ely young

meet ely

We met Ely Young in her Long Island City studio, where large-scale paintings cover the walls. Across the canvases, bodies emerge from anatomical study, intuitive mark-making, and a continual negotiation between control and surrender.

A self-taught painter, Ely spent five years in interior design before leaving the field to focus on painting. Her newest body of work pulls from archival photographs at the Lesbian Herstory Archives in Brooklyn, shifting her personal practice toward a more collective exploration of memory, identity, and queer history.

Tell us a little about your background.

I did a lot of life drawing in high school. That was my first love. But I didn't want to be a starving artist, so I went to school for interior design in Florida. After I graduated, I worked for five years at an architecture firm. I quit two years ago to focus more on painting and small artist residencies, while freelancing in graphic design, web design, and residential interiors to make ends meet.

How formal was your painting education?

For oil and acrylic painting, I’m completely self-taught, but in high school I went to this teacher Mary to learn life drawing twice a week for a few years. Even now, I go to Minerva’s Drawing Studio in Chinatown for figure drawing every week. That will always be a part of my practice.

I really enjoy the human body — the female body specifically. I think my best work and best lines happen when I am life drawing.

I've also done my own anatomical studies of muscles and the construction of the body. That's what I'm playing with in my paintings — constructing the body in real time, so you can see each layer of a figure.

Do you ever turn those weekly figure drawings into paintings, or are they more for practice?

They're just practice. I don't think I've ever made a painting directly based on one of those drawings, but they inform the way that I approach figures.

I usually use myself as a model in my work, though I'm starting to think about moving away from that. In the past, I used myself as a model because I was very shy. Now, I use myself because I know exactly what I want.

There's this Mary Oliver quote, “Love yourself. Then forget it. Then love the world.” I want to incorporate that into my work — this idea of shifting beyond the self.

Are you trying to let go of some control?

Yeah, I think so. The idea for a painting usually comes from a subconscious place — a quick sketch. I try not to think about what it means. Usually, it makes sense to me like six or seven months later.

But I'm getting to the point where I know what something means quicker. I don't want to use my art to talk to myself as much. I’ve become more interested in archetypal themes and transpersonal meaning.

How much of the process feels intentional and how much feels automatic?

I'm obsessed with balance and opposites. It’s always a dance between the automatic function and something deliberate. A painting may begin with intuitive strokes, but then I start to see what kind of forms I can make out of those strokes.

If I add a darker energy, I need to soften it with some love. I want there to be a nice balance between dark and light, playfulness and seriousness. The same thing is happening inside me while I'm making — the pendulum swings back and forth until, hopefully, by the end it feels settled.

I also like making little rules for myself while I'm painting, like “the shadow has to be red.” It's just a practice of surrendering, losing, giving up control, then getting back the control.

I am noticing that your paintings are shifting — are you in a period of experimentation?

I was stuck in this mode of doing a lot of studies up front. I'd do a million Google searches of what a skeleton looks like from a specific point of view. It was too much control and worrying.

I wanted to see what it would be like if I didn't feel like I had to contain my big emotions before getting to the canvas. I decided to be less careful and experiment with relying on my muscle memory more.

I think I'll always be experimenting, which is kind of frustrating because I think the art market favors people who have one voice. And I don't think I will ever be able to do that.

I have these two sides to me — I think a lot of people do — and it's one of the reasons I'm obsessed with duality. I have this very controlled side, and then this very emotional, sensory side. I'm still trying to figure out how to marry the two.

What has been inspiring your work these days?

I’ve been creating a new body of work based on old, archival photos by lesbian photographers — this painting [shown above] is based on a photograph by Emmy America, a queer photographer working now. I've been going to the Lesbian Herstory Archives and collecting photos. It's crazy that there's only one lesbian archive — and it's in Brooklyn. The more you learn about queer history, the more you learn how much of it has been intentionally destroyed or lost.

Sexuality is central to my work. I do that for myself, because I grew up in a very Christian, conservative house, and it's taken me a long time to accept that part of myself.

I want my art to move out of the dark ages and into the light — to celebrate, and to bring more joy into my paintings. I’ve spent a lot of time going into the Jungian shadow, but now I want to allow the joyous part of myself to be expressed too. With everything going on in the world, joy feels like all that we have. It’s the best form of subversion.

Listen to Ely’s studio playlist — a mix she uses to settle into the work.

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Check out Ely’s website and instagram for more.

video interview

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