UMVA Showcase – Winter 2026: Lesia Sochor, Jan Owen, Susan Webster, Marjorie Arnett

Lesia Sochor

Words have played a role in my work on and off for years. When I do choose to use them, it is with a specific message I wish to communicate. The incorporation of text with an image can enhance, add layers of meaning, provoke thought, proclaim and exclaim. Words can give an extra punch and lend an emotional impact. They offer conversations that tend towards both the personal and the universal. Language proposes another venue for expression and perception. It alters the relationship between text and image and reading and seeing.

The painting Stories came about because of a journal I provided where people could share their memories of sewing. There were so many beautiful, meaningful stories that I in turn wanted to share with the viewer. I began to think of the words as thread winding around the spool. Integrating the words with the image opened a new aesthetic dimension. What kind of writing did I want to utilize: printed, cursive, small letters, capitals, and what size of lettering? As it turned out I used all of the above. White letters were painted on black thread which were delicate and fine, yet readable but not immediate, so the viewer was forced to slow down, read and absorb. Here is one story: “My father was a tailor for seventy years and thread was his medium. He created beautiful leather and cloth garments. He died last year and was buried with scissors in his pocket.” And this was just one of dozens. How could I not share this? Hence, language as thread.

In the Mannequin series I use words as declarative and political statements. The simultaneous cool and creepy fiberglass embodiment of the female form is painted on sewing paper. The translucent images allow the text to remain visible which provokes a conversation about image, identity, sexuality, and couture. In the painting Made In we are asked to stop and consider where and who makes our clothes. Sweatshops prevail in many countries with little oversight and regulation. The straight forward letters and the spacing bring attention to these countries. I advocate for better conditions and a fair wage.

The war in Ukraine compelled me to paint images of the “babushka,” the iconic headscarf worn by women. In doing so, I stand in solidarity with my ancestral homeland. The words “UKRAINE LIVES” are repeated across the canvas, almost as a mantra or declarative statement, to give me hope and to let people not forget. The letters are blocky, reminiscent of the wooden blocks used by children. They reminded me of Jasper Johns’s use of letters. The Cyrillic letters within the blank face honor my Ukrainian language and its people.

My most recent series depicts the thimble. Objects fascinate me in and of themselves, for their intended use, and for what they may symbolize. In my charcoal drawings, I use the thimble as a symbolic object, as a talisman, a metaphor, which when placed on the wearer’s hand, protects them, us, our families, and our ruptured world from harm. Individual hand gestures and what they can communicate serve as conduits into the world of ASL, American Sign Language, which I have always been fascinated by. I began to use the ASL alphabet to spell out words: Love, Family, Us, Quiet, Protect. By connecting the hands, a beautiful graceful visual rhythm and flow was created. A true departure from “letters,” I discovered a new language, a compelling way to convey messages.

 

Jan Owen

It is difficult to separate word and image. We see a line or an image, and give it a name or a word to describe it, even if only in our mind. When I taught lettering, an assignment was to take a brush and show a joyful, an angry, and a sad line. Line became an expression as if line itself had a voice. I did not always know this. We go to school and take English, history, math, with different notebooks for each. In college, art, design, and craft were barely related. It was an early job as a graphic designer that brought words and images together, and had me pondering over typefaces and images.

I wanted to understand more about letters and began to study calligraphy, which begins with learning to control lines: the thickness, direction, and slant. Then to learn letter shapes, negative spaces, and alphabets. And then to write words! As the hand, mind, and brain work together, the handwritten letter becomes more expressive. Like most, I began writing one word or short phrases, and played with different tools and materials. I had always collected words, and began to make work that had lots of words. These text blocks became forms to be arranged on a page, with words in different densities and sizes. To me, they showed thoughts, conversations between writers, words wanting to be read.

When I began to think about word and image, I thought of Ben Shahn, Saul Steinberg, Corita Kent, Asian calligraphy, illuminated manuscripts, and favorite calligraphers (even when I can’t read their language). There is a hand that drew the letters to communicate over centuries. A favorite quote from William Massey (The Origin and Progress of Letters, 1763) is: “Whence did the wondrous mystic art arise of painting speech and speaking to the eyes? That we by tracing magic lines are taught how to embody and to color thoughts.”

 

Susan Webster – Visual Language

I feel like I’ve used words in my artwork forever. As a child, my early drawings included names of pets, people, and places. In eighth grade, I made a book of drawings that illustrated my favorite poems. In college, my enthusiasm for combining text and imagery found its expression in screen printing.

Ever since then, I’ve continued to incorporate text in my work to reflect my love of life, and my advocacy for reproductive justice, freedom of speech, and peace.

Words, together with art, played a significant role in my growing up, and in my parents’ profession. They were the florists in our small town. Our kitchen connected to the florist shop, and the shop connected to the greenhouses. My parents grew, nurtured, designed, assembled, and delivered flowers, always with a card that expressed gratitude, celebration, or sympathy from the sender. For funerals, the floral arrangements draped over the caskets and ribbons with gold letters spelled the name of the loved one, or simply spelled words, father, mother, brother, sister. Occasions like weddings, anniversaries, proms, graduations, and birthdays filled the shop with colorful flowers and messages of joy and hope. I often reflect upon how these major milestones in our community became an integral part of my family’s life and livelihood. The flowers, along with hand-written notes, added another layer of emotion to the event.

So, words have always mattered to me. I know how powerful they can be. I choose my words carefully in conversation, as well as in my work.

When including text, I often predetermine the word or phrase, and treat the letters as individual prominent visual elements. The message is obvious and legible. Other times I bury or disguise letters within the composition, to be discovered later. Or I might use a fragment of a word or phrase, giving the viewer the opportunity to determine their own meaning and to emphasize the possibility of multi-layered interpretations.

Sometimes it’s not the written word that influences my art, but the spoken word. Several years ago, I had the opportunity to attend an international clay conference in Japan, where presenters spoke many languages that I couldn’t understand. I had the option to listen to English interpreters, but sometimes I opted to listen to the speaker or to interpretations in other languages. I also switched back and forth between them. I drew as I listened, responding to the shape, the movement, the speed of the words—enveloped in sound and responding with my own visual language.

 

Marjorie Arnett

Words strengthen the content of the visual impact, and so, as my composition comes together, the graphite words and the oil paint form my final painting.