Raised in New York City, Julia Randall was surrounded by a supportive family that nurtured her creativity. Her art-lover aunt would take her along on frequent
trips to museums and gave Randall art books as gifts that still remain in her collection. After attending an arts-focused elementary school and a high school that offered a visual art major, she decided to explore what the world outside of New York City had to offer. Randall attended Washington University in St. Louis and embedded herself in the local art community. After graduating, she received a fellowship to live and work in Paris at the Cite Internationale des Arts for a year, where she was able to seamlessly adapt as well. “For the first time I was able to see myself in context, and to witness the variety and breadth of studio practices among artists in the world. I made a slew of friends from around the globe and had an amazing time there,” elaborated Randall.
Seven years ago, Julia Randall relocated from New York City to the Connecticut countryside, where she currently resides with her husband. Removed from the megalopolis that is NYC, her current residence allows for plenty of opportunity to observe the biological processes that are at the core of her work. That’s not to say that she has a particularly scientific interest in exploring nature, but her drawings seem to dig past the glossy veneer of the sexual images we are exposed to in advertisements, film, television and even fine art—the kinds of images that seem to reverberate off the walls in a big city—in order to access a deep understanding of our unconscious desires. She relishes the organic, raw essence of sex as a part of nature and human life. “It is not the study of nature’s systems that compels me, I just love the visual richness and variety found in the natural world,” Randall added.
The beckoning tongue is an easily recognizable form of sexual signaling, across many cultures”
The sexuality in Blown and Randall’s other series operates on a visceral level, one that is better felt with mind open and eyes closed than physically seen or touched. This sort of sexuality is inextricably linked to the body because it is embedded within it—a living, aging, dying body that is vulnerable to nature’s processes as much as it is a part of them. Randal
rejects clichés, preferring to leave a pop-cultural notion of sexuality out of her work. The sticky wads of bubblegum come off as grotesque despite their seductiveness, allowing the viewer to confront the less-than-glamorous aspects of the body—its flaws and its vulnerability.
“Although bubblegum initially connotes innocent, cheeky pleasure, the fragile skin of gum also points to the susceptibility of the body, and the dreaded passage of time,” Randall further explained when asked about her choice of subject matter. “Metaphorically, a fully inflated bubble suggests optimism—being full of energy, youth and promise. It is not by chance that we mostly see kids blowing bubbles. On the other hand, the bubbles in various stages of deflation allude to disappointments and missed opportunities, and the turning point when we must acknowledge to ourselves that we are no longer young.”
Though they carry heavy conceptual weight, Julia Randall’s drawings still appear light. Her sparse compositions give little context about how to interpret the abstract images, but we find many meanings anyway, hidden in the crevices of the bubbles, just as we ascribe stories to the lines and dimples.*
This article originally appeared in Hi-Fructose issue 25, which is sold out. Get our latest print issue with a new Hi-Fructose. Subscription, while supporting what we do here.