Brad Stumpf

How did you get into making art?

I didn’t think of myself as an artist when I was an adolescent. I continually drew, wrote stories, or created in some form, but I wasn’t consciously working towards any larger goal. I was very shy. My parents tell me I didn’t speak until I was quite old. I remember always pointing at things to communicate and being reprimanded for doing so. Creating was my way of understanding the world—or perhaps focusing on it. It also got me attention and helped me make some of my first friendships in daycare. I saw creating as a necessity, a way to understand things and make connections. I still do.

I grew up in a rural part of Illinois, where the pursuit of a career as an artist was alien to me. I consciously chose to be an artist when I began showing my work publicly. At the time, I was working on a dairy farm, painting seriously but privately. I don’t think anyone knew I painted except for my parents. I applied to my first group exhibition at a local gallery just after high school. After that, I applied to the School of the Art Institute of Chicago (SAIC). I left my job at the dairy farm, where I had worked for 14 years, and moved to Chicago, where I have been ever since.

What are you currently working on?

This year has been difficult. My mother was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer in the spring of 2023, and she succumbed to her illness last October. My wife and I lost our first child at 18 weeks of pregnancy in the spring of 2024.

For the past six years, I have been painting about my wife, my love for her, and our love for each other. With the diagnosis and passing of my mother, I was stricken with guilt. I thought, I cannot be making happy paintings while my mom suffers. So, I made sad paintings. That felt pretty terrible too—at first, anyway. It has taken time, but I have finally come to terms with making work about how I feel, even if it’s not pretty. I created a series about my mother’s illness and passing, and I have also made a series about the loss of my child.

Now, I am back to work that is hopeful. Each piece functions like a wish. I am painting about my wife again, about our hopes of becoming parents, about our desire to have a home one day, or to visit her family in Venezuela. I want each of my works to function like a stage set, with the characters frozen mid-act. I want them to feel like I am holding my breath and praying for something good to come.

What inspired you to get started on this body of work?

The most honest answer would be my relationship with my wife. The broader answer is life as a whole, and all of the touching notations it offers to those who walk around with their eyes wide open, ears attentive, and nostrils flared.

Art historical influences that deserve mention include Howard Hodgkin’s theatrical abstracts, Albert York’s poetic still-life paintings, Joseph Cornell’s whimsical and touching boxes, and Alexander Calder’s endless imagination.

Do you work on distinct projects or do you take a broader approach to your practice?

I do both.

One example of a recent project is a sculpture I created for a two-person show featuring works by my wife and me.

The sculpture is titled “A Dream Set in Stone.” To create the piece, I asked my wife to write a description of her dream home as though she were walking through it. I used my interpretation of her words to draw a floor plan of the space. I then used that floor plan to create a mold from plywood, which served as a vessel to pour concrete into. The final sculpture measures 27 x 27 x 30 inches and weighs over 450 pounds. I gave it small feet toward the center of its base, elevating it a couple of inches from the pedestal to create the illusion of weightlessness.

My paintings are acknowledgments of real and imaginary moments that make me want to hold my breath. They attempt to capture the purity and stillness of an idle moment spent alongside my wife, or, more recently, the mental gymnastics required to navigate mortality and loss. My paintings function like miniature stage sets. They are painted from observation and depict handmade objects, often organized atop my bedside table, arranged on my desk, or nested within its drawer. The imagery functions like an open door to a quiet room, allowing you to peek in, or a still photo of a play halfway through.

What’s a typical day like in your studio?

Before I paint, I am full of anxiety and self-doubt. If it’s morning, I stop to get a cold brew. If it’s late morning, I get a cold brew and a beer. If it’s afternoon I get two beers. I slide my large metal studio door open and put my headphones in. I play music while I set up my palette. I sit in front of my still-life setup and paint with intense focus for the next 3-8 hours, at which point I am exhausted, and the painting is done. I text an image of the painting to my wife, who is likely in her painting studio one floor above mine. I clean up, slide the door shut, and walk away tentatively happy and filled with less doubt than when I arrived in the morning.

Who are your favorite artists?

Contemporary: Andrew Cranston, Katarina Janeckova Walshe, Jeffly Gabriela Molina, Mark Krisco, Masao Nakahara.

Historical: Howard Hodgkin, Joseph Cornell, Remedios Varo, Pierre Bonnard, RB Kitaj, Albert York, Chaim Soutine, Stanley Spencer, Ivan Hitchens.

Where do you go to discover new artists?

I encounter new artists mostly through Instagram. However, I also discover new works by familiar artists or find new artists at art museums and galleries.