Jennie Cao’s art stems from the playful curiosity that first sparked a love for creating. From drawing imaginary creatures as a child to developing a thoughtful and narrative-driven practice, Jennie’s work explores personal and universal themes with depth and intention. Each piece invites viewers to connect with the same wonder and joy that fuels the process of making.
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Art is often chosen as a medium for its freedom. Why do you personally turn to art, rather than another form of expression?
In my practice, I deeply appreciate the act of making. My work is very detail focused and intimate, I love spending hours painting hair strands, eyelashes, and skin folds. It’s not tedious when it’s made with love. For me, to paint a piece, is to spend time conversing with it, understanding its intricacies, and learning more about yourself in the process. There is no other medium that is as time-consuming, intricate, and gives a clear visualization of your progress. I think my affinity for art doesn’t mean ignoring other forms of expression. I’ve practiced violin, guitar, and written poetry (all very badly). My paintings are just a visual compilation of all my creative interests in one.
Can you take us through the evolution of an artwork, from that first spark of inspiration to the finished piece?
Sure! My ideas for paintings are often directly connected to whatever media I’ve consumed. After hours of scrolling, listening to music, and random events happening, your brain kinda latches on to little pieces of information from everywhere and assembles it into a very disorganized idea. For example, for my next painting, I’ve been listening to lots of “Girl in Red”, thinking about queer relationships, patriarchy, and the role of the queen in chess. It’ll probably feature relevant elements from each topic, like a queen/pawn and embracing figures to celebrate nonbinary/fem queer love in a patriarchal society. Yeah…that was a whole bunch of words. It usually makes more sense when the painting exists (maybe in a few months?). I make a rough composition with these ideas in mind and continue researching each idea I want to explore. I write a mini-thesis or blurb for the painting, then make changes to the composition and add extra little elements to push the narrative. After that, the painting part is pretty damn easy. Throw a bit of acrylic over the canvas, render it for 10 hours, and repeat. For the best inspiration, spend time with other painters, discuss their practice, and study how they paint! Learning another artist’s thought process can further push your understanding of how to view your work and concepts in different ways.
How has your artistic style transformed over the years? Are there specific influences, experiments, or moments that marked a turning point?
When I was 6, I spent my afternoons sprawled over pieces of printer paper on the dinner table with colored pencils and duct tape. I was insistent on this daily ritual to satisfy my hyperfixation on imaginary creatures; dragons, griffins, and sea serpents. I vividly remember creating entire colorful universes filled with dragon communities, civilizations, and wars. Every day, this paper map grew and grew, until the entire table was filled with a fantastical world only a child would have created. These roughly drawn critters were the only thing that calmed my hyperactive brain. Now, when I return home, I find pieces of my 6-year-old self scattered throughout those empty rooms and corners. Little cutout paper wyverns hide under my college homework. Doodles of imaginary friends are stuffed in the closet. I find it funny that my current practice is so rooted in realism/surrealism when my initial introduction to art was so imaginative and colorful. I’ve still been trying to return to that playfulness and creativity in my art. When I was 10, I was sent to an intensive extracurricular arts program. RIP the whimsy. The class focused on art foundations, studying, diagraming, and memorizing bones on the body – that type of academic. I won’t lie and say this rigorous program didn’t benefit me. The master copies, still lives, and live models undeniably helped my understanding of composition, color, and proportions. I’m grateful for the opportunity to have attended it, but god, did I dread every Thursday. After my afternoons were replaced with rigorous studio art, creating became a chore, just extra homework with a due date.
I never created conceptual and narrative-driven artwork until AP Art in my senior year of high school. It’s kind of embarrassing, but that’s where I started taking painting seriously. It’s crazy how much more motivation you’ll have to create when you’re not restricted by others. I chose mental illnesses for my AP Art theme. I had collected quite a few, so I figured it’d be easy to bullshit a couple of paintings about it (classic AP Art shenanigans). Creating artwork I resonated with was so therapeutic, calming, and for once, I could see myself truly reflected in my art. I was like .. woah! Am I really allowed to do that? Then, it’s like oh, duh, it’s art, the creative process has no rules. It was so refreshing to create compositions solely based on imagination, it felt like I was connecting with my childhood self again. Art can be methodical, academic, and profound, but if you’re lacking the playful wonder that made you pick up a crayon all those years ago, you’ll find it hard to continue enjoying the process of making.
