I met Julia Lipovsky at the studio she co-owns with her partner in Northside, and it looked exactly how I imagined it would: neatly organized, brightly colored, and sprinkled with sentimental mementos with unironic mise en place. We sat down on a red leather couch next to the old hair shop windows, sharing vulnerable tears in memory of loved ones who continue to influence the work she produces today, and discussed the importance of making time for play in a world that tends to be too serious.

Her energy is comforting and inviting. With an infectious smile and aura that sings in warm colors, Julia kindly gave me a hug of hope and a spark of inspiration for the days to come.

Interview by Sophia Epitropoulos. Photography by Heather Colley.

How would you describe your art?

I would describe my work as intuitive, organic, and playful. I mostly work on paper, although, in the last year or so, I've been doing more installations and work on windows or walls.

I think a lot of my work relates to feminine energies, nature, and organic shapes. I approach it from an intuitive, almost autobiographical space where I can only make work that is true to my own experience. When I'm creating or making work, I try to trust my decisions, my body, my mind, and my heart, and work from a space that is natural. That often means that I'm not planning a lot in terms of what exactly the outcome will be, but rather, setting up the right conditions for me to work comfortably in from my intuition.

Has your work always been playful, or has it changed over time? How would you describe this evolution, if there has been any?

There definitely has been an evolution, it's often small tweaks over time, and then you start to notice the progression. When you're a kid making art, it's naturally playful because play informs so much of your life and how you learn. I've tried to hold on to that, but then you go through different life experiences – you become different people in the various stages of your life.

There were times in high school and early art school when I’d be making very serious work. I've always loved the human form and been inspired to draw people, but as my perspective on people and of myself shifted, things got a lot darker and moodier.

Then I started moving into this place where I was surrounded by a lot of people who were stuck in that mindset, and I personally wanted to rebel against that – I thought that things didn’t have to be that serious and if art can be anything, it can also be a celebration, a game, or beautiful memory you want to preserve. In my junior and senior years of college, I started to play a little bit more. I was making installations of bright and colorful boardwalks and doing giant paintings of beach towels and goofy props. I wanted to make things that would make you smile.

When I was in college, my oldest brother passed away, and it was very sudden. At that time, I was in art school, and I was making really bright, colorful, kind of silly, light-hearted artwork. I had to think, “Am I supposed to make really serious work now? Am I supposed to make sad work now?” But I feel like that life experience shaped and changed the way that I create work. I felt more of a presence and urgency for me to make work. I also felt like I had to honor myself and my experience and still make work that came from a joyful place. I couldn't make the same work I was making before if I was becoming a different person, but I also wanted to stay authentic to who I was identifying as an artist.

There's an evolution in times when I feel like I'm trying to make the work that I was making when I was in second grade, which is when you're free from all of the information that you have now, and of course, being an adult and recognizing the world around you. I think artists have a responsibility to not be blind to the world we live in but to imagine a different light. Artists have such a gift and an important role in society to dream us out of the place that we're in and imagine another future. If you can see it, you can work towards having it. I feel like I have a responsibility to maintain some joy and some optimism so we can work towards that in the future. Not all of my work is going to be sunshine-y and happy – it's going to reflect the world that we're in, but I do try to maintain space for hope, play, joy, and wonder.

I lost my mom two years ago, and we were really close. It was tough to get back into my own art practice and break through the grief wall, especially now that I feel like a different person. But whenever I create, I know that I’m continually honoring her.

Art is such a valuable tool to have in your tool belt. I have tools within myself, my body, and my heart to process grief and have an outlet for it that not everyone has. If you're already in a rhythm and routine of making art, and you also don't need to make anything, you can just sit with your feelings and take a break if that's what you need.

The mindset that shifted for me is that your time on Earth is finite, and creating art is evidence of a day that you are alive, and when someone close to you is no longer there, you just want all of the evidence of their life close to you.

That must have been tough – I could not imagine all that happening when I was in college. It kind of puts you in an extra vulnerable spot because people know what’s going on, but it’s nice to know that your tools can be used when you’re ready to use them. But in your case, you kind of had to use them.

He passed in 2013, and I’ve slowly unpacked things over time. I think because I was still in that routine, I didn't have the full space to comprehend. A big part of my work, or how I like to make work, involves ritual – creating a space, lighting a candle. I keep mementos of my brother Jimmy. He was also an artist, and he loved to draw with Prisma colored pencils. I inherited all of the colored pencils which I have on the shelves. I recently decided that I needed to create a space where he's present and within my practice. We shared this bond over art, and it's such a gift to get to use this and bring him into my art in that way.

