Interviews, Online Exclusive

Joan Semmel

Empowered Bodies

Words PLUS MAGAZINE

Photography JAE KIM

Sunlight streams through the windows of Joan Semmel’s Soho studio on an early April afternoon, casting soft reflections across the newest paintings that line the walls. Since the early 1970s, Semmel’s studio has carried the continuity of a decades-long practice. The space feels open and unhurried, quietly radiant with the presence of a life devoted to painting. The latest works pulse with bold, high-contrast colors: reds, electric greens, acid yellows, and vibrant hues of blue. They feel vividly alive, never still. Each composition emerges from Semmel’s experience, extending her inquiry into the body as structure, infused with the fluid gestures and spatial play that trace back to her early abstractions.

The beauty of the encounter lay not only in her paintings or her words but in the atmosphere they created together—lucid, generous, and fully present. Semmel speaks with the same clarity that defines her work, a kind of radical softness that does not shy away from the realities of aging, desire, and self-perception.

In this interview, we revisit the ongoing questions that have shaped Semmel’s practice over the years. Her paintings are not fixed statements but explorations—responsive, open, and deeply embedded in her evolving dialogue with the body, time, and self-image. Through her reflections, we glimpse the powerful, embodied intelligence at the heart of her work—and, in doing so, perhaps come closer to understanding our own.

SUBIN ANDERSON: Your paintings seem to explore different layers of seeing—from direct observation to reflections in mirrors, through cameras, and the translation of a photograph onto canvas. I wonder if these shifts in the process also shift the act of looking for you, revealing something different, not just in painting but in your perception over time.

JOAN SEMMEL: I don’t think of it so much in terms of observation. For me, making art is much more conceptual—first comes an idea, then a search for it, and finally, the production of the work. It’s less about asking, “How do I see this?” and more about, “How do I think about it?”

So, what do I think about the nude? Why do I think about the nude? Why use my own body? Why am I doing this at all? Those questions come first, even before I look at my body or whatever else I’m painting.

My initial impulse to move from abstraction back to the figure came from my political involvement as a feminist in the early ’70s. I wanted to examine why the female nude is so prevalent throughout art history—what kind of image it represents and how it affects the way a woman perceives herself. That was the driving force behind my painting, rather than simply observing what was in front of me.

So, when I began working with the female nude, I wanted it to be unmistakable that this image was made by a woman—not by a woman seen through a man’s eyes. What were the differences in that perspective? That’s how I started working with figuration, and it was important to me that the nude itself embodied this viewpoint.

SA: Since you described your approach as conceptual—driven by questions rather than direct observation—could you talk more about that process? And how does it translate into working in series?

JS: It’s really about staying engaged and not getting bored, right? I mean, how many ways can I look at myself? How many angles can I explore? I need to keep things fresh.

But also, figuration for me was never a cause—it wasn’t the end goal. I was an abstract painter at heart, and I think abstractly and conceptually. So, it wasn’t about what I was seeing; it was about what the work was saying to me.

A big part of painting is simply that I love working with paint—creating an image on a canvas, manipulating it, and letting it speak back to me. And of course, I always like to feel the work presents new challenges.

"A big part of painting is simply that I love working with paint—creating an image on a canvas, manipulating it, and letting it speak back to me. And of course, I always like to feel the work presents new challenges."

SA: And can you share what you’re currently working on—what’s inspiring your latest ideas?

JS: The most recent works are a continuation of my exploration of the female figure. I continue to use myself as a model, simply because it’s convenient, and I don’t like having other people in the studio while I’m working. It’s also important to me not to objectify someone else, so I use my own body.

I’ve always been drawn to finding a way to merge the spontaneity and freedom of abstraction with figuration—letting loose with color, the brush’s touch on the canvas, and the painting’s structure. These elements are things I brought back into my figurative work.

In the recent pieces, I’ve continued to use the same image but have leaned further into abstract methods—letting paint move freely, structuring compositions in an open way, and using vibrant colors to communicate my ideas. This late work feels like a synthesis of all those interests.

SA: In thinking about how abstraction and figuration come together in your work, I’m curious how you’ve approached that relationship over time and how certain themes or techniques have resurfaced and evolved into new conversations across different bodies of work.

JS: As I started out with full abstraction, and my first shift was toward a more expressionist way of handling paint—still fairly flat, but focused on the physicality of the medium. Sexuality became the entry point for figuration, although I never set out to become a figurative artist. I was always surprised when people called me one.

Those early works were incredibly significant for me because they marked a breakthrough—especially as a woman addressing sexuality on such a large scale. It was a radical gesture at the time, challenging boundaries and evoking strong reactions.

As I continued working this way, I felt the need to make my representations feel more present—like they existed within the space of the painting rather than appearing flat on the canvas.

That’s when I began using the camera. Working from memory or sketches wasn’t providing the clarity I needed, but the camera allowed me to capture close-up images of myself—another pivotal moment. It became a way to blend abstraction and realism, where close-ups of the body transformed into abstract shapes and forms.

These shifts weren’t planned; they happened naturally. I would see something happening in the work and realize, “Oh, that’s where I need to go next.”

