It’s easy to get lost in one of Ginny Casey's paintings; easy to think that each brushstroke and each decision that she made, were all part of some long, thought-out, meticulously crafted plan. But, according to Casey, that’s not exactly right. “What drives my paintings isn't strategy or plans, concepts or a narrative,” she says. “Even though I often depict figures and things, it’s colors and shapes that lead the way. Sometimes I'll find the nameable stuff in the process of making a painting as though I'm searching the clouds for pictures.” An apt description from an artist whose work has been described as “organic, biomorphic, and curvilinear.” In fact, it’s not uncommon in any art form for meaning to follow method. Casey’s work subordinates any central notion to its component parts: the brush strokes, the hues and tones, the sense of motion.
Casey, who graduated from the Rhode Island School of Design in 2008, has lived in Brooklyn for three and a half years, in which time she’s become a staple of the borough’s gallery scene. By all accounts she’s a seasoned professional; but what’s especially telling is the fact that she’s still amazed by art itself. “When I first learned to paint, reflective color blew my mind,” she says. “Over a decade later I'm confounded by the rectangle, so prudent and yet so infinite. I like to think of each rectangle as a little stage. Sometimes I put on a show; sometimes I just set up props.” That sense of wonder extends beyond the canvas and into the every day. She recounts a recent experience when, after staring at a painting for several hours, the world outside became unusually vivid and three-dimensional. “I realized the complexity in the world was so much more beautiful than any painting could ever be,” she says. “It's like we want to fail just to remind ourselves how ungraspable and mysterious the world really is.”