Anderson Asteclines’ body of work has a fluid quality that sits somewhere between abstraction and representation, depicting identifiable forms of human figures that begin to dissipate into painterly expressions or atmospheres. Rather than representing figures through clearly defined anatomical details or representational realism, the artist has painted an image of a container of human figures that are continually changing and transforming. Limbs may be painted long or short; facial features become lost within layers of transparent paint; and at times multiple figures seem overlap to the point that the identity of each figure is visually indistinguishable from the others.
The treatment of colour is one of the most significant consistent characteristics of the paintings. The dominant colours throughout the compositions include intense, saturated hues such as red, crimson and magenta; dark violet and muted greens; pale blue; and bright yellow with luminous quality. Together these colours create a vibrant chromatic structure that interchanges between each body in the composition. Colour rarely operates for the representation of the human skin or the surrounding environment in a naturalistic manner, but rather colour is employed as the primary medium through which volume, movement and spatial relationships are demonstrated. The use of warm and cool tone can often be seen coexisting within the same figure, creating a subtle sense of tension while at the same time helping to contribute to the overall chromatic balance in the work.
words: yannis kostarias
The movement of the brush used to make the image emphasizes the instability of the surfaces. Thin washes and thicker accumulations of paint alternate, allowing forms to slowly come into existence only to dissolve back into the surrounding image area. Several works also contain drips from the paint; broad, gestural strokes show the movement made during the application of the paint. The works do not attempt to hide how the image was made, but instead preserve a record of their making as each layer is left partially exposed under the succeeding layer.
Figures that seem ghostlike appear over and over throughout these works. Some of the figures are portrayed only as outlines or ghosts against dark areas, while others are painted through transparent layers of paint that allow the bodies beneath to remain visible after completion of the painting. In the Asteclines’ artistic vocabulary, these methods of painting create a very ambiguous space, where the foregrounds and backgrounds continually change their roles. The paintings do not create fixed spatial hierarchies; rather, the viewer’s eye is encouraged to move across the entire surface of the painting and not be restricted to looking at a single area of interest.
The representation across Asteclines’ imagery remains intentionally unresolved. The works do not reject figuration or completely accept abstraction; instead a continual conversation exists between representation and abstraction. A human presence is always implied but never fully constituted. The layering of colour, the fluidity of the brushstrokes and the disappearing edges of each painting combine to create an image that visually conveys an idea of a body as a means of understanding it as an evolving painterly structure, rather than as a fixed anatomical structure. It is this heightened degree of ambiguity coupled with a highly developed colour-sensitivity; the relationship between colour-transparency-gesture is what creates the artist’s unique visual identity.
How would you define your work in a few words (ideally in 3 words)?
I’d describe my work as ghostly, emerging from plumes of high-key colour, and queer. I’m not sure whether “emerging from high-key colour” really counts as a single word. Weirdly as well I’ve been noticing that quite a lot of my paintings these past months were getting spiritual. So the fourth one would be spiritual.
Could you share with us some insights on your new work named ‘’Texture of Mum’s hand, 2026? Is there any particular story behind this new painting?
This painting, “Texture of Mum’s hand, 2026,” began like most of my work—with an empty underlayer surface of an attempted painting and no real plan for what to do next. That day we started in the morning by reading out our weekly poems by the residency kitchen table. I remember reading a poem about dreaming of “a thing inside a coffin,” and the words and feelings shared stayed with me throughout the day. I remember feeling some deep sadness. By evening time, I felt ready to begin bringing new figures into the painting. It had a cruising painting under the image which wasn’t working at all, suddenly I realised I wanted to do another image on top so I painted a living room scene where a very ghostly mother is taking care or looking after a child, and indeed there’s this funeral scene taking place inside that room. The view almost reminds me of an isometric view or bird eye’s view. From a strange dream. The harlequin coloured titles on the floor almost reminds me of tiles of a house I lived in brazil at the age of 9. That was my favourite house as it felt both mystical and eerie too. Although I don’t go cruising in parks anymore like I used to, I still think about the men I’ve met over the years. It feels as if they return to me in fragments—someone I might have met on a Monday, someone else from a Friday or Saturday somehow coming together. As I start sketching their outlines, I try to recall how these characters that I encounter in life looked and how the energy felt in those moments. It brings me back to those scenes and emotions. So painting for me is revisiting this surreal experience again and again. Those feelings aren’t so simple I think. They could be fear, anxiety, sadness, even despair. There’s no fixed method for it to happen. It’s more about summoning these people and emotions into the work, then drawing them out, removing them when they make no sense, and drawing them again anew. It’s a strange presence, their occult self I am looking for. It becomes a cycle of trying to capture something that never feels fully real. As if they’re fading or existing in another world between here and now, past, future altogether. Sometimes it feels like I’m observing them from a distance, like a voyeur.
