“The one thing I’ve learned to do is to create a line that looks like me.”
—Shantell Martin

It is often said of great artists that they create work in a “signature style.” The assertion here is that their work is immediately recognizable based on a technique or a form that is unique to them. It is altogether remarkable, then, that Shantell Martin has managed to develop her “signature” with one of the most basic elements of representation: the line. This links her work to a lineage of artists identified by their characteristic line work, from Jackson Pollock to Frank Stella, from Piet Mondrian to Bridget Riley, and others too numerous to name. Yet when Martin wields her marker, the results are deceptively simple and distinctively playful black-and-white compositions filled with her identity, capturing a spirit soaked in optimism.

Martin begins each drawing with an unbroken line, what she calls the “DNA” of the work. This line is never predetermined, never calculated, always responsive to the environment and to the artist’s state of mind. Martin has said that “the pen knows where it is going”—she is simply very good at following its direction, almost Ouija-like, in the early stages of any drawing. 

Martin is resolute in never predetermining content, never planning the work prior to execution. In this way she avoids orienting compositions to elicit a specific response. Rather, Martin hopes that people will see and share all manner of moments throughout her densely drawn surfaces and return for repeated viewing, since the work never develops a distinct beginning or end.

Among the noteworthy aspects of Martin’s work is her strict use of black and white. Again, this is specifically designed to support nuanced and divergent readings of the work. Martin believes that we all have biased associations with certain colors that are ingrained and unavoidable. However, by limiting her palette to the inherent neutrality of black and white, Martin encourages contrasting readings of her work by different individuals.

Martin’s mantra is “Draw on Everything,” which she does with aplomb. Traditional surfaces, such as paper, have always served the artist well, but she does not discriminate. Often the objects Martin chooses have some personal connection to her, but she subverts this history by coating them in white gesso or paint. There is an erasure that happens here, to be sure, but it is not total. The objects, such as toys, clothes, or bottles, still maintain their distinctive shapes. By removing color from the equation, however, Martin has not only disrupted the object’s backstory but also suspended its basic meaning. Separated from function, these objects become primed surfaces for exploration and expression.