SA: Speaking of the influence of realism, your later work, particularly the Shifting Images series, captures the body in full movement and stillness, with some pieces revealing facial expressions.

In some works, the gaze directly meets the viewer’s eyes, creating an intimate exchange

JS: Painting is, after all, a static object—it stands still, while we live in a world full of cameras, motion, and constant change.

Politically, I was interested in the idea of women moving into spaces of power rather than being confined to passive roles. That concept of movement—how to express it on a static surface—became a driving force.

Also, films had a huge influence on me. The layering of one image over another helped evoke a sense of time and motion, even within a still painting. It wasn’t just a frozen moment.

Some of it was purely instinctual—something would happen in the painting, I’d like it, and then I’d find ways to justify it afterward. It’s a two-way street—sometimes you follow the impulse, and then you articulate why it works.

SA: I’d also love to hear more about the interplay of color in your work. You’ve mentioned before that your relationship with color is intuitive, and it also connects back to your abstract expressionist roots.

JS: For me, color is a free element—it comes from my entire expressionist background. I want color to carry its own emotional weight, to be more than just representational.

The challenge and joy of working with paint is figuring out how a splash of pink, for instance, can be used freely and contribute to the emotional impact of the painting. I needed to give myself permission to use colors boldly, to make it powerful—not just subtle or “quote-unquote” feminine. I wanted the work to have strength.

Power is something we all strive for in different ways—a certain power over ourselves and over the way things are. As an artist, you feel powerful when you create something that resonates. There’s nothing quite like the moment when you can step back and say, “Look what I did. Isn’t it great?”That’s the real reward—nothing else compares. It’s not about ego; it’s about that deep sense of power. “Do you have the strength to create something meaningful?” That’s what truly matters.

SA: Yes, it’s about empowerment. And your work continues to resonate across generations in such a profound way. Even now, in many places, female artists remain underrepresented, yet your paintings offer a sense of liberation—one that transcends time and place, carrying a strength and freedom that still feels vital and universally understood.

JS: Sometimes, I find myself thinking about it—just look at what’s happening in the world right now, and here I am, still painting. It’s interesting—young people seem genuinely curious, as if they’re discovering America all over again. And I ask myself, how is this still relevant?

SA: Well, clearly, it’s still relevant.

JS: Yes, clearly. That sense of empowerment is what I want for women. I could never tolerate feeling powerless. That hated sense of victimization, of being static and unable to affect anything beyond making your bed or hanging up your clothes—it was unbearable. I wanted to act in the world, and being an artist gave me that ability.

I was constantly told, “You can’t do that because you’re a woman.” And remember, I’m 92 years old. Things were very different back then.

But it’s astonishing that there’s still such a long way to go. The struggle continues, and that’s why my work endures. It’s why so many young people are still drawn to it—because the fight isn’t over.

When they look at the paintings, I think they understand what I’m trying to express. They grasp the idea of empowerment—of treating the body as a human reality rather than a sexual fetish. That’s what matters, and I believe the paintings convey that.

SA: Time has passed, but as you mentioned, so much still feels the same. Do you think the structures that shape how power and visibility are perceived—in the art world and beyond—still hold the same weight today?

JS: I think the whole concept of aging, which has become a prominent theme in my work, is a perfect example of this. Aging in our culture is deeply problematic—both economically and conceptually. People don’t feel more powerful as they get older; they feel weaker and more marginalized.

I didn’t set out to make paintings about aging—it just happened as I got older and continued using my own body in my work. The body aged, so the work naturally reflected that. I never wanted to create an idealized form; that’s a Greek invention—this notion that the human body should resemble the gods.

But that’s not real life. It doesn’t make people happier or healthier to measure themselves against impossible ideals.

It wasn’t a conscious decision to address aging—it emerged from who I was, what I was seeing, and how I felt.

When I was younger, my focus was on how women’s self-perception was tied to sexuality—how they saw their place and what their bodies meant to them. Society presented the Hollywood pinup as the ideal: How do I look? Am I desirable?

As I moved past fighting that narrative, my work began to explore aging and the struggle not to disappear. Because here, when you’re old—especially as a woman—you become invisible. Men can retain power as they age through wealth, but no matter how much money a woman has, she’s still seen as having lost value if she’s older, because society insists her primary worth is sexual.

That’s why young people respond to the work—these ideas are embedded within it. They’re not spelled out but expressed through the body, the changes, the scale, and how I use it. It’s not premeditated; it’s felt. That’s what comes through.

SA: Joan, you’ve shared so much about presence and perception—I really appreciate it. On a lighter note before we end, I have to ask: your turquoise ring, the one you wore today too, makes frequent appearances in your paintings. Does it hold any special meaning for you?

JS: Well, I just like the ring! It was given to me by another artist I admired when she was clearing out her things. I’ve always liked it. A lot of the colors I use are quite warm, and the ring adds this little shot of blue.

It’s always there when I take the photographs—it’s just hard to take off. I used to wear much bigger rings, but I lost them—but I lost them over time. This is the only one left.

It doesn’t have any deep significance beyond that—it just works for me aesthetically, almost like a signature in the bottom corner.