State of Emergency: MacKenna Hanson's Artistic Process - A Conceptual Exploration
- MacKenna Hanson
- 1 hour ago
- 4 min read
I used to agonize over whether I was an illustrator or a painter.
My sketchbook is the beating heart of my artistic practice. No matter what I’m working on—whether I’m exploring an aesthetic philosophy concept, making some fanart, or putting together a professional show—I figure it all out in my sketchbook. I use drawings; drawings combined with words. Otherwise known as illustrations.
Despite it being an antiquated perspective, there is still a hierarchical divide between drawings and paintings in the Art World. Recent institutional shows, such as the Art Institute of Chicago’s stunning exhibit Lines of Connection: Drawing and Printmaking, address this divide, but there is still much work to be done. If the arts community has truly moved past this old hierarchy, then there’s no reason a young, School of the Art Institute of Chicago-educated artist like myself should have been sweating over whether I was an illustrator or a painter. In fact, when I was considering an application to 2026’s Fulbright scholarship (before funding was frozen), I discovered I’d have to choose whether I “drew” or “painted.” On top of all this, I shouldn’t have been encountering professors who pressured me to choose between the two—but I did.
I’ve come to realize that this tension is a locus for my practice. It’s not about whether something is an illustration or a painting. It’s about power, period. Poverty and wealth. Racial division. Gender division. Queer or straight. Distasteful or tasteful. Unacceptable and acceptable. Criminal or citizen. In or out. Us, or them.
It’s about the fact that we as a society subscribe to these binary power dynamics at all. Life is not black and white.
A subconscious consideration of these power relationships thrums through the entirety of State of Emergency, and indeed, all art I create. Even something as seemingly trivial as deciding whether to paint on cardboard or illustration board creates a conceptual dilemma. While I simply move forward with what my gut feels is the correct choice, questions come after: cardboard isn’t archival. What does this mean for the longevity of my work, for the “seriousness” of my career? Illustration board is an accepted surface in the commercial arts community, but not with those who consider drawing to be inferior to painting. Does painting in oil on illustration board instead of Belgian linen confuse those ideas? State of Emergency argues that yes, it does. Every choice made in the studio translates into a challenge of the cultural status quo.
State of Emergency considers how lines of power can be questioned, defied, and ultimately dissolved. I’m a materials woman. I’m deeply invested in the surface I’m working on, the medium I’m using, and the combination thereof—I’m especially interested in how mediums (such as ink, oil, or watercolor) interact conceptually with subjects (like if I’m painting a portrait or a landscape). I carry this careful consideration to my inspirational references. I keep quite a few pulp comics and magazines in my studio, ranging from 80’s Doctor Who comics to fairytale books to hardcover artist monographs. By drawing from my innate interest in pop culture, I infuse my works with examples of power that my audience can connect to and learn from. Symbols such as the suit, the mouth, the eyes, and the hands—fragments of bodies—become nexuses of disturbance. Through the dissolution of space and the body, I can pick apart the aforementioned societal divisions and visually depict the emotions they generate.
Each part of my process is focused on quality and how my materials can serve my concept. My cardboard works, for example, were born out of financial struggle. All I had available to me as a painting surface at the time was found cardboard and an old can of acrylic gesso. These small paintings have become conversations about composition, class, film, and longevity. My large paintings—such as Parking Lots and Falling Down—are treated with a more institutional touch. I strive to hand-build my stretcher bars when possible out of finger-jointed poplar. This ensures quality and heft. I always stretch and prepare my own canvases, often with the use of traditional supplies such as rabbitskin glue and half-chalk ground (an ancient form of gesso). In the past, I’ve made my own paint. Such works speak to power in a different way—I wield my privilege of a fine arts education to create works whose image and subject, often heavily referencing illustration and gender, are at odds with the entrenched supremacy of a traditional easel painting.
My inspirations further blur hierarchies. Some of my most valued inspirations are pulpy comic artists—Johnny Craig, Bernard Krigstein, and others. You don’t often hear them referenced in a painting class. Some straddle that line, like Art Spiegelman (one of my favorite artists of all time) and Christina Ramberg. But other artists, such as Édouard Manet and Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, are equally inspirational and much more canonical. I paint all of these artists with the same brush in terms of their value to me. Contemporary or historical, commercial or “fine;” inspiration is inspiration. There’s no point in distinguishing between the two.
I was considering all of these concepts while creating the works in State of Emergency against the backdrop of my senior year of college and a hurricane evacuation. (If you’d like to learn more, head on over to State of Emergency: An Introduction to MacKenna Hanson’s Debut Show at Formato Fine Arts). A profound sense of transience, a flattening of time, and a rebellion against cultural norms is prevalent in this series. The vast array of mediums combined with a unifying visual language showcases both my education and skill. I am making a loud and proud debut show as an emerging artist, choosing to take what I’ve learned and put it to the test while opening myself up to new lessons and challenges.
