In the pastel-hued world of contemporary art, there are few names as instantly recognizable—and as quietly arresting—as Rita Kirkman. Her work, known for its intimate scale, velvety textures, and glowing light, has long revolved around animals, people, and moments of quiet observation. Chickens, goats, cattle, and cats dominate much of her visual language. But there’s another, lesser-seen creature surfacing across her panels, emerging from the depths of color and metaphor: the fish – rita kirkman art fish.
Often overlooked in the broader scope of her animal subjects, Rita Kirkman’s art involving fish offers a subtle, introspective window into how an artist can reframe a familiar form—and, in the process, tap into something ancient, personal, and enduringly relevant – rita kirkman art fish.
The Artist in Context: Who Is Rita Kirkman?
To understand her fish, one must first understand Kirkman herself.
Born and raised in Texas, Rita Kirkman is a classically trained pastel artist who has built her reputation on immediacy: capturing light, energy, and gesture in the moment. Her hallmark is a rich interplay between quick impressionistic strokes and a tight control of composition. She works mostly in pastel, a notoriously difficult medium that resists correction, demanding precision and intuition in equal measure.
Her animals are often painted from life, or from quick plein air studies—imbued with a radiant, almost spiritual light. Yet despite the apparent realism of her work, her style leans heavily into abstraction. Light is rendered as geometric planes. Fur becomes fields of color. And every subject, from a sleepy calf to a domestic cat, carries an air of reverence – Rita Kirkman art fish.
For decades, she has exhibited across the United States, earning national awards and memberships in elite organizations like the Pastel Society of America and the International Association of Pastel Societies. Her art has adorned galleries, collectors’ homes, educational books, and calendars.
But for all her barnyard charm, Rita Kirkman has another fascination—one that swims quietly beneath the surface of her mainstream image.
Why Fish?
The question isn’t rhetorical.
Fish are neither mammals nor birds. They don’t emote like dogs, nor do they pose like cats. They’re elusive, silent, slippery. To many, fish are difficult subjects. They resist anthropomorphism. They shimmer, they blur. And yet, they persist in art history as symbols of transformation, depth, spirituality, and sustenance.
For Kirkman, the choice to paint fish is not merely technical—it’s philosophical. Her fish are not just creatures; they are concepts, metaphors, invitations to sink deeper.
“I started with goats because I was fascinated by their expressions,” she once told an audience. “With fish, I’m fascinated by the lack of expression—the subtlety of movement. There’s something mysterious there. You’re not observing the fish; the fish is observing you.”
Pastel Meets Water: Technique vs. Illusion
The irony is not lost on anyone familiar with art materials: pastel is dry. It crumbles. It smudges. It does not “flow” like watercolor or acrylic. So how does one use it to capture the fluid essence of fish, whose very being is inseparable from water?
This is where Kirkman’s mastery comes into focus.
She begins with warm-toned underpaintings—often orange or sienna—which peek through the layers of cool pastel to create a sense of depth and internal light. This technique, used frequently in her cow and chicken portraits, takes on a new, almost philosophical tone in her fish work.
The backgrounds are often abstract—suggesting water rather than describing it. Swaths of turquoise, teal, indigo, and gold blur together in fluid gesture. Then the fish appears—floating, flickering, almost disembodied.
Sometimes they’re koi. Sometimes trout. Occasionally, the species is ambiguous. What matters is not taxonomy, but presence.
She doesn’t anchor her fish with shadows or linear perspective. They exist in liminal space, not quite here, not quite gone—an echo of the way fish occupy water: visible yet intangible.
Symbolism and Silence: Fish as Metaphor
Throughout history, fish have carried a kaleidoscope of symbolic weight:
- In Christian iconography, the fish is a symbol of faith, abundance, and rebirth.
- In Eastern philosophies, koi represent perseverance and spiritual striving.
- In modern psychology, fish are archetypes of the subconscious, swimming in the deep pools of the mind.
Kirkman doesn’t paint religious allegory or myth explicitly. But her fish resonate on all those levels. They are often singular—not part of a school—and face away from the viewer, or gaze off-canvas. They suggest movement but are caught mid-motion.
In one pastel titled Still Water, Fast Fish, the subject is a red koi slicing through a serene blue plane. Nothing about the piece is literal, yet everything feels specific. It invites quiet—a visual silence in a world that often shouts.
Collectors and Critics: The Appeal of Kirkman’s Fish
Collectors of Kirkman’s more familiar works—her farm animals and portraits—are often surprised when they encounter a fish.
