Hannah Murray’s new exhibition Charm at Ginny on Frederick revels in the textures of glamour – the jewels, the fabrics and the glowing skin – all whilst quietly unsettling the rituals of femininity they celebrate. Izzy Bilkus speaks to the artist for Elephant.
At Ginny on Frederick, Hannah Murray’s new show ‘Charm’ looks, at first, like pure indulgence. Velvet drapery, plush carpets, marble sinks, glossy lips and jewels that glint in the light – it all has the lush, hyper-feminine glow of a dressing room moments before the spotlight. Look a little further, though, and the glamour starts to warp. The rooms bend subtly out of shape, the light misbehaves, scale shifts, and the women at the centre of it all stare back with bulging, doll-like eyes that feel like they’ve seen something we haven’t. The power of Murray’s work lies in the balance between seduction and unease, slipping seamlessly between the two.
There’s also the sense that we’ve stumbled somewhere we’re not meant to be. Murray’s interior scenes are spaces of preparation and self-presentation. The women adjust their hair, fix their necklaces and check their reflection, savouring the ritual of getting ready. As viewers we hover in the doorway, somewhere between guests and voyeurs. Murray toys with that dynamic, turning a traditionally private, feminine practice into a theatrical production.
‘Charm’ has all the grandeur of Old Master portraiture, reworked for a contemporary gaze. Opaline, airbrushed-like skin glows from within a kind of bioluminescence, while surfaces are pristine; jewels and fabrics are rendered in so much detail you can practically reach into the canvas and touch them. These decorative flourishes aren’t merely frivolous props – Murray treats them seriously, using ornament and excess to build an atmosphere that feels both luxurious and familiar. But beneath the surface, the psychology is twitchy and unstable. Murray’s figures are composed to the point of uncanniness. They bask in their hyperreal beauty whilst simultaneously watching and assessing their world as we look on.
Izzy Bilkus: Looking at your work, it feels like I’m being seduced, but I’m also feeling a sense of foreboding. I’m intruding on these women but somehow they’re also expecting me.
Hannah Murray: Throughout art history painters have always used elements like colour, fabric and skin to seduce us. Those are my favourite paintings – where you’re initially drawn in by something and then you’re able to recognise things that don’t feel quite right. For me, it’s about taking elements that people might not take very seriously in the art world – decorative things like jewellery and clothes – and putting them centre stage. Those things are a central part of women’s everyday experience. I feel like my paintings got better when I was painting things I actually cared about. I love painting fabrics and I love looking at fashion.
IB: The way you render fabric, you can tell how texture-focused you are. Do you look at any specific eras of fashion or designers?
HM: I love fashion photography from the ‘80s. It’s just so glamorous. I also look at the works of Sargent, Vermeer, and how women were portrayed throughout history.
IB: What’s the story behind the show’s title?
HM: ‘Charm’ just felt right. I’ve always painted jewellery with a lot of care and detail – that’s become a central part of the show. I think ‘Charm’ references the jewellery in the paintings. I also just like the word itself – I think it’s charming! It’s so hard to name a show, honestly, so when something sticks out to me I just go with it.
IB: Those are the best moments, when something just clicks. Did your move to New York feel like that?
HM: I moved there to do an MFA at the New York Academy of Art. I met my gallerist while I was still studying and have been there ever since.
IB: And how does it feel being back in London? Where did the idea for the show begin?
HM: London is home to me. It’s weird that I know the art world so well in New York. I get it, stateside, but I know nothing about it in London. I’m very excited that friends and family can come and see my work on home turf. Freddie Powell initially reached out to my gallerist in New York for me to take part in a group show at Rose Easton last year, and when I met him we decided to do a solo show. We just clicked, it was a good fit. His show roster is so different from my work, which I love. It puts my work in a different context.
IB: Ginny on Frederick is such an intimate space. Do you feel like the paintings are more impactful here? Does your work change for you once it’s in a gallery setting?
HM: Definitely. It’s a much smaller space to where I’d usually show in New York, so I wanted these paintings to feel more intimate. They’re a bit smaller in scale compared to my other works. I didn’t want to overcrowd. Each piece gets its own space. I always say they’re like icons of their own world.
IB: That’s a really poetic way of putting it. Do you have any favourites? There’s a lovely self portrait of you with your son.
HM: That one definitely has sentimental value, but I never favour a self portrait! Every time I make a self portrait I tell myself I’m never doing another. But this one made sense with him. I move between favourites a lot. At the moment it’s Balconette. I love that one. I’ve always been obsessed with Manet’s The Balcony – it directly references that. I just love that the railing forces a space between the figures and the viewer. It becomes a threshold between the public and private. In Manet’s painting the figures feel very psychologically separate from each other, and I wanted to capture that same sense of emotional distance in a shared space.
