The Comfort House Project: stay as long as you like
Created between 2021 and 2023, this series of images depicts real people in imaginary spaces, each designed to comfort that specific individual. Every print is a standalone artwork, and all of the prints fit together in the structure of a house. Every room began as a conversation between artist and protagonist, in which I asked them 3 questions:
How do you seek comfort? (What do you do to help yourself feel better after a stressful day?)
Why do you need to seek comfort? (What is stressing you out?)
Do you think you deserve comfort?
Below, you can look at and read about each room in The Comfort House, from the foundation to the attic. Which space do you gravitate to?
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This linocut reduction print for Madi is less about soft comfort than the joy and satisfaction of overcoming challenges, which provides a reassurance that resembles comfort.
Madison is my sister. Each protagonist depicted on the dark-green paper is a member of my immediate family. Like with Charles (dad), I spoke to Madi about comfort before figuring out my interview questions. The main question I remember about this initial conversation was "what do you like about yourself?" and her answer "...I like that I'm not judgemental." And so the inspiration behind this work was the wish, on my younger sibling's behalf, that she could extend that lack of judgment to herself as well as she does to other people. Nearly a whole year later, during the same winter holiday that I interviewed my brother, Madi asked to be interviewed properly. She shared with me that she doesn't really understand what was comforting about the room I had already printed for her. It showed her existing outside of her comfort zone, mostly. Her comfort lives outside: hands in dirt, face in plants, sunlight on her skin. She finds joy in collecting bits of nature, and distress in the noise of too many people: cars, lawnmowers, and voices. Hearing protection is essential, especially at work. Her brain can be an enemy sometimes: "swirly, noisy goop". She wants to show up as a true version of herself not a work-in-progress.
This room for Madi depicts an interior skatepark: pink and glowing with hanging vines and multiple iterations of the same character. There are younger and older versions of herself to project non-judgement onto (the older version should have chin-length hair, but how were we to know?). There are affirming poem fragments in the form of graffiti. The saturated colour and experimental "lighting" give this a dreamy vibe that echoes the subject matter, combining reality and magic. I also think that, based on the second conversation, Madison would enjoy spending time in Sofia's room.
Madi’s room: Learning my self-worth> Earning my self-worth
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This linocut reduction print features a fantasy room for Zack: an exterior space brought interior, perfect for quiet meditation.
All of the prints on dark green paper that make up the foundation of the house are occupied by members of my nuclear family. Zachary is my brother. I interviewed him about comfort while we were both at home for the holidays. I was a bit nervous because, in the past, we had taken very different approaches to comfort, with Zack often talking about getting out of his comfort zone. Early in our conversation, he made the distinction between "good comfort" and "bad comfort", one leaving him reassured and confident, and the other vaguely guilty. I think we can all relate to that. Zack's most healing comfort comes from taking a walk by himself in which the destination is less important than being present in the moment. Zack describes feeling comforted as having a recharged social battery and renewed energy to be his authentic self (rather than people-pleasing). He describes seeking "good comfort" as counter-intuitive and wishes it were a little easier to want what is good for you.
In the space I created for him, Zack crouches by a small stream, his camera held loosely as he contemplates the moving water. The trees, bushes, and ground cover around him are the fresh green of spring. I drew this imaginary scene from a number of photos that Zack shared with me from his own photography practice. Not far away is a greenhouse, less green than the area around it. Drawn on it, as if with a finger on fogged glass, are Zack's tattoos. You can just make out the golden ratio, a leaf, a triangle, the symbol phi, and the word "calm".
Zack’s room:
It’s in my nature to need space
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In this room I designed for my dad, I was thinking about how much he loves boats. This is a man who used to sit in a canoe on the grass in our yard reading sailing magazines, a man who named one of his sailboats "Fourth Child", a man who, in designing his own boat hulls, made quarter scale models and tested them in our pool with jugs of water to represent his weight, and my mom's. But especially small, wooden sailboats have captured his heart.
