THE SKY HAS TEETH 

Slowly emerging through hazy waves of chromatic vibration, the paintings of Jenna Ransom feel both strange and eerily familiar. The twenty-two works presented in The Sky Has Teeth exist in that ambiguous threshold between sleeping and waking, where forms drift in and out of focus and perception hangs suspended in ambiguity. Rather than reproducing the visible world, Ransom reimagines it, infusing her subjects with an intensified, almost visionary quality. Everyday scenes are transfigured, charged with an unseen presence that hints at forces beyond what the eye can perceive. Light shimmers with otherworldly resonance, foliage pulses with vitality, and an organic architecture seems animated by inner energy. In this way, her images operate on multiple registers: these are documents of place and memory, but they’re also meditations on the spiritual vitality that underlies the material world. Her practice is not one of detached observation but of deep emotional attunement, where the external world and inner states of being converge.

Rather than depicting a world bound by logic or clarity, Ransom conjures spaces that radiate their own energy, recalling the liminal zone between dreaming and waking, where vision dissolves and certainty recedes. “My pieces have their own energy, I guess—like waking from a dream,” Ransom reflects. “I’m just observing small moments from reality and flipping the switch a little to see them differently.” From the unconscious, ordinary moments are subtly transformed and the viewer is invited to rediscover reality anew and linger on the awkward beauty of the everyday. Within this framework, Ransom’s work becomes a portal into the unknown—an exploration of what lies just beyond the visible.

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