“There’s this quiet moment in the gallery,” says Maria Langley, a gallerist in Santa Fe who has featured Kirkman’s work since 2016. “People stop. They don’t always know why. The fish draws them in. It’s not cute. It’s not familiar. It’s… contemplative.”
That contemplative quality is what art critic Hal Monroe calls Kirkman’s “secondary channel.” In his 2023 essay on American pastelists, he wrote:
“While her goats and cows reach outward—toward viewers, toward warmth and charm—her fish reach inward. They ask more than they answer.”
The appeal of these works lies in their ambiguity. There is no overt narrative, no punchline, no imposed emotion. They simply are, like meditations on stillness, or metaphors for ideas not yet understood.
Educator and Innovator: Teaching the Next Generation of “Surface Thinkers”
Rita Kirkman is not only a prolific artist but also an educator. Through workshops, online tutorials, and pastel societies, she has mentored hundreds of students—many of whom encounter their first fish in her classroom.
“I use fish as a way to teach color layering and shape abstraction,” Kirkman explains. “You can’t paint a fish the way you paint a dog. There’s less to ‘hold onto.’ That’s the challenge—and the invitation.”
She urges her students to abandon realism for essence. To observe the temperature of shadows, the echoes of light, the impression of movement.
Some of her most advanced lessons involve painting koi over textured grounds, using pastel primers with pumice or gesso, then applying pastel in broken layers to simulate scales and water refraction. The result is a fish that doesn’t “look like” a fish—but feels like one.
The Future of the Form: Where Kirkman’s Fish May Swim Next
In recent years, Kirkman has expanded her repertoire to include multi-panel fish series, with koi and trout swimming from one canvas to the next in gentle arcs. These works explore themes of journey, repetition, and metamorphosis—bringing the quiet motifs of her earlier fish pieces into larger, more ambitious narratives.
She has also begun experimenting with metallic pastel accents, catching light in new ways as the viewer moves.
Will the fish become a dominant theme in her work? Perhaps not. But in the way they recur—quietly, occasionally, meaningfully—they reflect the deeper current of an artist who resists branding and instead follows intuition.
Beyond the Fish: What It Means to Observe
In an era when art is increasingly digital, consumable, and self-referential, Rita Kirkman’s fish are defiantly analog. They remind us of the value of looking, of not knowing, of seeing something without demanding explanation.
To engage with Kirkman’s fish is to engage with the moment before understanding. It’s the glimmer beneath the surface. The silence between questions. The flicker in the peripheral vision of consciousness.
And in that space—unsure, suspended, watching—we are not so different from the fish.
Final Thoughts: Why the Fish Matters
The inclusion of fish in Rita Kirkman’s body of work might, to some, seem like a footnote. But in the shifting sands of art history, it’s often the footnotes that endure. The subtle gestures. The quiet turns. The choice to paint something not for the marketplace, but for the mystery – Rita Kirkman art fish.
In her fish, Kirkman gives us more than an image. She gives us a mood, a pause, a question. And in a world increasingly defined by noise and immediacy, that is no small gift – rita kirkman art fish.
FAQs
1. Does Rita Kirkman frequently paint fish, or are they a rare subject in her work?
While not as prominent as her well-known animal portraits (such as goats, cows, and cats), fish do appear throughout Kirkman’s body of work as a recurring, contemplative subject. These pieces are typically more abstract and symbolic, offering a quieter, more introspective contrast to her usual themes.
2. What artistic techniques does Rita Kirkman use when painting fish?
Kirkman uses her signature warm underpainting method, layering glowing oranges and siennas beneath cooler tones to evoke depth and light. In her fish art, she combines abstract backgrounds with soft-edged forms and flowing pastel strokes to mimic the movement and subtle shimmer of aquatic life.
3. Are Rita Kirkman’s fish paintings realistic or abstract?
They often strike a balance. While the shapes are recognizable as fish, Kirkman’s treatment leans toward suggestion rather than detail. Her work captures the essence of fish—their movement, quiet presence, and visual texture—rather than exact anatomical realism.
4. Why does Rita Kirkman choose fish as a subject?
Kirkman is drawn to the mystery and symbolism of fish—their silence, their fluidity, and the sense of observation they evoke. For her, painting fish is not just about capturing a creature but expressing contemplation, distance, and emotional depth.
5. Where can I view or purchase Rita Kirkman’s fish artwork?
Rita Kirkman frequently exhibits in galleries across the U.S., and her works are available through her official website and selected art shows. Her fish paintings, while rarer, are typically part of themed collections or special releases and are sometimes featured in workshops or pastel society exhibitions.
Luys Parker