Artist Biography
Bethany Noël is a New England-based artist and painter whose work captures the intense visual distortions of her migraines and the emotional resilience of her relationship with nature. Her paintings are acrylic, chalk pastel, and gesso on canvas and rely on her personalized approach to divisionism techniques.
They reflect the symptoms of chronic migraines, including ocular aura and a plethora of Alice-in-Wonderland effects (e.g., micropsia, macropsia, pelopsia, and teleopsia). Clinically, ocular aura is a neurologic artifact of migraine; experientially, it superimposes a fractal vision of color, light, and darkness over a person’s vision.
Bethany’s work delights in the eerie joy of this otherworldly vision, finding beauty despite unabating pain and giving visibility to an invisible disease.
Bethany’s artistic development combines medicine, self-expression, immersion in nature, and the exuberance of Boston’s art scene. After studying biochemistry at Reed College, she received one of two annual merit scholarships to complete her BFA in Painting at Rhode Island School of Design in 2011. Bethany has exhibited throughout the Boston area, including solo exhibitions at the Open Door Gallery in Boston, the Tokatlyan Gallery, and the Worcester Art Museum, and is a represented artist at Three Stones Gallery in Concord, MA. She has been featured in publications such as The Boston Hassle, Boooooooom, and MyModernMet.
Artist Statement
There are three base elements in my paintings. The first comprises patterns: the repeating lines and shadows of tree bark; the flickering light cast by foliage, canopy, and bracken; the geometry of the forest floor; the tumble and eddy of water.
The second element is the perceptual and proprioceptive distortions caused by my chronic migraine disease. Ocular auras bend light and reconfigure surfaces, functioning as mesmerizing filters between my eyes and brain. The layers of contraction and contortion I feel during attacks are muscular, neurological, abstract, and acutely spatial al at once—good guides for live-drawing.
Finally, there are my physical media: acrylic paint, gesso, and chalk pastel. Pieces begin not with the constricting linearity of a sketchbook but with daily observational drawings set down on sketching paper and kept in a card box, easy to shuffle and sort, many annotated with “lab notes” on how best to translate them into paint.
Once I’m facing the canvas, I draw those elements together through my own adapted divisionism technique. It allows me to capture what I see that others cannot, and to put on canvas the feelings that drive my expressive instincts: to find beauty, otherworldly beauty, in the mundane and quotidian. And, every day, to choose joy over pain.
Why Paint the Woods?
I paint about the woods because they have always been my refuge.
In the city, the sheer density of light and color stimuli set off overwhelming ocular distortions; in the woods, those same symptoms turn an average hike into an exploration of Narnia. My disease creates magic in these moments, turning causing the tree canopy, the light flickering through branches, the camouflaged patterning of leaves and brush break apart into incredible, Alice-in-Wonderland glory. I mirror this experience in my work: obsessive, detailed, and overwhelmed by color.
I want the weeds to be seen. Undergrowth and other irregular plant life is so often trimmed back, routinely oversimplified in paintings. A gorgeous morning scene in the woods would not be half so beautiful without the multitude of craggy leaves, weeds, and brush that reflect the light back to the viewer. On their own they are easily dismissed—on its own, beige is boring. And yet, the burnt yellow ochre and muddy red oxide of the underbrush is necessary to make the green foliage glow. In my work, I strive to give each color its due.
Process and Technique
My technique is shaped by my disease just as my choices of subject matter are. The migraines mean that I have to stay away from oil paints and oil mediums, so I have developed a deep affinity for acrylics instead. The method I use takes advantage of their flexibility and crisp lines to physically mimic the auras projected over my vision.
Most often, after priming the canvas with black gesso, I add light and form in a swirling, patterning effect. I paint the overlooked bramble and foliage, revealing what are traditionally the primary objects only through negation.
I work with gesso in an additive and subtractive way. This lets me control the opacity, transparency, and gloss of the paint to create a layered illusion of light and space. Pigments behave differently than theoretical color; paint is pigment in emulsion. In practice, that means I can layer and mix to let different bits of paint catch and reflect light in different ways. I can apply black gesso over color, relying on its matte texture to create optical recession.
At other times, I use chalk pastel and white gesso for a variety of complementary effects. Titanium white gesso in particular is not opaque, as titanium has far less carrying capacity than lead-based whites. That partial transparency makes it perfect for use as a glazing and tinting medium, especially when mixed with other mediums and pigments. Pastel, meanwhile—compressed pigment—can be pushed into the texture of a canvas to let the dust settle into the fabric weave. Then, I wipe the pigment away to remove it and also mix gesso and other paint into it to dye the canvas and create layered illusions.
These tools and techniques have evolved as I grow. Recently, my Winter Series explored a heavier reliance on white gesso and shades of blue; my next major projects will diverge in their own ways. I invite you to stop by Three Stones to take a look—or, if you prefer, write to me here to ask about a studio visit.
Thanks for stopping by! If you want to know more about my work, I write a semi-regular newsletter that includes updates on exhibitions, shows, and the life of a working artist.