Elizabeth Glaessner’s surreal paintings are animated by a mythic sensibility. Her figures occupy a primordial threshold where bodies, animals, and environments are in the process of coming into being. One particular canvas that Glaessner keeps in her studio reflects the metamorphic nature of her work: A vaguely humanoid figure is seated on the rump of a mammalian creature, folding inward between it and another animal’s flank. Suspended between two forms, the figure’s draping “arms” dissolve into a translucent greenish mass, and bodily boundaries blur. This physical porousness is a hallmark of Glaessner’s work, encouraging viewers to project their own interpretations and motives onto the painting as the relations among figures remain open-ended.
On the heels of her solo exhibition “Running Water,” on view last year at P.P.O.W. in New York, Glaessner is preparing for a show opening at Perrotin Paris in early 2027. A recent visit to her Brooklyn studio offered an early look. Her walls are covered with postcard-size sketches and short poems—Sylvia Plath’s “Metamorphosis” and “Mirror,” alongside Beatriz Miralles de Imperial’s “I bring forth voids”—as well as reference images by William Blake, Otto Dix, and Francisco de Goya. Sections of a wall are taped to mark the proportions of an upcoming triptych featuring at least 10 different figure-creatures.
For multipanel works, Glaessner likes to begin with charcoal drawings before moving to canvas, where she coaxes the composition into focus. “It takes time for the figures to ‘catch,’” she explained. “It’s as if the environment is putting tension on the painting and pushing the image to the forefront.” This tension is evident in works like Hot Spring (2025) and Workhorse (2025), the latter depicting a feminine figure crouched on all fours. A smaller figure, half its body beyond frame, bends behind her with hazy limbs reaching toward (or morphing into) a disembodied head. The figures’ edges are softened as if viewed through a fogged-up window.
The same sense of ambiguity manifests in Glaessner’s method. She paints with large brushes, even on smaller pieces, favoring broad, bodily gestures that resist overdefinition. She builds each scene by layering oil atop poured pigments, letting each pass subtly shift the forms. What ultimately emerges tends to diverge from the original sketch, shaped instead by accumulated decisions and incidental traces—stray hairs, sediment, and other detritus folded into the canvas.
