acclaim, then being inclusive is the way we want to be.

Our group is made of an incredibly diverse group of artists who have a wide range of education and experience. As we were establishing the concept for The Traveling Canvas project, it brought up issues of how we connect personally to our work. Giving up full autonomy of the canvas was truly difficult for some and learning how to amplify and enhance the work of our peers needed to take precedence over making sure the canvas was overall aligned with our individual aesthetic. In the end, our hard work and mindfulness created 12 works of art that could not have been created by any one of us, but required all of us.

Since Fresno is the home of the world’s first feminist art program, started by artist Judy Chicago in 1970 at Fresno State University (called Fresno State College at the time), it feels especially meaningful to create a strong, inclusive, feminist art group who are helping each other meet their artistic career goals. It’s come up more than once the marvel that competition doesn’t play a larger role in our group, or rather, isn’t an issue. I think that this is for two reasons:
1) We each are clear on where we want to go with our art. If artists join us that feel unsure, hanging around this group of women is going to inspire in such a way that goals will naturally present themselves. It’s encouraging to be around others that are motivated and working towards what they want and to have a whole group of artists cheer you on and push you to do more than you have before! Our Coven had the opportunity to exhibit work at Fresno’s City Hall in July 2025, and we were able to assemble an exhibition of 43 works of art from 10 of our members, some of whom had never exhibited publicly before!
2) The confidence of our group is through the roof. I think that competition and jealousy may come from insecurity (I’m in grad school for art history, not psychology, so I’m not an expert there), and if we are looking at the success of others and comparing it to what we wish we had, we have the choice to either rise up and go after what we want with tenacity, or we get depressed and let the bad vibes build. Of course it can be difficult, but we have had some great conversations around jealousy and how to deal with it. We remind each other that a win for one of us is truly a win for us all. We share opportunities with each other. In 2025, Angel Lesnikowski was invited to participate in the Brea Gallery’s Made in California exhibition and in 2026, Abnormal Coven members Nataly Barajas and Janel Claybon will be showing in that exhibition along with Angel!

I’ve mentioned that one of our goals is to contribute to the Fresno art scene in a valuable and progressive way through this group. Keeping that goal in mind, we are held accountable to deal with conflict respectfully and to maintain an incredibly supportive attitude. There are countless artists and groups working hard for the arts in Fresno and many of us have similar goals. We understand that working together is going to be the only way we survive to see our goals reached. Just being ourselves and sharing what we are learning (regarding both art skills and feminist philosophy) has helped us all grow. We are stronger because we are together.

We hope that if you are an artist in need of community that you will reach out to others. Create a group or just find one friend to commit to meet with regularly and talk about goals. We would love to see groups like ours everywhere — artists working together to build space for us to all be successful rather than participating in the cutthroat competitive art world. Is this idealistic? Probably. But it’s worth it to us to give it our best shot.

When I read this sentence it shocked me how relevant it is for Fresno, my city, nearly 500 years later. I’ve been in the area for over a decade and have been an active part of the art scene since 2020, and the thing that continues to impress me is the incredible volume of highly skilled artists here who struggle to support their work because we lack the infrastructure and attention needed to get the artwork into the hands of collectors. I’ve said over and over that Fresno artists make beautiful, progressive work with absolutely no resources — we create art from nothing. Like Vasari who made it his mission to hype up the work of his contemporaries (including his bestie Michelangelo) and is now considered the father of the practice of art history, I’ve decided that’s what I’ve got to do here. Fresno artists deserve to thrive!

When Vasari first wrote his Lives of the Painters, Sculptors and Architects, he was concerned that so much attention had been paid to ancient art, specifically the Greeks, that his fellow Florentines were not able to fully appreciate the work he and other artists were doing at the time. The artists of Fresno may feel the same way. It’s easy to look at recent movements like the Young British Artists from the 90s that produced some major names in the art world or to the big art market events like Frieze or Art Basel, and feel like for many reasons, we are destined to be left out of the conversation. We are not a part of a major cultural metropolis known for art such as New York, Los Angeles, or even San Francisco; we do not have as many galleries as we should based on our population; and our city may not seem to have a great interest in its own artists, but I believe this doesn’t have to limit what we are capable of building.

This Substack is gong to be all about Fresno art, art of Central California, and its impact and connection to art history. My goal is to grow awareness of what’s happening here so that the world can see all the great work that is being done! You will see here an article on every single graduate show from Fresno State from here on, coverage of various art events, and eventually courses on more specific topics so subscribers can take a deep dive with me into art history that relates to our area. I hope you will subscribe, at the free or paid level. Nothing will be behind a paywall yet because I want to keep this info as public as possible but if you’d like to contribute a small amount monthly to fund this work, it would make a huge impact!

Thanks for reading, now go look at art!

The current show up at Arts Visalia, featuring Nancy Youdelman, the Abnormal Coven, and yours truly.

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