A number of your works fall in the area between representation and abstraction. Does the creative process begin with something representative elements and then move away from before or start as merely an abstract piece?
My process usually begins by priming canvas with rabbit skin glue then a light acrylic colour is added to gesso for the priming stages. I like starting with a colour wash and then noticing what shapes begin to appear from that initial priming layer. The first mark is so essential for me because I draw from those initial marks what comes next. It guides me. From there, I follow mostly intuition. Thinking about which figures or “ghosts” belong in that space and scale. Sometimes it starts with abstract forms, other times with a figure—it’s hard to say which comes first. I’d also say that daydreaming, reading poetry, life drawing, making watercolours, making monoprint drawings all become intertwined with the euphoric feeling of painting for me. Great skills that I developed while in residency.
This intriguing question of whether my work is abstract or figurative is quite challenging for me. During my MFA at the Glasgow School of Art, some of my tutors described the work as “an attempt at something—transient, temporal, strange,” looking back I didn’t comprehend but thinking of now I do agree with them. I find that what often remains in the picture has a feeling that it could be erased and concealed at any point in time. Their faces, their bodies, their strange looking anatomy. All could vanish, all could become something else entirely different.
Throughout a lot of your art, there are figures that can be described as being ghost-like and/or dissolved where your figures have a tendency to overlap each other or to be interwoven with one another in a recurring fluid structure. What fascinates you about this duality of form – appearing to both emerge and disappear at once?
I often think of these figures as ghost-like, or as “others.” The way I build them comes through reworking layers—using loose brushwork with oil paint, a lot of thinner like Shellsol T, and different mediums. That process naturally pushes the painting into something more fluid, where forms start to overlap and dissolve into one another. They might look like finished paintings, but to me they still hold the potential for something else to happen—new figures, new gestures, new presences. It’s interesting as a process to see if over time, the figures become increasingly ambiguous. They often do. It can feel almost like a kind of gathering or entanglement, where everything exists at once.
In many ways, I’m painting lived experiences and moments I’ve gone through, trying to reach some kind of clarity—though I’m not sure I ever fully get there. It’s also a way of returning to a world I once belonged to.
I like how you describe it as a duality. It really does feel like the figures are both emerging and disappearing at the same time, as if they’re forming in my mind while also slipping away.
There are a number of works that comprise partially developed images of face and body, which allows for the viewer to fluctuate in their recognition of this image and also in their level of uncertainty when they encounter it. What role does ambiguity play in your visual language?
Ambiguity is essential in my work. I don’t approach painting as a technical exercise where bodies need to be anatomically correct. I’m interested in how they appear, but more importantly in how they fragment and remain uncertain.
That instability suggests that these figures aren’t entirely human, but something else. Something that exists in a more internal, almost occult space shaped by memory and emotion. A lot of it comes from the subconscious.
I often paint at unusual times, like 5 or 6 in the morning or late at night, and I think that affects the atmosphere of the work. Being in this residency the fact that it is open 24/7 has helped me so much to fully enjoy studios when it is quieter and no one’s around. I’m drawn to that in-between state where things aren’t fully defined. Sometimes the paintings themselves make me feel uneasy or confused, especially when they become too visceral or emotionally intense. I’m still learning when to stop overpainting or over reconsidering the ghosts.
