The Shimmering In-Between: A Conversation with Kimberly R. Heard
Within her practice, Kimberly R. Heard plays with “Light” to reveal the humanity of her figures. Heard speaks with Lara Xenia about her acute study of chromaticism, love for her family, and interest in ephemera.
Figure 1: Kimberly Heard, Untitled, 2025, oil on canvas, 64 × 42 inches (162.56 × 106.68 cm). Photo: courtesy the artist and Chen Xiangyun © Kimberly R. Heard and Chen Xiangyun
Lara Xenia: What was the first musical CD or album that you purchased?
Kimberly Heard: The Diary of Alicia Keys. I'm big into R&B, and the early 2000s era was classic.
LX: Such a nostalgic choice. How did you get into the arts?
KH: Yeah, I got into music and sound when I was young. I attended a music conservatory school where I played violin. It wasn’t accessible to me in middle school, so my parents just suggested I try something else. I was always sketching and drawing or doodling on the side of my notes in lectures, even now. I got into digital art in community college, where I initially wanted to be an illustrator, and realized quickly that I didn’t enjoy it and wondered how to continue with my love of drawing. When I transferred to my alma mater, UCSD, I went all in.
LX: Has the lyricism of your violin training informed your gestures or approach to constructing compositions?
KH: I didn’t play for long, but I have a tempo, or compositional tendencies. I enjoy a mix of abstract and figural. I think a lot about the frequency of how we experience things—whether that's art, life, or the simplicity of Light.
LX: Can you tell me about the work Of Days?
Figure 2: Kimberly Heard, Of Days, 2019, graphite on unstretched canvas, 237 × 88 inches (601.98 × 223.52 cm). Photo: courtesy the artist © Kimberly R. Heard
KH: That's my largest piece, to date. I think one day I’ll go back to it. It’s a collage. At the left end, there's a figure facing the picture plane. On the far right end, I’m looking out to the viewer, as a self-portrait—albeit with much longer hair [laughter]. The middle field has a multitude of figures collapsing onto one another, stretching and compressing like an accordion.
I was really starting to think about time and how painting can be temporal in the way that it holds time and memory. It felt like having a dialogue with myself, gazing at the end of it in this moment of self-portraiture, responding to my own marks in real-time while I'm depicting it. I've become less interested in a direct way of navigating time through my work. For me, time is interwoven, to some degree. Not to get all—what's the name of that movie where it's…
LX: Inception?
KH: I guess Inception in a way. But what's the other? It’s a Marvel movie where they're talking about quantum space. Ant Man! Getting Ant Man, on this [laughter]. In that piece, Of Days, time is more like a constellation of spaces as opposed to one linear narrative. The marks are collapsed onto each other so much that you can't really pinpoint a start or end; it’s abstracted in a continuum.
LX: Yes, you have the fleeting feet teeter-tottering, yet the musculature of each figure is really defined. How has your earlier experience with other professions informed what you currently paint now?
I was really starting to think about time and how painting can be temporal in the way that it holds time and memory.
KH: Illustration certainly has. I guess “occupation” makes it sound like I was getting paid and I was not [laughs]. I worked many roles throughout college…service roles, warehouse roles, then administrative roles which eventually carried me into marketing.
LX: I’m honestly really interested in your approach to opacity and your influences. Let’s get into your early practice, with As Symbol & Concept.
KH: Mm. Family photographs were the catalyst for that series. My grandmother gifted me with a collection of photo albums and other ephemera. Looking at this version of their lives was incredible—not from a nostalgic point of view where I thought, “Oh, a better time,” but because it gave me access to a version of the world where the bodies I love existed—before I ever did.
Photographs are really interesting. They capture all of this information into a tangible material and symbolizes a moment that I wouldn't have access to otherwise. It felt like an invocation. I saw my godmother smoking cigarettes at dinner parties. I saw my other Nana posing on the hoods of cars with her friends, probably listening to some music and being sassy. I thought, “They were getting down!” [laughter]. That was really beautiful.
Figure 3: Kimberly Heard, As Symbol & Concept, #12, 2023, from the As Symbol & Concept series, charcoal, oil medium, and graphite, 40 × 30 inches (101. 6 × 76.2 cm). Photo: courtesy the artist © Kimberly R. Heard
The ephemeral quality took on a different type of significance. A photograph as a material is flat; tilt it one way or another, and you’re reminded of the space that you’re physically in. That realization made me want to reach for more, so I thought, “Well, what is a photograph? It's a drawing with Light.” As someone who deeply enjoys drawing, I wondered what it could mean to actually draw with Light? If I experiment with Light’s interaction with various drawing materials, can I evoke some sort of shifty, shimmering dimensionality in the picture plane?” So, I tried it out.
LX: Wow, that’s really interesting. Had you also ever worked with photography before in a dark room, or was it total experimentation?
KH: I’m a tinkerer and I usually go in first with my hands to understand something new [laughter]. I took an intro photography class but didn’t dabble much until I purchased a film camera of my own later on. When I sorted through the photographs my grandmother gave me, I realized, “Something’s happening here,” and followed that rabbit hole—one of many.
