Why the Art World Has Its Sights Set on Angela Santana
Confronting the male gaze isn't exactly new. So why does New York-based artist Angela Santana have the art world in a frenzy? Art and culture editor Christina Donoghue catches up with the Swiss-native artist to find out more.
Confronting the male gaze isn't exactly new. So why does New York-based artist Angela Santana have the art world in a frenzy? Art and culture editor Christina Donoghue catches up with the Swiss-native artist to find out more.
It shouldn't have to be said that women-identifying artists are sick of the male gaze, and Swiss-born, New York-based painter Angela Santana is no exception. Part of a new vanguard of artists who collectively confront long-outdated notions of the female form, Santana's cubist style sees her 'break with reality to create anew' every time she paints, activating a distortion technique that marks out every Santana painting as distinctly her own.
Making work that is as grotesque as it is alluring, Santana infuses her works with a certain quality that helps her dance somewhere between the styles of revered legends Jenny Saville and Francis Bacon as well as newbie-on-the block Elsa Rouy; all of whom are masters of manipulating flesh - a visual aesthetic crucial to Santana's paintings.
Abstraction aside, distortion as an overarching theme within painting is, least to say, the hottest of hot topics right now, backed up by Guts Gallery's current exhibition The Body Speaks (of which Rouy features), which seamlessly capitalises on this idea of how 'distortion in figuration can be used to plumb the depths of the human psyche'. As for Santana? Her visual roots are more securely embedded in Cubism and Dadaism, movements that, although 100 years her senior and naturally, sexist at that, have also helped posit the artist firmly in the art world's future. Yes, both the Cubists and Dadaists may have relied upon physical resources to help collage and shift the ever changing identity present in their work, (Santana, by contrast, has mastered a digital painting technique in her art), but their ethos ensured they had one foot planted firmly in the future, however absurdist that may have looked at the time. Santana on the other hand, has two.
Finding visual inspiration in the internet while intentionally looking to provide a new take on gender in her painting means Santana's work couldn't feel more 21st century, a glorious contradiction to her cubist and Dadaist inspirations yet one that has helped her map out her artistic journey in a grotesquely surrealist manner; a distorted dream providing a blank canvas for all future paintings to take hold.
Interested in Santana's own parallels between her work and the Dadaists, art and culture editor Christina Donoghue sat down with the artist to hear her story.
Christina Donoghue: I’ve read that you grew up in quite a creative setting, with more emphasis on 'motion over technique'. Considering this, how do you think your upbringing has shaped the style and attitude of your work today?
Angela Santana: From the moment I could hold a brush, I painted. Some of my earliest memories are painting in the garden. My parents gave me large paper rolls, much bigger than myself, and brushes, and I would just paint outside in the grass. This meant I could be as experimental as I liked, covered in as much paint as I thought necessary. Everything was possible; anything could be imagined. I could feel this total freedom and focus.
It’s so interesting looking back at the fact that I worked on large, endless paper rolls. It reminds me of Jack Kerouac’s novel On the Road and how it was written on a continuous roll of paper. For me, working like this meant I could create a continuous rhythm, building a composition as I moved through the space, resulting in literally meters of painted surfaces on the grass, and experiencing it with my full body. The thrill of artistic flow, of expression, automatic instinct, and dissolving the self are all aspects that have stayed with me and my work.
CD: Can you talk me through your painting process... from how you decide on an image or subject to your work with 'digital painting'?
AS: To develop my own distinct visual language, I have been experimenting with combining technology and my own brushstrokes since my formative years spent at art school and in graphic design. While I’ve always been drawn to painting the female form, there was almost always a predictive outcome, and so pushing beyond that became an exciting challenge - to create something unexpected, uninfluenced by the images we’ve all absorbed over time. So, I created a process that allowed something new to unfold, erasing the learned historical bias from my subconscious. It begins with a found image, a digital thumbnail that resonates with me that I collect from the internet. The source ranges from makeup ads to erotica, anything that's out there to sell us something — a product, an ideal, an ideology, a short-lived pleasure - all silently being discarded or swept away.