He says:
Boats represent something old and traditional yet timeless at the same time. Also the concept of floatation seems both scientific but somehow magical too. Boating puts you in touch with nature and each outing is like an exploration of beautiful lakes and rivers. Sailing brings a fantastic combination of boating, science, math, physics, nature, history, nostalgia and romance. Sailing offers the challenge of making the boat go where you want it to followed by the reward of joy at achieving the goal of reaching your destination. As a person interested in alternative sources of energy, the idea of being able to use wind to satisfy one's transportation energy requirements is fascinating. Small boats: are less expensive to purchase and maintain, easier to store. They're more exciting because you're closer to the water and movement of your body has greater influence over the boat than on a larger boat. Smaller boats are more portable so they go to more places and are more versatile. Smaller boats are simpler....simpler is better. It is a common mantra in all my sailing magazines that small boats get more use.
I never properly interviewed my dad because I hadn't developed that part of the project when I designed and printed this image. I learned while interviewing my siblings that just because you know someone pretty well, doesn't mean you won't be surprised by their answers to specific questions like these.
All of the spaces in The Comfort House Project are interiors, so my dad gets a pool, and not a real lake, as I'm sure he would prefer. I also wanted to pull on the magic of giving your imagination a helping hand by creating a situation that is as close as possible to what you're dreaming of. Who can say, maybe the pool doesn't exist, and my dad's imagination has transformed a living room into this. I also lit this basement room as if it were exposed to full sun.
See those two little circular holes at the front of the boat? Those are for inserting a small mast, making this a convertible dinghy/sailboat.
The dog's name is George and in real life there is only one of him. But this is fantasy. (He passed one year after I finished this project at the age of 17. Rest in peace, beloved family member.)
The notes on the chalkboard are scanned and duplicated from my dad's journal. His drawings, his handwriting.
The pool is inspired by a pool in Boldt Castle on Heart Island, a place we toured during a summer vacation we took as a family when I was a preteen. The pool was a dilapidated concrete construction that I projected luxury onto because we were in a castle.
(not super relevant to the artwork, and not the boat depicted but super cute regardless) My dad's current sailboat is named Betty. She's an orange, fiberglass, 9.5' long boat that he salvaged from the local dump and refurbished. She was originally named Ugly Betty, but it doesn't suit her anymore.
When I had sketched in the bulk of this room, I took a picture and sent it to him, asking, "What else would be in this room that would contribute to feelings of comfort, well being, and inspiration?" he answered over text with just two words "Your mom?"
Charles’s room:
The wind will take me where I need to go
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This linocut reduction print shows Princeton in his happy place, feeling the presence of God.
I met Princeton at a coffee shop after having him recommended to me for the project by a new friend, who also only knew him professionally. It was a tenuous connection, and I had my fingers crossed that our conversation could be emotional and generative. He answered my core questions fairly quickly, and I asked if it was okay for me to ask more. Somewhere in the middle, he came alive when we realized that he didn't seek comfort after a bad day in the same way most people I had interviewed did (my queries had become accidentally leading!). Princeton's comfort practice is proactive rather than reactive. Every morning, he wakes up early and sits with tea and something to read (Christian spiritual and leadership texts usually) and allows himself to just be. This contemplative prayer and reflection prepares him for whatever a day may bring so that when hard things do happen, he is able to respond in a grounded, calm way.
I told Princeton about how, across the Comfort House Project, I was including elements of magical realism, moments of not-quite-possible. He asked if I could include an angel, and then we had a conversation about what that might look like. I was raised Catholic in a predominately white community, and so I knew that the idea of an angel I had in my mind wouldn't necessarily be right. Princeton was able to recommend a YouTube video that sent me in the right direction, which I abstracted to eventually create the presence in Princeton's room with him.
I feel the need to share the amazing effect that these kinds of conversations can have. At the beginning of our acquaintance, Princeton was somewhat reserved, and weeks later, while I was messaging him about reference photos, he was offering me trust and checking in to make sure "Brianna the person" was doing okay while "Brianna the artist" was being so prolific. I highly encourage you to talk about comfort with the people you want to feel closer to.
Princeton’s room:
In silence and solitude you can hear your own soul
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This linocut reduction print features a fantasy room for Kiona, from which she can travel to visit her favourite places (more importantly, her favourite people).