Currently you are working within an artist residency for preparation of an exhibition. In what ways has your residency affected your development of ideas, themes, and/or new direction in your work and how do these factors influence how you are currently producing your work at the Tracey Emin Residency?
I’ve been part of the Tracey Emin Artist Residency in Margate since last March, and our final show opens to the public from 28 June, at TKE Studios.
It’s a 16-month, fully funded programme, and we’re incredibly supported—with studio space, mentorship and tutoring from Tracey, our director Elissa, as well as mentors, visiting artists, and collectors that visit us. Being based in Margate has also shaped my experience of seeing colour better as it has the most wonderful sunsets I have ever seen in my entire life.
My work has shifted quite a lot since starting the residency. I had just finished my MFA at the Glasgow School of Art prior to joining, but early on, Tracey gave us an exercise that really changed things for me: drawing my mum and dad from memory. The task. It caught me off guard. As I had my mindset locked in spending more time painting cruising ghosts then suddenly I’d never thought about painting my mum before, partly because of my upbringing in Brazil, which was quite complicated. My mum has struggled with alcoholism for many years, and that’s been very difficult to witness. But I felt I couldn’t avoid the task, so I started working through those childhood memories—being the older brother, looking after my younger brother, going out at night to search for my mum in bars, hospitals, or even police stations.
I don’t think I would have had the courage to approach something so personal before. Being in this residency has made that possible. Tracey creates a space where you feel understood and supported. She really looks at the work and responds to it in a deep, intuitive way. The conversations, internal crits, studio visits, and overall environment have been incredibly meaningful. It can be intense at times, but it’s also brought a lot of clarity and even joy. I feel like I’m part of something much bigger than I expected, and that’s had a real impact on how I’m making work now.
Do specific artworks have been created by random experiments in your studio or do you usually come up with a particular concept or narrative in the very beginning of your artistic process? Are they, somehow, related to personal memories or are they closer to your imagination as an artist?
Often, the final image comes out of earlier struggles as many of the layers that are drawn before have been erased; sometimes it feels like a galaxy or constellation. I don’t work from reference images, so I rely mostly on memory as a starting point. I think memory can be fragile, unclear at times or difficult to process, and I allow that confusion to become part of the imagination within the painting.
The work is never made in one go—it’s built through multiple attempts. Sometimes it can feel like a kind of random experiment, but other times it feels very real, almost as if I could smell it or step back into that exact moment and place.
I’m also very engaged with the material side of painting. I’ve been experimenting with different thinners, using spray bottles, and finding my own ways of smudging—using fabrics, clothes, fingers, or tissues. In some areas I build the paint up more thickly, making certain parts more present. Recently, I’ve been using a medium by Michael Harding called Oleo Impasto, which gives a really beautiful translucency and thickness to the oil paint. I like some areas of the paintings feeling thinner down while others I allow the layers underneath guide its thickness on top. It’s quite an expensive medium, but the effect is worth it. I really enjoy adding it to Charvin oil paints. They’re so bright too.
Which are your plans for the near future?
That is such a great question. Tracey often asked us throughout the residency about where do you see yourself in one year from now. I feel very fortunate that a lot of opportunities have come out of my time at the TEARS residency. In August, I’ll be going to LA for a solo show with Danny First at The Cabin LA, as part of the La Brea Studio Artist Residency. I also have a small solo show in Margate in November with Lido Stores, and another solo in December with Wentrup Gallery in Berlin. I dream of having a debut at Frieze London someday. I visited last year and I really loved the experience. Overwhelmingly beautiful.
I’m really excited to continue working hard in the studios. I hope to create the work I have been dreaming of! It’s a really exciting time for me, and I want to keep expanding, experimenting, and pushing my understanding of painting. On a more personal note, I’d also love to adopt a kitten with my boyfriend George at some point. It would be really special.
all images courtesy of the artist