After seeing her solo show, CUT IT LOOSE at ADA gallery, I wanted to interview Lauren because I was curious to hear more about her beautiful, labor-intensive work. She is also one of the most interesting thinkers that I know and a dear friend.
Lauren does not do things halfway, and this is reflected in her art, as she consistently challenges herself to make large-scale works on paper. Each piece contains a vast number of intricately cut-out shapes and eclectic selections of paper, yarn, or embroidery floss scraps. Some have glitter, and some have beads. These odds and ends are not decorative; rather, they operate as integral components of each work’s formal composition.
From economic philosophy to the history of rock music, from poetry to astrology, Lauren’s interests are wide-ranging, and her work reflects this broad-minded, expansive way of thinking. It does not, nor is it intended to reveal meaning plainly. In its details, it presents layers of possible content. Along with their allusive titles, each piece invites us on a journey, where the destination is a sum of our associations and Lauren’s blend of magical colors and shapes.
CUT IT LOOSE was on view at ADA Gallery from November 7th to December of 2025.
-Nikki/Art Habit
Art Habit: You recently had a beautiful exhibition, Cut It Loose, at ADA Gallery in Richmond, Virginia. In the statement for the show, you noted that the spirit of this body of work is “punk.” How/why is that idea important to you and to your work?
Lauren Rice: Nikki, thank you so much for your thoughtful questions! I really enjoyed answering them. I think interviews are such a great format for reflection and I sincerely appreciate this opportunity to reflect on my recent show.
The conception of punk that I am trying to cultivate in my work is more of an attitude than any sort of sonic or visual aesthetic. Ultimately, this attitude has its roots in irreverence and iconoclasm, a DIY sensibility and a certain fuckyouedness (for lack of a better word). These are tendencies that are a part of my personality (or sometimes aspirational) that are grounded in both the way that I work and in the type of work that I create.
One of the best comments that I’ve had about my recent work is that it takes itself seriously, but not too seriously—it has a self-deprecating quality. For example, I spend a gazillion hours hand-cutting intricate shapes out of paper – this labor indicates a level of commitment which demands to be taken seriously. But it is also a really stupid move, as the accumulating negative space threatens to destroy the physical integrity of the piece, and probably makes it less commercially viable to boot. There’s a bit of a cut-off-nose-to-spite-face attitude that I really enjoy. All of these sensibilities, to me, are punk.
Something that I really like about this notion is that I am not beholden to a singular aesthetic. Johnny Cash is spiritually punk. Just look at the different ways that bands like Fugazi and Beat Happening interpreted punk. This gives me a sense of liberty in the studio. It’s permission to mix and synthesize all manner of materials and influences, and this brings out a subversive goofiness. I think that my work could change directions in terms of material and method and still not compromise this spirit. I like that it is rebellious and inspired by the creative possibilities within destruction. At the same time, I’m really committed to the materials I currently use—to paper, spray paint, embroidery floss, etc. I like to use these materials the wrong way. I like the historical relevance of these materials, especially those that have a relationship to graffiti, craft and kitsch. The simple framework of materials provides a structure that I can push against and manipulate.
Spray paint, gouache and embroidery floss on hand cut and collaged paper
55 x 45 inches
AH: How do you come up with titles for your work? And for your exhibitions?
LR: My titles for pieces and shows come out of a combination of deliberation and intuition. Most of the time there’s a natural evolution of a title as the work develops. As I’m working, I find myself getting obsessed with words, phrases or lyrics and this inevitably generates the title. I do keep a running notes app list of possible titles, and I’ll go there (or explore a bit of bibliomancy) in the cases where I can’t think of one. Every so often, the title arrives in a flash, fully formed as if the painting whispered its name in my ear. I just remembered a few times when the title came first, and then I made the piece. So, I guess my process for naming things runs the full gamut.
Ultimately, to satisfy me my titles have to point a finger towards what I am thinking about as I am making the work, without being didactic. I like for the titles to be both visually evident in the work and to suggest a direction where a deeper understanding can be found. I think a lot of people tend to think of abstract art as just being about the formal attributes, but those formal attributes carry a contextual weight, too, and I hope my titles draw attention to this. Extra points if they can include a joke or double-entendre.