Now, I’m 19, almost 20. What the hell, I feel so old, yet so young, and definitely inexperienced. I’m just a silly delusional painter in art college, what do I know? I’m hiding from my adult responsibilities in the safety of a pretentious school. I’m still hunched over an easel and continuously reminding myself why I started art in the first place. Long days in the studio, sleepless nights, and looming deadlines don’t inspire me to paint. Thinking of my little self drawing does. The peaceful process of creating, the joy of adding little details, and the overwhelming happiness when a project turns out just right. This is a reason I’m breaking away from trauma-inspired artwork as well. I’ve already made painting after painting on mental illnesses, trauma, racism, feminine rage … the list goes on. They’re always going to be a part of me but there’s enough hardship to go around. It’s time to make paintings that I enjoy making and bring the people around me happiness. Go make someone smile today! ♡
In an increasingly globalized world, how can artists preserve authenticity and cultural integrity in their work?
In the 21st century, everything feels like a giant melting pot of shared experience. It’s impossible to disentangle our unique perspectives on life from the people who’ve influenced us. We form our own perception of self from other cultural practices, ideals, philosophies, and our own lived experiences. Once you step outside the comfort of your own home, you’re exposed to many different viewpoints. With so many perspectives, it’s impossible to accurately represent everyone’s unique experiences. To be the most authentic, stay true to yourself and your individual experiences. Don’t ignore the larger narrative and be aware of how your work fits into it. Be active and informed on struggles in your community and stay up to date with current events. Make work from a place of passion, not hate.
What are five things you do to overcome creative blocks or feelings of discouragement?
✧ Don't force yourself to create. Pick it back up when you’re motivated and refreshed.
✧ There's more to life than just art, spend quality time with others. I’m guilty of staying holed up in my room doom-scrolling on a beanbag with loud trashy music blasting whenever I’m not painting. It’s an easy and comfortable pattern to fall into, but it ain’t productive or healthy.
✧ Go biking. Long walks through the woods. Hiking around reservoirs and mountains. I think getting in touch with nature is so important in a digitalized world. Collect little plants, observe natural ecosystems, and breathe in some good non-oil-fume-polluted air. Try making your own paper and paint just from natural materials.
✧ Take care of yourself. For your practice to be sustainable, your body has to be as well. After continuous 8-hour days of painting, the shoulder pain is crazy. I swear it feels like I’m being fossilized as I paint. Arm and upper body stretch help a lot, though.
✧ You don’t have to intellectualize everything. It’s challenging to expect yourself to continuously come up with philosophical, groundbreaking, or thought-provoking artwork. In an academic setting (and the art world, I’m guessing), there’s this pressure to be viewed as intelligent, to know every aspect of what you’re portraying. There must be a calculated decision behind each brushstroke. Isn’t it enough that the reason we create is to make artwork we enjoy? Make art for yourself, not for what others approve of.
Name five questions you’d ask your favorite artist if given the chance.
There are so many talented creatives to choose from. As artists, we are all subconsciously inspired by each other. The painters who’ve had the biggest impact on me are Holden Willard and Colleen Barry. I’m obsessed with their color application and how they both approach chromatic figuration. Their artwork is so soft, powerful, and gentle, and you can tell they paint from their heart. It’d be an honor to see their work in real life. I’m done fangirling so here are some questions I’d love to ask!
✧ What drives you to keep creating?
✧ Does having a deep connection with the people you paint enhance or challenge your experience depicting them? Is there an agency to capture their personality or likeness?
✧ How do you come up with unique compositions? Is there a specific process or does it just happen naturally?
✧ Which painting has had the biggest impact on you and your practice?
✧ How do you spend time outside your studio?
Are there any upcoming projects or dreams that you’re particularly excited about?
I’m writing this on 1/4/2025, the first few days into the new year. As far as New Year's resolutions go, I want to focus on breaking into the art world (somehow) and learning how to survive as an artist. Gallery shows, residencies, and grants… I want them all, but opportunities are few and far between. Honestly, I’m terrified of the harsh reality that I’ll fail. I’ve gotten enough rejection letters to convince me. I don’t know if it’s delusion, naivety, or denial, but sometimes, I think, if I keep working hard enough, I can make it. It’s been my dream to have a little studio apartment with my partner in NYC, have enough for food and rent, and be able to paint day after day. All I want is to wake up and see my partner gently sleeping in the early morning, light cascading in from an open window, painting his face golden. That’s what inspires me. I desperately want that reality. We’ll see how it goes. Until then, I’ll keep painting with my rose-tinted glasses on.
Jennie Cao’s art reminds us of the beauty in both creation and intention. Each piece becomes a space to explore, question, and reconnect with the joy of making. Through the interplay of concept and craft, Jennie’s work inspires a renewed sense of curiosity—an invitation to see art not just as a product but as a deeply human experience.
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