The woman I painted is holding a pair of sunglasses, which touches on the ritual of getting ready and self-presentation. Accessories add an awareness of being seen. In historical paintings, the women would often be holding something like that. In Manet’s work there’s a woman holding an umbrella. The sunglasses are a contemporary nod to that. Today, that’s my favourite work in the show.
IB: Does your opinion change a lot?
HM: Sometimes. I really struggled with that painting in particular in the studio. It went through so many iterations. Seeing it today during the install felt good.
IB: Is that when you finally feel like something is finished? I guess you don’t really have a choice at that point.
HM: It’s such a typical thing for an artist to say ‘it’s never finished!’ but it’s kind of true. I did this show differently to others I’ve done in the past. Usually I do one painting at a time, but for ‘Charm’, I was working on them all at the same time, so it became hard to tell when something was finished.
IB: Do you feel like the people in the paintings are all connected because of that?
HM: I’ve not actually thought about that before, but now that I do, I realise that most of them are facing the same direction. I think naturally my paintings end up like that. They usually all have the same colour palette without it being intentional. This time, however, I could feel that happening. I decided that it would be nice to have some darker paintings, so they’re all unified in that way.
IB: You mentioned before about exploring emotional separation. Do you feel like that tension and psychological charge is inherently tied to femininity? Is that important to you in your own depictions of it?
HM: I think femininity is obviously such a big part of my work because it’s personal to me. I’m always looking at very feminine objects and imagery, but I don’t try to critique it. The overtly feminine aspects of my work – the jewellery, the fashion, the way their home looks – that’s where my own anxieties lie. I’m interested in how glamour can be used as armour. It’s always in my mind. I’m taking these elements of being a woman that might seem to be tied to perfectionism, and I’m using them to manage expectations. I’m interested in how adorning yourself is comforting and also exhausting.
IB: That friction definitely comes through. Is that what draws you to interior scenes?
HM: Interiors are fun for me because it feels like I’m painting a theatrical set. I love how these luxurious spaces can hold a lot of pressure. Everything seems perfect and that’s where the cracks show. I always want a room to sing and have moments of magic. I don’t plan where the people are going to be in my paintings. I usually take photos of my models and paint them first. Then I get a feel for where they should be.
IB: Do you only paint people you know?
HM: Mostly, yes. I occasionally use models. In this show there’s a woman I painted twice. She’s a burlesque dancer. I just reached out to her on Instagram and asked to paint her. I do tend to paint the same people over and over again, but I usually move far away from the original photograph to the point where the people aren’t recognisable. I already have an idea of how I want certain people to look in mind before I even start painting.
IB: So it’s mostly about capturing a person’s essence.
HM: I’m trying to conjure a certain feeling of how they put themselves together and the room they’re in. I just love portraits. I don’t think I’ll ever not paint a figure. I like taking the subjects away from themselves. Sometimes that adds to the anxiety that’s created because they’re pulled out of their comfort zone, especially when I put them in clothes that they’d never wear.
IB: All my favourite portraits are of people who are depicted to be very strange and otherworldly.
HM: Exactly. I’m also drawn to how fabric can seduce the viewer. I want the texture to give it a hyperreal edge, as opposed to the skin, which is more atmospheric. Aesthetically it adds to the push and pull of painting.
IB: I read that you once said the emphasis on technical training helped push you into discomfort. What draws you to that feeling?
HM: In a way, I’m not trying to cause discomfort. I tap into my own feelings of why I care so much about looking a certain way, and why it matters what I’m wearing or what colours my nails are. Online we see so many images of beautiful women and I often find myself questioning why that makes me feel uncomfortable. I’m interested in why these images of desire, beauty and youth carry so much weight. I want to examine that – not necessarily critique it – I just think it’s interesting. There’s a sense of discomfort in portraying beauty and luxury in a positive light. In some ways it’s more familiar to paint something grotesque. I try to paint like those historical society paintings, but make them more like me and more like women today.
The way women feel like they have to present themselves – that’s what’s uncomfortable. And rather than shy away from those overtly girly or feminine traits, I’m leaning into them. I think it’s honest. I’m not trying to make people uncomfortable or have my paintings be ironic, I really feel like these women are reflections of me.
IB: It’s interesting to know that it’s not intentional. I’m curious about the anonymity of your work. The way you paint your figures – their unified gazes and colour palettes – connects all of them. Some of your older works are titled to keep them anonymous, whereas some of these newer ones are titled after the sitters. Was that a conscious decision?
HM: I often change the names of people, so the titles are a subtle play on the sitters’ names. They become anonymous because they end up not looking anything like the people by the time I’m finished painting. I like that sense of privacy for them. The women are completely in their own world.
