This article is part of Hyperallergic’s 2026 Pride Month series, featuring interviews with queer and trans elder artists throughout June.
In her captivating canvases, Jamie Nares masterfully captures the dynamic flourish of a brushstroke. Originating from London, Nares has expanded her artistic repertoire to include experimental films, photography, and music, deeply influenced by the No Wave movement she encountered after moving to New York City in the 1970s. In this interview, Nares, who publicly transitioned in 2019 and adopted a new artist name in 2024, discusses her personal and artistic journey, characterized by a persistent quest for authenticity. Her commitment to uncovering the core essence of things and eliminating the unnecessary is central to her philosophy of life and identity.
Hyperallergic: It’s great to speak with you. Where are you calling from today?
Jamie Nares: I’m in Chatham, Upstate New York. I purchased a house here three years ago because my kids wanted a family home. Fortunately, the area is beautiful and rich with art activities. After living in New York City since 1974, I’ve decided to make this my permanent residence. While New York City has shaped much of my work, I grew up in a rural environment, and at 72, I feel the need to reconnect with those roots. Although the city offers so much, there comes a time when its demands become overwhelming.
H: Your iconic brushstroke works are renowned. How did you develop this unique artistic gesture?
JN: When I first arrived in New York, I experimented with films, performances, and photography. However, I realized I couldn’t excel in everything and needed to make a living. On Long Island’s East End, I had a studio in a potato barn surrounded by cornfields. It was there that I simplified my focus to the brushstroke, which fascinated me the most. I believed a single brushstroke, or a continuous movement of the brush, could keep me engaged, and I was right.
H: In an economy that constantly demands more, focusing on a single brushstroke seems like a profound exercise in restraint.
JN: Indeed, it is invigorating and reassuring to delve deeply into one concept. There are countless ways to explore it, and the practice’s apparent simplicity is deceptive. I compare it to baking bread: with just a few ingredients, you can create a variety of loaves. Similarly, I can mix different elements to produce something entirely new, and my interest in this has never waned.
I’ve always been drawn to the essence of things. Like my brushstrokes, I aim to strip away the superfluous, removing influences that aren’t truly mine. What remains is the movement, which is central to my films, paintings, photographs, and other works.
H: Is painting a meditative practice for you? As a writer, I find writing difficult but necessary.
JN: It’s not fun. I recall telling Frank Stella that his show seemed like it was fun to create, but he just walked away. That moment highlighted a generational difference. While it’s important to enjoy your work, it’s often a struggle and not always enjoyable.
H: Your art isn’t about being transgender, yet your journey to find your identity seems to parallel your artistic quest. Can you elaborate?
JN: My journey was shrouded in repression and secrecy. I grew up in a strict culture and attended boarding schools where any deviation from the norm was harshly punished. I kept my identity hidden for years, unsure how to express it or if there was a place for it. For a long time, I felt like a freak because I didn’t know anyone else with similar experiences.
In my late teens, I bought my first dress, a significant moment for me. It marked a journey filled with memories of gender confusion. I remember receiving a girls’ prize at school when I was five, a moment that thrilled me because someone had seen me for who I was.
H: That sounds like a significant memory.
JN: Yes, it encapsulates my struggle. I didn’t know how to deal with the pain of not fitting in, so I turned to drugs and alcohol until I quit in 1984. Those years were destructive, but they saved me in a way.
H: How did you start embracing your new identity?
JN: Despite being aware of the world’s changes, I couldn’t fully embrace my identity until later. I moved to New York at 20, where the culture was accepting, unlike anything I’d experienced before.
H: You’ve mentioned feeling at home when you moved to New York. How did your identity evolve in recent years?
JN: After my third marriage ended, I took a hard look at myself. Each of my wives dealt with this part of me in their own way. My last wife was especially supportive, encouraging me to be open about my identity. Over time, I dismantled the barriers I’d built. Although I had many trans and gay friends, I couldn’t embrace that freedom myself until later.
During a retrospective at the Milwaukee Art Museum, I decided to come out at my New York show opening. My children were supportive, and my middle daughter shared a photo of me on Instagram, which inadvertently spread the news. It was liberating not to have to personally announce it to everyone.
H: It sounds like a soft launch.
JN: Exactly. My children have been my greatest supporters.
H: Given the current threats to trans and non-binary people’s healthcare and rights in the U.S., have you considered Europe as a potentially more accepting place?
JN: It’s disheartening to see progress being threatened, but I believe the lid is off. People have taken charge of their identities, and though there will be challenges, we’re resilient. Having grown up under denial, many have developed inner strength.
Interestingly, when I first moved here, Europe was less accepting, but now the U.S. culture has become harsher. I don’t feel personally affected, but I’m aware of the challenges others face. I often feel I should be doing more.
H: It’s exhausting to constantly advocate for everything when you’re just trying to live, isn’t it?
JN: Yes, but I carry my banner by being who I am, showing up, and standing up for myself. That’s the best we can do.
H: Are there any projects you’re currently working on?
JN: At 72, I’ve never been so full of ideas. I’m working on a couple of films, some shorter than my earlier feature-length works. My film Rome ’78, made in 1978 in New York, was an early attempt to express myself through film. It features David McDermott as a demented Caesar, and he is brilliant.
I also have new paintings that explore more contained gestures within painterly brushwork, a new approach for me. During my retrospective, I was thrilled to see how my diverse works connected, proving there was a consistent thread throughout my career. I often revisit old ideas and continue them.
