A rounded form pushing through a narrow opening; a little boy holding a detached arm; a lumpy scar; sinister bunnies; flesh. This is what Renee French's work depicts, but it's not necessarily what it looks like. The startling graphite images in her short stories, graphic novels, and children's books are irresistibly lush. Her painstaking pencil work makes them seem so gentle, so beautiful, that you almost want to touch them—to caress, squeeze, or just poke the subjects. But something holds you back. They're gross—although maybe they're not. Maybe they're gorgeous. The paradox works on us, and that's what makes French's art work on us. For nearly two decades, French has explored beauty, physicality, and the wondrous pain of feeling different.
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