It's nice to still maintain a relationship and invite him and other loved ones I've lost into the intimate part when I'm making art. I’m honoring myself and my emotions. It's nice to involve the people that you've lost in that process. I do believe that your relationship with them, as they are tangible people on Earth, changes. I believe in the spirit of that transformation and that they're still present and with us, but just in a different way. If you leave more room for them to be a part of your life, then they can still connect with you and support you.

I was always close with my mom, but we got closer over the years. In the last year of her life, when I knew she was going to pass, I formed a completely different and very spiritual relationship with her. And even after she passed, I feel like it was just so profound – and it still is. But you're right – if you're able to open up that part of your soul, the rest will fill as it’s meant to. It’s in you, and you have to make space for it, just like anything.

Right. If you never give yourself the time and space to sit with your own emotions, then you never know how you feel. If you give them space, then they'll feel welcome to come in. I think you can still enjoy the company of someone if you are open to finding them in the ways that they are able to visit you.

For sure. By the way, I love what you did with his colored pencils. I think that was a great way to honor him and keep him involved in all the work that you do. It's almost like a little altar over there.

Altars are a really important part of my practice. The idea of an altar putting intention and meaning into the objects that you surround yourself with is a way to prepare the mental and emotional space for having a good mindset for whatever it is that you're entering, whether it's meditation or art making, or just future planning.

Earlier, you talked about setting an environment to create. Can you tell me more about that?

I like all of my senses activated. I like the place to smell good and to look pretty. I like the materials I use to feel nice. So, that all informs the supplies and the space that I gravitate towards. If I can make it feel like a ritual, I honor my craft more. And there's also something like a burning candle where you recognize the passing of time. When the candle is running low, I realize how much time I’ve spent on something – it’ll tell me when it’s time to take a break and evaluate or when it’s time to be present and focus on work. When I blow it out, I can stop and take a break.

I'll often wear an apron when I'm working for a similar reason because, as an artist, you're kind of always working. You're either observing the world or making work or networking or all these things, but when I'm actively making work, I do try to put on an apron to get into the right mindset. When I'm ready to take a break or if I'm done for the day, I take it off. When everything's always so fluid, it can be very cool and inspiring, but it can also be very draining.

Local artist and great person Elodie Freeman, introduced me to the concept of an ort jar, which stands for Old Ratty Threads. And it's kind of like a witchy old sewing practice where you keep all of the little trimmings from your sewing project and put it in a jar. All of those little bits have energy in them and are symbolic of all of the work and projects that you've made. I keep a bowl on my desk that has candle wax drippings and pull off papers from china markers. I think about the bowl that they sit in as a vessel to hold a lot of spent energy. I don't know what that does, but I really like that idea of an ort jar, and it's kind of fun to create your own altar-like object that symbolizes the energy of your past projects and of your time spent in the studio.

You mentioned that you've done window installations. Was it hard for you to scale things out if you’re used to working more intimately? And how did you handle the shift in environment when scaling out?

If I can get in a good headspace and I'm working with people who trust me and don't need to have everything so clearly communicated, the drawings and the work can just flow out of me at any size.

I find that when I'm doing installation work or windows, that’s a setting that it's important for me to put on my apron because then it shows, “I'm a professional; this is my uniform. It's now time for me to work.” I'm obviously not as in control of my environment, and I think a lot of the candle and the more sensory, ritualistic parts of my practice are important for when I'm drawing, and I'm looking into myself and trying to figure out what needs to come out.

I think if my art can offer a little levity to a stressful situation, enough to hopefully bring you to fight another day, it's really all I could ask for.

When I am in these public spaces working, I feel like my role is to, one, create a welcoming environment for a small business or a local business, and two, to create something that is going to support the mission or the service that's provided by the space that is hosting me. For me, it’s important to be an example of an artist in the world. Something that's so beautiful about doing windows is that when you are in the window, people are watching you draw. Like, when I’m doing Eli BBQ’s windows at Findlay Market, there are so many families coming and eating and enjoying the scene. I think it's a radical act to be in public, drawing and making art. It's cool to see a kid transfixed by the fact that there was nothing there, and now there's a whole scene. I think it shows that your imagination is valuable, and if I can show up to do whatever work I need to do and make sure that I am present and confident, it’s joyful and fun.

I take what I do very seriously, and I’m an example of an artist out in the world. I want to show parents and others that it’s possible to make a living off of your imagination.

I have a lot of respect for everything that you just said, but also for your work and role as an artist because you show that you care about what you're doing. There's symbolic significance to every line that you put down on a window, every flower that you hang in decorating, painting, whatever the object or approach may be because you care and you're not doing it for money. Even though we do need to get paid at the end of the day, it's beyond that.

