Jessie Shrieves is a painter who approaches her work with clarity and purpose. She began her formal training at Parsons School of Design, where she developed a strong foundation in composition, technique, and style. That early education didn’t just give her skills—it gave her a lasting curiosity about form, color, and balance. Over the years, she’s returned to the fundamentals again and again, not out of habit, but because they continue to offer something new. Shrieves isn’t interested in chasing trends or making loud statements. Her focus is on quiet work that feels timeless—work that holds up to repeated looking and offers something more each time.
At the core of her practice is a belief that painting should leave space for viewers to enter. She doesn’t try to dictate an emotional response. Instead, she sets up an atmosphere—a way of seeing—that invites reflection. Her still life works, especially, embody this quiet openness.
One of her recent pieces is a drawing of apples on a plate. It’s a simple setup, but the choices Shrieves makes—particularly in line and color—give the work a surprising sense of presence.
She outlines the plate in light blue, not a color typically associated with fruit or dinnerware. That choice alone softens the whole composition. The blue doesn’t compete with the red or green tones of the apples; instead, it settles into the background and frames them without distraction. It’s an unusual move, and it gives the piece a certain calm. The apples aren’t just arranged—they seem to rest, suspended in quiet.
Shrieves says her intention was to give the apples a “delicate look, without disturbing them.” That phrase—“without disturbing them”—feels important. There’s a sense of respect in her approach to objects, as if they deserve their own quiet space, and her job is to honor it. The drawing isn’t hyperrealistic. It’s not about showing off skill. It’s more about balance—between softness and shape, color and line, space and weight.
The drawing is soft on the eye, as she hoped. It doesn’t shout for attention, but it does hold it. There’s a subtle rhythm in the way the forms interact, in how the curved shapes of the apples respond to the round edge of the plate. That interaction is where the energy lives—in the space between things, not in dramatic contrasts.
Shrieves mentions that her goal is for the drawing to leave an impression on the viewer. Not necessarily a deep, emotional one, but something quieter—maybe a sense of pause or appreciation. She hopes people enjoy looking at it. That’s not a small ambition. In a world full of images and speed, making something that invites someone to slow down and look—really look—is meaningful.
This drawing fits into a broader pattern in Shrieves’s work. Her still lifes often focus on ordinary objects: fruit, dishes, fabric, small plants. These are things many artists return to, but Shrieves gives them space to be themselves. There’s no over-staging, no symbolism layered on top. Her skill lies in making the familiar feel worth seeing again.
She doesn’t seem interested in making statements about the state of the world. Her drawings don’t push narratives. Instead, they hold space for quiet attention. That may sound simple, but it’s not easy. Restraint is hard to pull off without drifting into blandness. Shrieves avoids that by staying alert to subtle shifts in shape and hue. Her use of line is careful but not rigid. Her color choices are thoughtful, sometimes surprising, but always balanced.
The drawing of the apples is a good example of how she works. It’s about noticing. Noticing how light sits on a curved surface. How a soft blue can carry structure without demanding focus. How space between objects holds as much weight as the objects themselves.
In many ways, her work is about presence. Not just the presence of objects, but the presence of the viewer. She doesn’t tell you what to feel. She gives you space to feel something, if you want to. That’s a different kind of generosity—not flashy, but lasting.
Shrieves’s work isn’t loud. It doesn’t compete for your attention. But if you give it time, it stays with you. Like a well-made object or a good conversation, it lingers—not because it insists on it, but because it earns it.
And that, perhaps, is what timelessness really looks like.
