Joline Kwakkenbos is a Dutch artist known for her expressive self-portraits that explore themes of queerness, femininity, and the human experience. Her work, ranging from free-spirited depictions to contemplations of seduction, societal roles, and vulnerability, employs vibrant colours and subtle symbolism to invite viewers into her world.

Your work, which is rooted in self-portraiture, is instantly recognisable for its expressive brushstrokes and vivid colour palettes. In what ways does painting yourself allow you to explore the theme of identity?

Initially, I painted self-portraits because there were aspects of myself that I didn’t fully understand or like, and painting became a way for me to take control and to explore new facets of my inner landscape. In 2017, I painted my first self-portrait, where I posed as Lady Justice. But there were two figures beside me, each representing a different version of myself from different times – one from the past and one that was longing for the future. Through the creation of that painting, I realised I could control and shape my emotions, giving them both a place and structure. Over the years, my approach has shifted, and self-portraiture has become a way for me to play with my identity. What I paint is not always the truth. It’s about becoming something more than I know or see, and through the process, surprising myself.

When navigating the balance between autobiography and fiction, how do you, as an artist, relate to your own work? Does each piece address a distinct theme and narrative, or do you view your work as an ongoing exploration of your thoughts on sexuality, identity, and memory?

There’s definitely a balance between what I draw from my personal experiences and what I borrow from fictional stories and fantasies. When people ask me why I paint myself, it’s a difficult question to answer because, for me, it doesn’t really feel like that. I consider my paintings more like versions of myself. Ones that I connect with, and sometimes, ones that I become. I find this interesting because it allows me to explore a narrative not as something I am, but as something I can be. That’s my way of experimenting with my identity.

Sometimes, when I exhibit my work, I get a lot of questions – because, of course, the work is a very intimate and vulnerable portrayal of a version of me that people perceive as the real me – and they want to know the secret. I’ve received questions like, “Why do you eroticize yourself?” or “Why do you dress like that?” And I always like to turn the question back to the viewer and ask, “Why do you think it is erotic?” or, “What makes you think it’s funny to dress like that?” That’s why I paint these images – because I think perception is something that needs to be challenged.

Speaking of art history, I want to ask about your brushwork and colour choices, which feel reminiscent of classic pieces by Van Gogh and Frida Kahlo, yet are grounded in contemporary subject matter. Do you feel that art history influences your practice, and if so, how does it help you challenge the current notions of identity and sexuality? 

I think it’s impossible to not be influenced by history. Every day, we collect what we see, and that shapes our perception and reality. But I also believe we can choose what we see. For instance, during a traditional art education, students are provided with source material from art history, which becomes the fuel for their knowledge. However, because I didn’t go to an art school, I felt that I was really lacking those references. Over the past few years, I’ve made it a priority to expand my engagement with art history. I’m always seeking out other artists’ techniques and the stories behind their work, and I’ve challenged myself to find the truths that were also burning inside me. Observing and imitating other artists has helped me better understand what I make myself – it’s a very traditional way of growing into the craft. Something a bit less traditional, though, is that I write letters to artists that have inspired me, and have a monologue about the elements of their practice that I’ve learned from them. This has really helped me find my artistic voice, and has shown me how to bridge the past with the present. I also focus a lot on a queer side of art history because it makes me feel less alone. Learning about artists like Romaine Brooks, for instance, has shown me that there are women that have given their lives for their art, expressing themselves as a way of taking control and power. Learning about that has deeply shaped my self-confidence as an artist.

Finally, you’re currently residing in Margate at the TKE Studios. How has this experience been for you so far, and what do you hope to explore next in your practice?

Most of all, it’s allowed me to focus on the work, because I’m finally able to paint full-time. But there are elements to having other artists around me, and also the guidance of Tracey Emin herself, that have introduced me to this balance of doing solitary work alongside others. When I return to the studios, I obviously plan to create more work and to continue painting, but I also want to publish a book of all my red drawings. I have about 200 red drawings that I produced over the last year, and I’m really eager to show them. Actually, on that note, I’d also like to learn different printing techniques. There’s honestly so much that I still want to learn, and so much that I will learn. But for now, I’m deliberately focused on self-portraiture because I’ve seen how much it has already grown over the years, and how it has shaped into different ways of approaching the genre. I’m really excited to witness more of this evolution.

txt by Veronica Allara