In the case of coming up with the title for my ADA show, I really struggled for a while. Nothing on my notes app list rang true. When CUT IT LOOSE arrived in my brain, it felt like a simple directive and an incantation, as well as nodding to my processes in the studio. It came out of my interest in astrology combined with being a pretty literal description of what I was doing in the studio—cutting things loose! The show opened during Scorpio season and I wanted to charge the show with that specific energy of letting go, death/rebirth and transformation. I also love the reference to lacking restraint, as I felt like there was a lot of unhinged contortion in the works in the show.
AH: How do you make decisions about a work’s formal properties? How much of the process is intuitive vs. planned out beforehand?
LR: Sometimes ideas for paintings come to me in visions or in dreams, but even if I have a plan, it is always a loose one. All bets are off once I make the first mark. In fact, I’ll usually intentionally push against my initial vision to add an element of surprise, to lean into chance and remove a bit of personal control. My work really develops through a conversation with the painting as it is being made. I like puzzles, being pushed to make unusual connections and attempting to solve complex, irrational problems, so this aspect of discovery is really tied to my studio practice.
I recently realized that my process of making a painting is very similar to my writing process. I often start with an overabundant mess that I gradually refine over a period of time. The work needs time to cook. Then it is open to being edited, torn apart, layered, revised.
It’s important to remember that intuitive doesn’t mean quick or not thought out. It is a response to considered and engaged looking, but one that often resists logical or linguistic explanation.
A Crooked Path, 2025
Spray paint, acrylic, gouache, flashe and embroidery floss on hand cut and collaged paper
31 x 23 inches
AH: What is your relationship to beauty, in general vs. in your work? (Is there a distinction?)
LR: In the studio, I’m most interested in the beauty of small, uneventful moments—a chance meeting, the fleck of light that catches your eye, a precious paper discard, the rip that looks like lace, an ominous shadow, the mysterious magic of mark-making when elements of control are removed. I find so much beauty in simple contrasts and accidents, the things that are beyond my control, and I try to generate those beautiful accidents in my paintings. It’s more about awareness than anything else, about catching those moments, because they are easy to miss. I think this also applies to life outside of the studio as well.
Since I can’t resist the opportunity to plug another book, in Rebecca Solnit’s Orwell’s Roses, she writes impeccably about beauty, and I find her thoughts on George Orwell’s relationship to beauty to coincide with my own:
In the introduction to the thick Everyman’s edition of Orwell’s Collected Essays,John Carey declares, “He almost never praises beauty and when he does he locates it in the rather scruffy and overlooked things…the eye of the common toad, a sixpenny rosebush from Woolworth’s.” I’d argue that he praises beauty often, and those overlooked things become means of broadening the definition of beauty, finding versions that are not elite or established, finding loveliness in the quotidian, the plebian, the neglected. That quest makes beauty itself subordinate to convention. Even Nineteen Eighty-Four’s grimness is peppered with moments of reprieve in the things his lonely rebel admires, craves, enjoys, most notably an ordinary landscape and a glass paperweight encasing a bit of red coral.
I’m also currently reading Dave Hickey’s 1993 collection of essays “The Invisible Dragon”, his self-proclaimed “polemical broadside about beauty”. While I’m too early on to give my official recommendation, the first essay is a full-on belter. I’m excited to learn more about the attitudes about beauty in the arts in the late 80s and early 90s, according to Hickey.
AH: What advice would you give yourself if you could go back in time 20 years (and why)?
LR: I have been deliberating over this question for a while, trying to come up with the absolute best advice to give my 26-year-old self. At this point, I think I might as well go with the obvious: Trust yourself. Don’t overthink it!
AH: You have said that you initially resisted cut-outs in your work. Why, and how did you come to embrace them? Why are they important to your current work?
LR: I did initially resist the cut outs. Here’s a little backstory: In my second year of grad school, a friend showed some of my early collage work to a gallerist. The feedback I received was to do more of the cut outs, to make them cleaner and more obsessive. Unfortunately (or fortunately), I have a natural resistance impulse kick in when people tell me what to do. In my stubbornness, I was skeptical of following his feedback. My thought at the time was that it would be too gimmicky and cute! It had been DONE. In retrospect, embracing the cut out, in spite of (or because of!) its somewhat cliched quality, allowed me to arrive at a way of cutting out that felt right for me. I think we get to things at our own pace, when we are ready.
