For June Ahleman, painting is more than representation; it is a way to honor, to question, and to preserve. Through portraits that push beyond the surface, material choices that carry deep personal meaning, and a commitment to giving voice to both presence and absence, the work becomes a bridge between personal experience and shared human emotion. This conversation delves into the ways art can hold grief, challenge objectification, and offer something lasting in a world that is constantly shifting.

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How has your upbringing or cultural heritage shaped the themes and techniques you explore in your art today? 

My work has been about addressing exploitation through objectification, something relevant to my identity as an Asian American woman. Growing up half Taiwanese and half Northern European, I have been super aware of both my privilege as someone who is half white and the objectification I face as an Asian woman in America. I've always loved portrait painting but it frustrated me to see artists defining the subject by one aspect of their identity, an experience, or their physical appearance. I’m interested in confronting this objectification and exploring how I can capture more than one element of someone’s identity beyond just their image.

Can you pinpoint a single moment in your life when you realized art was not just a passion but your purpose? 

One of my best friends, Ainsley, passed away in 2023 right before I turned 18. After experiencing grief like that, my work shifted to not only capturing someone in their entirety but also honoring them when they are no longer present. My perception of identity was widened beyond inherited attributes to include a real emphasis on experiences and the understanding of loss. Losing someone is such a human and universal experience but also so isolating; hearing others tell me my work helped them either feel less alone or more understood in their grief made it clear to me that I can have a real positive impact with my work.

Have you ever struggled with the ethics of your art—such as who it represents or who it impacts? 

Yes, I have definitely struggled with this. It has always been really important to me that I consider my positionality in the spaces I take up and the way I approach my work as an artist. When painting, I am always keeping in mind how I can share my experience without claiming to be anything I am not. This is why I originally introduced Audio Installation to my paintings when depicting others, I wanted to literally give a voice to the subjects. Even when discussing grief, I am so aware of how, despite it being a universal experience, it is something people are introduced to in different circumstances and at different points in life. I think this is why I make so many self-portraits- if I am portraying myself and my experience, there is no possibility of unintentionally misrepresenting anyone. 

Art is often chosen as a medium for its freedom. Why do you personally turn to art, rather than another form of expression?

I turn to art because material connection with the subject matter is really important to me. Art is also such a universal way to access information and share experiences. Especially with my work about my friend Ainsley, I've noticed materiality is relevant in a way I just don't find in other forms of expression. I've kind of separated work on my experience of grief into three parts art about grief in general, art for Ainsley, and work about my experience of losing her. The paintings I make for her often include glitter and show the party lights she would keep in her room. The use of glitter in these pieces is super intuitive to me. Ainsley loved glitter, so of course I include it in my gifts for her. Also, glitter never leaves; once you use glitter it stays with you, it’s almost like a direct material interpretation of my experience of loss. I would say this material connection with subject matter is really important to my practice even when using nothing but paint on canvas. 

Can you share a moment when someone’s unexpected interpretation of your art gave you a new perspective? 

Yes! Recently I was showing someone my small paintings for Ainsley. I don't share these pieces as frequently as the large scale portraits because they function mainly as gifts for her. This person told me that glitter was a really surprising way to depict grief. They said it brings a youthful energy to a topic we often associate with age. It brought to my attention how much my specific experience was affected by my age when we were friends and my age when I lost her.

Has there ever been a time when the creative process felt more like a burden than a joy? How did you navigate that? 

I think I definitely feel the weight of responsibility to honor Ainsley in my work, and that can feel like a lot sometimes. I wouldn't say I feel a burden, but I would say alot of weight comes with the task of depicting grief and really living within such an all-encompassing experience every day. 

Is art created for the artist, the audience, or somewhere in between? 

For me, I would say all of the above. Art has been a way for me to work through my understanding of mortality and my own identity, but also a way to reach out to others and offer humanity, understanding, and remembrance. Making work about grief has served as an invitation for others to share their own experiences and a way for others to relate and feel less alone. Knowing my work gives someone else any comfort or relatability in their experience grieving is very fulfilling. I am grateful for the art I've experienced which has helped me, and being able to contribute to someone else's understanding of self or their grief even a little is a real honor.

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At its core, art is both deeply personal and inherently communal—shaped by the artist’s hands but completed in the eyes and experiences of those who engage with it. June Ahleman's work exists in this space between self-exploration and shared understanding, using material, memory, and portraiture to navigate what it means to be seen, remembered, and understood. In a world where loss is universal yet profoundly individual, these paintings offer a rare and meaningful connection—one that lingers, much like the traces of glitter that refuse to fade.