LX: What was your last rabbit hole or the reason for venturing down one?
KH: I have a recent series that is related to my discoveries from As Symbol & Concept. I'm loosely thinking about two ideas: perception and spatialism. There are incredible artists who are thinking about this as well in their practices—Torkwase Dyson, Fred Eversley, Ad Reinhardt. I’m gleaning from them and how they're thinking, pulling these ideas together, trying to focus my lens to capture…something. I don't know what the thing is yet, but it's a rabbit hole that I'm still hopping down.
LX: I was wondering, when you think about spatialism, are you also thinking about identities across the board? Are you specifically channeling your experience of moving through spaces, or a more ontological or collective space?
Figure 4: Kimberly Heard, As Symbol & Concept, #7, 2023, from the As Symbol & Concept series, charcoal, oil medium, and graphite, 20 × 16 inches (50.8 × 40.6 cm). Photo: courtesy the artist © Kimberly R. Heard
KH: I’m thinking of spatialism as a way of synthesizing various sensory elements—Light, materials, and movement—with real space. These things are fluid, mutable, and changeable. Even how we use the term, “I'm holding space for you.” You can’t see what’s being held, but you feel it. You can sense it. That gesture signals to me that space is not a fixed concept. It can be negotiated physically, materially, and collectively. That’s exciting to me.
LX: That's cool that you’re approaching it as a mutable element. I really loved the technique you employed to make the hair look textured and speckled with dabs of paint. You can also tell from the women’s gestures that they are just caught in a jovial moment. Even though their expressions are indiscernible, you can feel that there's so much to it. I also was interested in that Alvin Ailey-esque dancer canvas in your studio. Is that an experiment?
Even how we use the term, “I'm holding space for you.” You can’t see what’s being held, but you feel it. You can sense it. That gesture signals to me that space is not a fixed concept. It can be negotiated physically, materially, and collectively.
KH: It is, it’s a part of the recent series I mentioned. I’m mixing chromatic blacks to explore how I can manipulate the perception of color with Light. I am not satisfied with that piece though, so that one might be going in the can; I’m going to roll you up and forget about you [laughs].
Figure 5: Kimberly Heard, Untitled 1, 2025, oil on canvas, 58 × 80 inches (147.32 × 203.2 cm). Photo: courtesy the artist and Chen Xiangyun © Kimberly R. Heard and Chen Xiangyun
LX: For the green figure painting, is that just a full stream of consciousness? It’s cool how the figure is oscillating and plunging back-and-forth in space. What's your painting process?
KH: My process now is very diaristic. There's always been a balance of chance and precision that anchors my curiosity. Most of the As Symbol & Concept series was painted in darkness. It was exciting to not fully see what I was painting, even while painting it. I learned that to be an integral part of my process—sensing and feeling. With the piece you’re referring to, I had compulsively drawn the same head position for days in my sketchbook and carried it over almost subconsciously.
LX: It can be maybe disconcerting from some angles. You’re left wondering if the person is pressed against the ground or a surface, or if they’re merely lying down comfortably. The shoulder’s distance makes it disorienting, but the fact that it's blissfully in this color field makes you not know what's going on.
KH: Exactly. I was thinking about precipitation as an analogy and wanted to make something that could conjure a fog of intense, indistinguishable affect. It doesn't always have to conjure ease. But if I’m not affected by the work that I’m making in my studio, then it has to cook a little longer. That's important to me and I find that happens most for me when things are hinged in an in-between. During Open Studios, someone stood in front of that painting for five minutes not saying a word. When I asked them if they had any questions, they said, “No, I'm just feeling it.”
LX: I can honestly feel that through the sheer range of things you make and it’s incredible how many emotions come to the fore; that’s what makes your art transfixing. Could you tell me about the painting of your grandpa?
Figure 6: Kimberly Heard, As Symbol & Concept, #6, 2023, from the As Symbol & Concept series, charcoal, oil medium, and graphite, 20 × 16 inches (50.8 × 40.6 cm). Photo: courtesy the artist © Kimberly R. Heard
KH: I love that one. This photograph was in that box my grandmother gifted to me. My entire life, I had only known the bald version of my grandpa, but in this photo, he had a full head of hair. I thought, “Oh!”[Laughs]. When I looked at the photo a bit longer—and not from the perspective of someone who is his grandchild—I saw him as himself, a reclining figure taking a nap. I sensed a tenderness for not only him having that moment of solitude, but also for the person behind the camera who felt moved enough to capture that moment. I wanted to render that. To capture that tenderness myself, while retaining some degree of interiority by not fully giving away his expression. That's his to have, his to hold and keep. My goal is just to nod to it.
LX: That feeling is so palpable for the viewer in this series. You’re also honoring the figures by not granting the viewer full access to that space and by preserving a concrete, abstract vision of what that beautiful moment was for each person. The one with the group of children underscores that to me.