The cut out is such an elegant way of making a mark, and I like how it forms a natural opposition to my more aggressive ways of subtraction, like tearing. The labor involved with cutting by hand lends credence to the gestural, watery paint splashes and sprays. I also am obsessed with the way the cut out acknowledges the three-dimensionality of paper. It’s so simple! But it is just mesmerizing to me.
I’ll also give my usual shout out to The Artist’s Way. When we did the book, I found myself reflecting on the cut outs a lot and why I rejected the advice from the gallerist all those years ago. My willingness to lean into them definitely came after reading The Artist’s Way. In the book, there’s emphasis on doing things that you thought that you weren’t supposed to do. For me, this translated into letting myself learn more about tarot and astrology, obsess over the music of my 80’s and 90’s youth, and emphasize the cut out as a visual element in my work.
AH: I know that media (music, books, movies, podcasts, etc.) is important to you. How does it relate to the work you make?
LR: Books are guides. They offer the only way to get almost entirely into someone else’s head—even if it’s a fictional character. These days, I read as much non-fiction as fiction, and I think a lot of what I’ve read recently about politics and economic philosophy has had an impact on my work, in addition to some books I’ve recently read about music (two thumbs up from me for Michael Azerrad’s 2002 classic Our Band Could Be Your Life: Scenes from the American Indie Underground 1981-1991). Tension between groups is something I’ve been thinking about a lot (based on our current political reality and events of the past) and I’ve been exploring ways of developing (and releasing) this tension in my paintings.
Depending on my mood, I listen to both music and podcasts while I work. I listen to a lot of podcasts about music, politics, news, books, astrology and cosmology (only rarely about art!). I often make Spotify playlists that correspond to pieces that I’m making in the studio, that cultivate the vibe I’m going for.
I do love movies, too, although I’ve probably been more of a TV person in the last decade or so. Being somewhat of a nostalgic person, my favorite movies are from my youth and also usually have memorable soundtracks (Reality Bites, Trainspotting, Grosse Point Blank, Magnolia, Bottle Rocket, you get the picture). At the moment, I’d say that watching movies/TV is a type of rest for me, rather than a direct contributor to my work. That said, last spring I watched Wim Wenders’ Wings of Desire for the first time and the aesthetics of the movie, the soundtrack and the content were deeply inspirational.
Spray paint, acrylic, gouache, graphite powder, glitter paper, assorted string, plastic beads and embroidery floss on hand cut and collaged paper, 85 x 55 inches
AH: What is your top book/song/podcast for the past year?
LR: Since 2023, my top podcast has been Bandsplain. I love host Yasi Salek, her attitude and her perspective. She cracks me up and for whatever reason makes listening to 3+ hour podcasts recounting nitty-gritty details about a band totally fascinating. Bandsplain really feeds my nostalgic tendencies for the music of my youth and gives me a lot of solid contextual information about bands that I really like (or didn’t really know). The deep dive into the various personal and creative dynamics of these bands encourages me to listen to whole albums instead of individual songs, something that I miss in our culture of digital listening.
AH: What are you excited about/hopeful for in the year ahead?
LR: Lately, I’ve found myself thinking small and focusing on the little things that give me hope and pleasure. Below are a few things that I am looking forward to in the year ahead.
I’m excited about the asparagus that my husband and I planted three years ago! I’ve been wanting to plant asparagus since reading Barbara Kingsolver’s book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle many years ago. Asparagus has a three-year wait time from planting to harvesting. This spring will be our first harvest.
In May, I’m taking a third group of students to Berlin for a study abroad class that I developed, The Art and History of Berlin. As a group, we examine Berlin’s complex history and how this history has created an environment conducive to the creation of contemporary art.
In 2025, I had two solo shows, so I am really excited to have time in the studio where I can be less focused on production and more focused on experimentation and play.
I’m psyched to have a residency at The Virginia Center for Creative Arts (VCCA) in June/July. This will be my first away-from-home residency since becoming a mom 10 years ago!!
You can learn more about Lauren at her website and Instagram.
