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work through the Writer’s Room. So being back now doesn’t really feel nostalgic; it feels more like a continuation. Like I’m returning with a clearer sense of what I was reaching toward all along. This exhibition also felt vulnerable in a different way, because I started painting without any formal technical background whatseover. Putting that work out publicly was honestly pretty nerve-wracking. There’s a particular kind of exposure in sharing something that’s so intuitive, so personal, and still relatively new within your practice. So, to have people meet the work so openly and seeing them respond in a really visceral way was incredibly reaffirming for me. It reminded me that the work doesn’t have to be explained to be felt. I’m also deeply grateful to Herb Sosa, Unity Coalition and ArtLab for creating space not just for the show, but for what it represents more broadly. As a trans artist, that kind of support really matters. Especially right now, when trans lives are being threatened or treated as if they’re new or up for debate, which they’re not. Transgenderism has always existed throughout humanity and history. And choosing to be visible, even in the face of what’s going on right now, is a way of insisting on our humanity and our right to exist. ML: What do you hope people carry with them after experiencing Surface and Gesture? Ash Kolodner: I think more than anything, I hope people leave feeling a little more open: to themselves, to ambiguity, to emotion, to change. I’m not really interested in everyone landing on one fixed interpretation or takeaway. It’s more that the work should give you permission to feel before you try to name or categorize it…to sit with complexity instead of rushing to make it clear. And I hope there’s a kind of felt understanding that comes through—that transformation isn’t always neat or easily resolved, nor does it have to be defined. But that the concept of transformation can still be beautiful and very embodied. Especially right now, I hope the work quietly insists on something bigger—that trans lives are human lives, that we’re not a trend or an abstraction or, worse, something to fear…that we’ve always been part of culture and history. And if someone walks away feeling a little more open, a little more attentive, more willing to sit in their own in-between… then I feel like the work has done something meaningful. ML: Finally — what’s next for you? Is there a direction the work is pulling you toward? Ash Kolodner: I feel like the work is asking me to go further inward, but at the same time, somehow further outward too. Most recently, I’ve been really interested in scale and, specifically, what happens when these emotional spaces get big enough to actually surround and immerse you. I keep coming back to this tension between restraint and release. It still feels like something I don’t fully understand, but in a good way—like there’s more there to uncover. I’ve also been thinking a lot about community and context where the work lives. What it means to show in spaces that welcome and might even prioritze queer and trans audiences, as well as spaces that don’t necessarily have that focus. Both feel important. I want my work to move and travel and to land in places where it can actually do something, maybe even change people in a real way. That’s the hope.