Artist Interview: Elia Varn

Interview with Elia Varn — Contemporary Mixed-Media Artist

Thank you for joining us today!

Q: Your work often blends traditional painting with digital fragmentation. How would you describe your artistic process from start to finish?

A: It usually begins with something unresolved rather than something clear—a feeling, a contradiction, or even a question I can’t quite articulate. I sketch loosely at first, often on paper, because it allows for mistakes without consequence. Once I find a visual tension that interests me, I move into layering—paint, photography, digital distortion. The key is that I never treat digital as separate from physical media; it’s just another texture. I stop when the piece feels like it’s resisting me less—when it no longer asks for justification.

Q: That sense of “resistance” is interesting. Do you see art as a struggle?

A: Not a struggle in the dramatic sense, but definitely a negotiation. Every piece has its own logic, and the artist’s job is to discover it rather than impose it. When I was younger, I tried to control everything—composition, message, even how people should interpret the work. Now I’m more interested in allowing ambiguity. Resistance is just the work telling me I’m forcing something.

Q: Where do you typically find inspiration? Is it more internal or external?

A: It’s a feedback loop. External stimuli—architecture, overheard conversations, even financial charts—trigger something internal. But the real work happens in how those inputs are reinterpreted. I’m particularly drawn to systems: markets, cities, ecosystems. They all have patterns, but also irrational breaks. That tension between order and unpredictability is where most of my ideas come from.

Q: You mentioned financial charts—unusual for an artist. How do they influence your work?

A: Charts are visual narratives of human behavior, just disguised as data. A price movement is essentially a record of fear, greed, optimism, and panic. I sometimes overlay those patterns into my compositions, not literally but structurally. Peaks, collapses, sideways drift—these become compositional elements. In a way, I’m translating quantitative signals back into emotional ones.

Q: How do you know when a piece is finished?

A: When I can no longer improve it without making it more obvious. There’s a point where refinement starts to reduce complexity rather than enhance it. I look for a kind of equilibrium—where the work feels complete but still open-ended.

Q: Many artists talk about finding their “voice.” Do you believe in that concept?

A: I think it’s a useful myth. What people call a “voice” is often just consistency over time. If you work long enough, certain patterns emerge—preferences, obsessions, ways of seeing. But I’m wary of locking into a voice too early. It can become a constraint disguised as identity.

Q: How has technology changed your approach to art?

A: It has expanded the toolkit but also increased the risk of superficiality. With digital tools, you can produce something visually impressive very quickly. The challenge is ensuring that speed doesn’t replace depth. I try to use technology to complicate the work, not simplify it.

Q: Do you think art should be understood, or is ambiguity essential?

A: Understanding is overrated if it means reducing a work to a single interpretation. I’d rather a piece be experienced than decoded. Ambiguity allows different viewers to bring their own frameworks, which makes the work more alive over time.

Q: What role does discipline play in your creative process?

A: A significant one. Inspiration is unreliable, but routine isn’t. I treat studio time almost like a professional obligation. Even on unproductive days, something accumulates—ideas, fragments, or even just clarity about what doesn’t work. Over time, that consistency compounds.

Q: If you could give one piece of advice to emerging artists, what would it be?

A: Don’t optimize too early—for style, for audience, or for commercial success. Exploration has a higher long-term return than premature efficiency. The work you don’t make because it feels uncertain is often the work that would have defined you.

Thank you for you time Elia!