I appreciate that. I would be doing this regardless because I'm an artist and I make things, but it feels good to be paid and to be recognized – it's really sweet and special, and I feel very lucky to know I have a long career and lots more art making ahead of me, but it's hard to persist within something that would be easier to not do. I kind of have no other option because it's how I'm wired. Getting some validation feels really nice and, in some ways, miraculous, but especially coming out of the pandemic when you're just so isolated in the work that you're doing. To emerge and feel the work you're doing that you feel is important is also resonating with someone else is just so cool.

Your work can benefit so many people because I feel like things have been so dark, dim, grim, and cryptic lately. It’s hard to get a grip sometimes, but finding little bursts of joy can make us feel like everything is going to be okay.

I think if we don't have a little bit of a balm or a salve to our fear and anxiety, then it's hard to carry on. I think if my art can offer a little levity to a stressful situation, enough to hopefully bring you to fight another day, it's really all I could ask for. I definitely am aware that I don't want my work or my optimism or my joy to be an escape from the world around us, but to remind us of what's already here, that it’s happening, and that it is worth appreciating.

And it's that love that's ultimately going to provide different circumstances for the world we're in or change the world we live in. It's possible, and it's slow, but I think we can’t create a different future if we can't imagine what it could be. That requires people to imagine and daydream and explore, and slowly, over time, things shift.

Do you mind sharing what else you have in your pipeline?

Sure! In a little less than two weeks now, I’m getting married to my partner of almost a decade! Other than that, earlier this year, I decided that it was time I step out on my own, professionally, and it was very scary. I don't really know what it's going to look like, but I feel like that's the shift that I need to make.

I would love to do more murals and window painting, and I love community engagement. We've hosted seasonal markets called General Store in the studio, and we want to continue doing that. Hopefully, in the fall, I really want to start doing more workshops and classes out of this space. I’m taking the things that I've been doing for the last (almost) decade, taking what I've learned, and trying to nurture other artists and the work that they want to make and emphasize how drawing and printmaking, and community can have a hand in our whole lives.

Earlier this year, I got a residency at the Art Museum, and I have work through October in the Rosenthal Education Center. So, I feel like if I just create the space, things will fill up that space – it's just a matter of what I want to fill it with. I think I finally got real with myself that I'm an artist, and I want to invest in that so that just requires me to make more space. It's definitely quite terrifying and sad. I love Indigo Hippo, but I know that it's still a resource for me. I’m excited to see what happens next and really invest in this space, my partnership, and trust myself that I can do it.

I think everyone has to do something that's going to make them very uncomfortable. Routine is so easy for us to lean on because it's comfortable, but you learn a lot about yourself when you're not comfortable.

I can definitely be someone who likes to know what's happening. I'm definitely free-spirited, but I also can get very comfortable and avoid being pushed to the edge. But ultimately, all of this was a wonderful reminder that I am in control of my life. If I don't like how things are now, I am in control of changing that and getting to a different situation.

I've done it before, and I can do it again. And I am better equipped than I ever have been to strike out on my own. Even though it's uncomfortable, it's exciting. I also have someone with me who's invested in my success alongside me. I'll always be learning, growing, and evolving, but I feel like I have learned, grown, and evolved to a place where now is the time where I can take the leap and trust that no matter what, I'll survive.

Can you tell me more about your residencies?

There’s the mural in the Rosenthal Education Center at the Cincinnati Art Museum (which runs until October) and an installation on the top floor in the Creativity Center at the Contemporary Art Center.

In the fall, I got to do a bench installation and donor wall called the Giving Garden—we had all these painted flowers you could donate to the museum and get your name on a flower. Then I did wall drawings in their quiet room.

I just went there recently and saw this! I didn’t realize that was your work.

That was me! Elizabeth Hardin-Klink at the CAC has been so supportive of my work. She saw potential in me and gave me work assisting programs and leading programs. I did a residency with them that went through the pandemic. When they had space to fill in the Creativity Center, she asked me if I would like to contribute, and that project grew to include the Giving Garden and the quiet room. It's just so special. As I said, I would be drawing no matter what my circumstances were, but to be seen and validated and to have your relationships nurtured over time to a space where you feel taken care of by your creative community it's just the best feeling.

Who is an influential woman in your life?

Karen Boyan. She was a mentor for me when I worked at Visionary Voices. She's so talented and patient and injects every situation with fun, but she is also, like, a badass who gets stuff done. She's always believed in me, and I'm invested in her success. I feel she's invested in mine too. She's just been a wonderful mentor since I met her when I graduated from college, and I'm so grateful that we've stayed in touch. It's been amazing to see the way she works for others and for herself. It's really powerful to watch a grown, adult woman, change her life and take control and decide her value and her importance and grab that and not settle for any less. I love Karen. She's been a real influence in my life.

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Julia Lipovsky and the Joyful Responsibility of an Artist