Interview: Abbi Kenny, Beyond the Still Life

Abbi Kenny in her studio. Courtesy Abbi Kenny

Hudson Valley-based painter Abbi Kenny works within one of art history’s oldest traditions: the painted still life. Since the Dutch Golden Age, artists have used food to explore themes of abundance, mortality and the passage of time, and Kenny’s approach to the subject similarly transcends mere documentation. Diagnosed with celiac disease in 2021, she developed a deep, personal connection to food—not just as sustenance but as a cultural artifact that carries history and meaning. “We lived near the St. Lawrence market, and as I was shopping, I saw it was just really beautiful,” she told Observer. Initially inspired to simply paint her market hauls, food eventually became a lens through which she could reflect on memory, tradition and personal identity. Her condition made participation in certain rituals difficult, and that sense of exclusion heightened her awareness of the cultural and historical significance food holds, pushing her to explore it in her artwork. Food, as she put it, can be a container for bigger ideas.

Over time, her art—which has been exhibited at Morgan Lehman Gallery in New York City, Collar Works in Troy, New York, and the RISD Museum in Providence, among other venues—has shifted from a surface-level exploration of food and memory to a more expansive and nuanced investigation into the connections between culture, context and personal history. Her process is an intricate blend of personal history and technical exploration—often, she uses her family’s recipes as a starting point. The act of painting not just dishes but also recipe cards themselves allowed Kenny to connect with her grandmother’s memory. While painting, she found herself deciphering hidden aspects of her grandmother’s life and character, discovering a deeper side of her that she hadn’t fully understood before. The worn, often weathered paper on which the recipes were written—sometimes accompanied by coffee stains or handwritten notes to family members—added layers of meaning, reflecting not just the recipes themselves but the person behind them.

An image of a painting showing a close-up of lobster and lobster-related food: The vivid reds of the lobster and the surrounding colorful abstract elements dominate the composition. — Abbi Kenny, *When I Visited Florida, I Found Out Not All* *Lobsters Have Big Claws (A Northern Double* *Lobster Pot at Home)*, 2025. Acrylic, oil, oil stick, molding paste, sand, pumice gel, mica, glitter, iron glimmer and Roll-a-Tex on canvas over panel, 45 x 60 in. Courtesy and copyright Abbi Kenny

What began with a focus on family recipes has expanded into a broader exploration of the forces that shape those recipes, the cultural histories embedded in them and the way they link people across generations. Those curious to see her work in person can visit her upcoming solo presentation at Main Projects in Richmond opening June 4, or catch her work in a group show at Morgan Lehman Gallery opening the following week on June 11. Not long ago, we caught up with Kenny to ask about memory, paintmaking and what a recipe can reveal about a life.

You explore recipes as part of your process, and you might make a recipe several times before painting it. Why?

I have a few different ways of finding or creating my reference images. I have all my grandmother’s recipes, a lot of them handwritten, so I’ve been working through those and painting them. In some cases, instead of painting directly from the recipe, I’ll set up a meal and create a still life, photograph it many times and stitch the images together in Photoshop to create a composition that reflects the perspective I want to highlight. This way, I can show off relationships between the objects. I’m actually working on a new idea based on my grandmother’s Italian recipes. I’m going to cook a red sauce my mother taught me and one of my grandmother’s recipes. We’ll set up the scene with her objects and some strange items I found on eBay, and I’ll photograph it before creating the painting.

What about painting the recipes themselves? That’s something I’d never seen before.

I started painting the recipes shortly after my grandmother passed away. She was an important person in my life, and when she passed, I had all these recipes, and I didn’t know what to do with them. I wanted to do something with them, so I started painting them. It felt like a way to decipher her, to see a side of her I didn’t always see, and almost embody her hand as I painted each word. I’d paint them at a different scale than the original recipe, which kind of distorts them. It was an interesting way to get to know her better, and it gave me peace. I also found that many of the recipes were written on old paper, like emails to her sisters or printed articles. It was fascinating to see what she was looking at at the time. Some recipes even had coffee stains or other signs of life on them, and I’d paint both sides to capture that essence. It’s a way for me to dive into someone else’s experience and bring it to life through my practice.

An image of a painting depicting a plate of sausages, pasta, and flowers: The painting includes a tall tower in the background, with the plate filled with sausages and noodles, framed by the unique architectural elements. — Abbi Kenny, *But Is It With the Pistachios?*, 2025. Acrylic, molding paste, glass flakes, pumice gel, cellulose, Muscovite mica, Yupo collage, canvas collage on canvas, 36 x 36 in. Courtesy and copyright Abbi Kenny

You make your own pigments and paints. Can you tell me more about that?

I make most of my paints. I use a system where I mix pigments, either in a dispersion or as dry pigment, with an acrylic binder. This gives me a lot of control over the texture and finish of my paints. I can make them ultra-glossy, matte, or really saturated, depending on what I need for the painting. I also teach materials and techniques, which allows me to share this process with others. It’s interesting because it lets me break out of the box and explore different things I wouldn’t normally use in my paintings. I make oil paint as well, but I don’t use it in my own work. However, I love teaching my students how to make it because it gives them a deeper understanding of what goes into the materials they use.

You’re also a lecturer of painting and drawing at Purchase College, SUNY. How do your students react when you introduce paintmaking in your classes?

Some students get really excited when they realize how much they need to dive into it. Last semester, one student really embraced it, and it was amazing to watch his practice grow. Others find it tedious, but they walk away with a better appreciation for the materials and the history behind them. They start to realize how much care goes into creating paint and how much history is behind something we take for granted. It’s rewarding to see them get excited and messy, just having fun with the process.

An image of a table setting with a fish-themed dinner: The table features green beans, fish, and various decorative elements like flowers and candles, with a vibrant, patterned tablecloth. — Abbi Kenny, *Fishy Fish, Fishes—Fruits of the Sea*, 2025. Acrylic, acrylic gouache, oil, cellulose, pumice gel, Muscovite mica, iron glimmer, mother of pearl, peridot, Yupo collage on canvas, 40 x 40 in. Courtesy and copyright Abbi Kenny

How do you feel your work has evolved over time?

I think when I first started, I was a bit superficial about it, not fully understanding what I was drawn to, but I knew there was something there. Over time, I’ve become more focused on connections—looking at how things overlap. For a while, I was painting in trios, like comparing the same recipe from different sources. One might be my grandmother’s handwritten recipe, another from a Betty Crocker card and a third from a cookbook. I’d create these side-by-side pieces. I’ve been playing around with collage and incorporating those little elements that drew me to the recipes in the first place. Now, I’m thinking more expansively, not just about food, but about context as well.