I met Kiona to interview her for this project at a park in our shared neighbourhood. We sat on the grass and talked about people and places that don't expect anything from you and allow you to just be. For her, that is unquestioningly her family's farm. She has a jar of soil and seeds at her home in the city that smells like the farm and brings her comfort. Kiona is an artist whose work is warm and intimate and often features members of her family and scenes from the farm. She told me about how she is always untangling the problems of representation vs extraction, storytelling without exposing people, and the difference between artist and archivist. She reminds herself that personal interpretation is not institutional misinterpretation.
In the space I created for her, Kiona is drawing a stylized foliage (berry bushes, maybe?) that appears in many of her paintings. Behind her, the light of an autumn afternoon is coming through a big barn door. You can see trees and shrubs and a dirt path with the silhouette of her Moshom just beyond. The other windows and doors in this room seem to show different places: sunset on a lake and tall buildings steaming on a winter morning. From this magical studio, Kiona can be instantly transported between her home in the city and her home on the farm.
Kiona’s room:
I can always come back home
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This linocut reduction print represents a transitional space for Cynthia, from which she is about to leave and go do something fun outside.
During our conversation (over video call), we discussed how many of us seek to belong by conforming or by becoming what is expected of us. Unfortunately, that belonging is conditional upon our maintenance of that performance. The ONLY way to really belong in a community is to let your true self be known. Cynthia shared vulnerably about how when she devoted herself to fulfilling others' expectations of her, it resulted in dark, cold, bus-stop crying jags. But when she began to follow her personal motivations, she created a life, family, and community that she wouldn't trade for anything. She reminded both of us that joy and sorrow can cohabitate in one person/moment.
Once again, I came up against the pattern that my protagonist seeks comfort by being outside! I decided that in this room, I would imply that Cynthia was putting her boots on to join her husband and son on a skiing or mountain biking adventure. Her dogs, Diego and Frida, hover nearby (as dogs do when anyone is coming or going). The pattern sprawling across the image is an homage to an otomi wallpaper design that Cynthia calls her favourite wall in the house.
Cynthia’s room:
To be known is to belong
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This linocut reduction print features a safe space under renovation for Matthew. This room is offering a variety of configurations to represent the way we adopt new coping mechanisms when our existing ones are insufficient.
I met Matthew at my local coffee shop for our conversation and we had interacted a couple of times professionally already. It became the longest comfort conversation, extending naturally into a 5-hour hangout.
We talked about relatable stories and how they can provide a roadmap, or just validation when you're feeling lost. He recommended me at least 6 different books. At the time of our conversation, her comforting strategies were in flux, they had established ones and were in the process of breaking some down and rebuilding new ones. His ability to comfort herself is the only true consistency and the ultimate goal. I have in my notes "you can build a different room. I believe you." and I don't remember exactly what that means, but it seems right.
In the space I created for Matthew, a blue sky is showing through skylights and a big window but the interior is dim and soft. Matthew sits and reads with a pillow on their lap and around him, the room is full of books, art, and a couple of plants. A tall bookshelf in the foreground seems to overlap with a wall-mounted shelf and a painting, both existing at once. Similarly, an armchair overlaps with the ottoman that Matthew has her feet up on.
I wanted to include a detail but I actually forgot! I meant to include an open cupboard door, or table drawer to represent a metaphor Matthew shared with me about queerness that I loved. They said that straightness is a closed door, and queerness is an open door to any degree. You can be a little queer (door cracked open) or super queer (door off its hinges) and the line is blurry.
Matthew’s room:
Change offers an opportunity to heal
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This room for Will and Harper-Hugo Darling is designed to be a place where resilience is not required.
I met Will and Harper-Hugo at our local tea shop. During the conversation/interview, I filled five pages of my sketchbook with notes while the two of them finished each other's sentences and guessed each other's answers. Will talked about horror as a genre that defribulates their emotions when they're receding into numbness. They talked about being a social chameleon and why that's exhausting. Harper-Hugo talked about the heaviness and importance of their writing job which is "to love and lose these people (queer folks) who have been excluded from history books". They say that some of their deepest comfort comes from feeling and honouring their own feelings.