From there, inspired by a certain pose or colour palette, I paint digitally in hundreds of fragmented layers and begin to shift and turn those layers, experimenting with the composition and colours. This allows me to break with reality and create anew - playing with the reconstructed, exaggerated, distorted and the dissolved. You can sense the figure oscillating towards abstraction in this stage, and with every shifting layer, something new is revealed.
The work then enters what I refer to as a phase of permanence, through translating the final digital composition onto large-scale canvases in oil paint. The shift from fleeting digital thumbnails to the tactile, enduring nature of oil paint creates a stark contrast—an antagonism that highlights the transitory nature of digital imagery versus the lasting weight of the traditional medium.
CD: I’ve also read that you’re quite intent on ‘changing the way we think about the female form’, can you expand on this statement - how do you think your current perspective on the female form differs from your ‘learnt understanding’?
AS: At the core, my works are powerful rather than pleasing - they are freed from being decorative. For too long, the depiction of women in art has been tied to a narrow lens - something to be consumed visually, often for the male gaze or to reinforce societal ideals of beauty. Historically, the female body has been reduced to an object of pleasure, whether in religious iconography, classical nudes, or contemporary media.
My perspective is different: I see the female form as powerful in its own right, not there to merely please or serve an aesthetic ideal. It’s about moving beyond objectification. This shift allows me to depict the body as something that is alive, dynamic, and unapologetically unrefined, rather than idealised or passive. Disrupting the ingrained narratives that have shaped our perceptions - these power structures have permeated everything around us, influencing art, culture, and the very images we consume daily. I aim to break free from those constructs, creating a new, multifaceted understanding of the female form - one that reflects its true complexity and resilience rather than fitting neatly into the frameworks handed down by history. In doing so, I hope to encourage others to see beyond the surface.
CD: I’m interested in your appreciation of Dadaism. How has this movement influenced your work and ethos as an artist? What do you see as direct parallels between Dadaism and your own work?
AS: Dadaism represents a radical departure from traditional artistic expression, and its influence can be seen in the way I approach my artistic process. Dada sought to challenge the very foundations of art by embracing chaos, spontaneity, and the breakdown of conventional meaning. Much like the Dadaists, I am interested in disassembling familiar narratives and reconfiguring them to expose their absurdity, often by working with everyday, overlooked images. I look at the consumer culture we live in, and examine how it’s shaped our perception of value, and meaning. Dadaism can also be seen as an exploration of chaos, play, and the absurdity of existence.
CD: Who is your work for? Do you have a specific person in mind when you paint?
AS: Thankfully I don’t. Every composition is a true collaboration between me and whatever the image wants to become. I never know how the finished work will look, I am fully immersed in the process. I don’t even judge my own work sometimes for months in a row! I then get to look at all compositions I have created with a completely fresh eye, and recognise a sense of shared power that some works have developed. These are the ones I would then paint in oil. My work is liberated in that sense, it’s a pure instinct, and I could never paint this freely if I would listen to others or even to myself.
CD: What feeling do you want your work to elicit?
AS: Something Umami! I’d like to create a mixture of notes, something deep, rich, and satisfying yet complex, with layers that unfold over time. Something incredibly alluring with a sense of tension. It’s both familiar and strange.The initial attraction to a painting is met with a sudden sense of unease or questioning. This tension between the sensual and the disconcerting creates an energy that invites deeper reflection. At the same time, there’s an absurdity embedded in the work where elements are presented without apology, and where the mundane or overlooked becomes as significant as the grand. It’s this kind of irreverence and tension that I want to infuse, creating an experience where the viewer can’t simply settle into the familiar, but must engage with the painting in an active, perhaps even uncomfortable way. Ultimately, I want my work to be a dynamic, sensuous and fearless encounter full of joy and subversion that pulls you in with its beauty, but then subtly challenges you to reconsider your own relationship with the images and the world around you: a chance to see things differently, to break through the surface and find new meanings.