Figure 7: Kimberly Heard, As Symbol & Concept, #4, from the As Symbol & Concept series, charcoal pastel, oil, graphite, and Conté crayons, 20 × 16 inches (50.8 × 40.6 cm). Photo: courtesy the artist © Kimberly R. Heard
KH: Absolutely. I think about that a lot. It’s like the experience you have with a Polaroid photo. There's a point of emergence as it’s developing where the whole photo is black. Then an image starts to form, and the excitement builds. Eventually it’s complete. But truthfully, the final image isn’t really what was enjoyed—it's the desire for it. The anticipation. The beauty of the experience was in the process; being present in that space, and the anticipation of returning that moment, even though it happened only moments prior.
LX: I also really love your portrait of the little boy with the glint in his eyes. It looks like it’s from the ‘70s, just based on his outfit.
Figure 8: Kimberly Heard, Dad, 2023, from the As Symbol & Concept series, charcoal pastel, oil, graphite, and Conté crayons, 20 × 16 inches (50.8 × 40.6 cm). Photo: courtesy the artist © Kimberly R. Heard
KH: It’s of my dad as a boy.
I wanted to render that feeling. To capture that tenderness myself, while retaining some degree of interiority by not fully giving away his expression. That's his to have, his to hold and keep. My goal is just to nod to it.
LX: Oh, that's so sweet as a daughter to make that. He must’ve been so touched.
KH: He sat quietly for a while after I handed it to him. I realized that he was shedding tears. He was probably nine or ten there. I think people feel honored when there's tangible evidence of them being acknowledged for their existence in life.
LX: How beautiful and you’re absolutely right. What are you currently working on?
KH: There’s always something on the stove in this kitchen. Things are either simmering, boiling, or sometimes I’ve forgotten all about it, and it's molding on the side [laughs]. I recently received the Robert Schoelkopf Memorial Traveling Fellowship, so I’ll be in Paris for a while to follow another rabbit hole and discover more about that. Making my own pigments would be very interesting as well. I’ve been researching the Impressionists and their use of chromatic blacks—or, a black that is mixed through colors. It’s why my current work appears greenish blue—it’s a chromatic black.
Figure 9: Kimberly Heard, A Speculative Encounter, 2024, from the As Symbol & Concept series, charcoal pastel, oil, graphite, and Conté crayons, 42 × 36 inches (106.68 × 91.44 cm). Photo: courtesy the artist © Kimberly R. Heard
I think people feel honored when there's tangible evidence of them being acknowledged for their existence in life.
LX: Does that happen through you diluting it?
KH: For this series, yes. I'm working primarily with oil, which has a great range of opacity. For As Symbol & Concept, opacity functioned vastly differently, systematically even. Each material has a unique way of absorbing, refracting, or reflecting Light. When used in a particular way, our perception of that interaction changes.
LX: I personally love physics, but I wanted to return to the concept of spatiality and your interest in space on a whole. What prompted you to make a research-driven series beyond your chromatic interests?
KH: Because I have questions [smiles]. It’s more research driven by phenomena that intrigue me. It’s like “I am curious about what this thing is doing, and I have to know how, or why.” [Laughs]. Sure, I can know that something is happening, but knowing that doesn’t tell me how that effect is created.”
How do I talk about the experience that I'm having with this object and how my association with it changes depending on the conditions surrounding it? Can I negotiate those conditions? That's where the concept of spatialism comes in for me. Fred Eversley comes to mind. His ideas about parabolically channeling physics, energy, and Light inspire me.
Figure 10: Fred Eversley, Parabolic Light, 2023, cast polyurethane, 109.88 × 28 × 14 inches (279.09 × 71.12 × 35.56 cm). Photo: courtesy Fred Eversley, David Kordansky Gallery, and Public Art Fund, New York. Presented by Public Art Fund at Doris C. Freedman Plaza, New York City, September 7, 2023–August 25, 2024
LX: I was sad when he passed. I remember seeing his work at David Kordansky a couple years ago.
KH: Yes. I watch his interviews often. He seemed like an amazing person. I like people who are really obsessive about something, and Eversley was certainly that. It’s refreshing to know that so many other artists have been curious about things that I'm curious about. I’m just finding my own way.
Kimberly R. Heard
Kimberly R. Heard (b. 1991) investigates the instability and mutability of perception, using oil painting as a method to steal/trap the ephemeral shift from concept to indexical form. Her process is diaristic, grasping to record what might otherwise slip away. Hence, her figures are often entangled, immersed, and nested in the ambiguity of gestural, monochromatic surroundings. By distilling material and indexical forms, the artist seeks to discover the spectral threshold between the sensed and the seen.
Heard is a recipient of the Robert Schoelkopf Memorial Traveling Fellowship. Her work has been exhibited at the Institute of Contemporary Art, San Diego, NAAMCC, Gallery QI, and Bread & Salt Gallery. She is currently working in New Haven, CT where she is pursuing her MFA in Painting at the Yale School of Art.