In the room I created for them both to inhabit, the deep cozy maximalism and fantasy library vibes were very fun to play with. The walls are covered in portraits and artworks by queer historical figures as suggested by Harper-Hugo. The chandelier seems to be a swarm of fireflies maybe? A scaly "chameleon coat" is draped over a privacy screen, discarded from Will's shoulders. The big brass elevator doors in the middle are an homage to Tamora Pierce and her YA fantasy heroines. The book Will is reading to Harper-Hugo is "Wild Magic" from that author.
Will and HArper-Hugo’s room:
Growth comes through love
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This linocut reduction print for Makda is all about perspective.
During my conversation/interview with her at the same local coffee shop where I met both Matthew and Sofia, we talked about small moments in the face of cosmic events. We talked about the heaviness of ongoing apocalypse. We talked about how community achievements feel like personal ones. We talked about hyper independence and giving yourself permission to be soft. Makda reminisced about stargazing with her cousins. She shared the joy of anticipating the versions of yourself that could be, not what you could do.
In the space I created for her, Makda and her cousins sit/lay in a room carpeted with grass, and enclosed in transparent walls that allow them to watch the night sky. The balance between a sparkly, unreachable universe and quiet moments with people you don't have to explain yourself to is the whole point.
Makda's poetry graces the crown molding. It says:
this world loves us like a bruise
prods us tender, weary
what we suspend between us, sustains
Makda’s room:
Where we lay, we have everything we need
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This linocut reduction print features a 3D roller coaster tycoon mural on the ceiling. Jenni (everybody's aunty) finds the game soothing and diverting.
Jenni was recommended to me for the project by someone I met at a downtown farmer's market pop-up last October, and afterward, I found that she was connected to other people I knew in a lovely little web of association. She and I spoke over video call: she in Montreal, and I at home in Edmonton. Jenni is currently working on her undergrad as the first person in her family ever to go to university. She says she never wants to leave academia. She shared with me that she seeks comfort by picking up a latte and going for a walk with her camera to track down new graffiti tags. She called it treasure hunting. Jenni reflected that covid sped up the timeline on a lot of world changes, but it also reduced the pressure on individuals.
In this comforting space, I am imagining that Jenni has just returned from one of her treasure hunts and is feeling content about her relationship to this urban system. An imaginary cat (which Jenni insisted be a bit better fed after I showed her the sketch ft a skinny cat) perches behind her looking for attention. A sign behind her reads "mentorship hours MWSS all day!" and beside her, a ladder ascends up through a trap door in the ceiling. The door leads to Sofia's room, and I thought that Sofia wouldn't mind having to cut through Jenni's urban, computer-game-scape on her way to her space.
Jenni’s room:
I’m going to do this until it doesn’t make sense anymore
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This linocut reduction print stands out in the series as the smallest room positioned high in the attic. I set it aside for a teenager at the start of the project but Sofia was the last of the protagonists that I selected after I met her and her mom at the Royal Bison Craft Fair.
I met up with Sofia at my local coffee shop and had my expectations dissolved. Talking with her was like talking to a peer who just happened to be precisely half my age. She has a wide variety of interests and the confidence to talk about them vulnerably. For comfort, she brews tea from mint leaves she grew and dried last summer. She's a snowboarding instructor. She's in a band called Inertia. Did I mention she's 15? When she was in the eighth grade she got a grant to update her school library with BIPOC content, and she still has teachers from other school boards emailing her for the list. She loves spending time with her friends that bring out her best self, but not those who make fun of her interests or give her permission to be a mean girl. She's concerned about the world and polarization (forget nerds and jocks, high schools these days are divided by mask-wearing and vax attitudes) and is scared of her loved ones dying. She shared a favourite childhood memory of a pinecone full of ladybugs that she dubbed a ladybug apartment building. She's anxious about the environment and Roe v Wade and things moving backward. The title of this piece is something Sofia said verbatim and was one of the wisest things to come out of the whole project. Every day I become more and more myself.
Beyond including symbols of her identity, I really wanted Sofia's room to feel as magical and full of potential as the young woman herself. She sits on the front edge of the floor and gazes into the distance, surrounded by found treasures. There is a beehive on a branch, an abstract mobile artwork, plants, a bookshelf full of books and a few good rocks. There is a spherical object that even I don't know what it is, and the ceiling is rendered in a cloud mural. I printed nearly every layer with a colour blend, and those stars on the ceiling are glow-in-the-dark ink.