Noemi S. Conan

Painter. Tuber. Image Maker.

Exploring life after a nuclear disaster. Feral Femininity. Silvan Domestification. Considering Post-Communism. Theories of Surplus Value. Don’t quote me on the size. Plastic in the woods.

Wilderfrau for the New Millenium. 

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Paintings
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Melts Into Air, 2022

Sometimes the game of hide and seek is less about finding and more about shaking off the chase. Loosen up a bit and keep the spectral maidens in both the figurative and literal woods.
Repellant, An ‘Invitation’, 2022

Salve atque Vale, and by Vale I mean the kind of ‘walenie’ which no school biology teacher would explain without a beeetroot red blush crawling over their face. 
Nothing Rhymes With Orange, 2022

Nothing rhymes with purlple either, but these are two of my favourite flavours and I will fight you if you pretend not to know what purple tastes like. 
Have A Nice Day, 2022

We mean it mate, we really mean it. All the best to you- have a ab fab time somewhere conveniant and stop bringing the vibe down, flip that frown and stop drying your teeth like a constipated bear. Atta boi. 
Congregation, Murmuration, Murder 2021

Flocking for the long awaited ciggarette break, they approach from all directions. I wonder if Sylwia has a spare pair of tights, the tarmac isn’t really doing it for the toe-nail varnish. I read somewhere that smoking isn’t actually that good for you- neither am I, yet you’re still here.