Relics by Wendy Chidester

An Interview with Wendy Chidester for Morton Contemporary Gallery.

Question: Advice for young collectors

Answer: If you’re just beginning your art collection, start by trusting your instincts. Look for paintings that spark something personal in you, whether it’s a memory, a sense of nostalgia, or simply the beauty of the subject matter. My paintings of typewriters, projectors, vintage cameras, tricycles, and other iconic objects often connect with people on an emotional level. A typewriter might remind you of your grandparents, a tricycle of childhood summers, or a vintage telephone of conversations before cell phones.

For new collectors, don’t worry about building a perfect collection right away. Buy what you love, what makes you pause, and what you can imagine living with every day. Over time, your collection will naturally reflect your story and taste. You’re not just collecting objects—you’re collecting memories and meaning.

Question: Advice for seasoned collectors

Answer: For those with more experience, you may already have a defined vision for your collection, perhaps focused on certain movements, artists, or mediums. My work in contemporary realism fits into a larger dialogue about memory, technology, and cultural change. Collecting paintings of these relics isn’t just about nostalgia; it’s about preserving the visual history of objects that shaped our lives but are quickly disappearing from everyday use.

As seasoned collectors, you might consider how these works expand or contrast with what you already own. A painting of a vintage fan or pedal car, for instance, could add a layer of cultural storytelling to a collection that already features contemporary realism or Americana. Think of these works as icons, not only beautiful to look at, but also rich in historical and emotional resonance.

The question to ask yourself is: How does this piece of the past speak to the present narrative of my collection?

Question: What is my principal message

Answer: I am trying to preserve and honor the objects of the past—machines and tools that once represented innovation, progress, and daily life. By painting this subject matter in a contemporary realist style, I elevate them from discarded relics to timeless icons. My work invites the viewers to pause, reflect, and remember, connecting personal memories with a broader cultural history. In short, my message is about memory, nostalgia, and respect for the everyday machines that shaped our lives and paved the way for the technology we rely on today.

Question: How do I know when my painting is finished?

Answer: I know a painting is finished when it stops asking for changes—when nothing bothers me or needs to be fixed. At that point, the work has a certain magical quality that draws me in. The objects begin to feel alive as if you could step into the paintings and ride the tricycle, open the luggage, type on the typewriter, or pick up the phone.

I also listen for the painting to “speak.” When I can look at it and almost hear the clicking of keys, the whir of a fan, or the hum of a projector, then I know the painting has reached the point of completeness. It’s no longer just an image on canvas; it has a presence, a memory, and a voice. That’s when I can step back and call it finished.

Question: Is there an element of art you enjoy working with most and why?

Answer: The element I enjoy most is light and form because light has the power to give these vintage machines presence and dignity. It reveals texture: the polished metal of a fan, the enamel of a tricycle, the scuffed edges of a suitcase, and brings out the character of each form until it feels almost tangible, as if you could reach out and use it.

But I also love working with the surface itself. I often scratch into the paint or flick paint across the canvas, almost destroying the image and then bring it back to life. This process creates a history on the surface, echoing the wear and tear of the actual objects I’m painting. It’s almost as if I’m abusing the subject on canvas in the same way it was once used in real life—typed on, pedaled, carried, or handled. That tension between destruction and renewal gives the painting depth and connects it to the life the object once lived.

Question: What is the biggest misconception of being an artist?

Answer: One of the biggest misconceptions is that being an artist is easy, relaxing, or purely romantic—that we just sit down, paint when inspiration strikes, and the work flows effortlessly. In reality, being an artist requires discipline, persistence, and constant problem-solving. A painting can take weeks or months of layering, scratching, reworking, and observing the subject before it reaches that magical point where it feels alive.

For me, the process begins long before I pick up a brush. I have to search for the subjects that inspire me, and they’re often heavy, cumbersome, and difficult to find. The objects I paint—typewriters, fans, tricycles, cameras, or old luggage—aren’t sitting on a store shelf waiting to be chosen. They have to be discovered. It takes time, patience, and sometimes sheer luck to find the right piece, and when I do, I know it’s an object I can fall in love with enough to spend months bringing it to life on canvas.

In many ways, the hunt itself is part of my art. Tracking down these relics connects me more deeply to their history, and the effort involved becomes woven into the painting. The search, the painting, the surface work—all of it is about honoring the memory and giving new life to the everyday machines that once shaped our lives.