Chris Sheridan is a contemporary realist whose paintings search out the stories and myths lingering within the splendor and shadows of nature.
Chris earned a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree in visual arts. He has served as an adjunct professor of art and design. Art residencies and extensive travel throughout Europe and South America have allowed him to immerse himself ever-deeper, into the wonders of nature and rich story.
He is currently represented by the J. Rinehart Gallery, in Seattle, WA (USA)
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This is my third residency at AARK since late 2019. With each stay, I have contributed to the Korpo Bladet, and I talk about my love for this tiny, magical island and my cherished connections to the members of its vibrant community. I could easily do that once more, as my love for this place keeps growing, but I thought perhaps I would share something a little different this time.
I am a painter, and I of course make new art while I am here. But I spend the vast majority of my time immersing myself in the forest, walking around for hours on end and learning from each and every disclosure that nature happens to whisper. I carry a journal with me, often stopping along the way to write things down. The following are some small snippets from my daily observations.
2025 residency gouache study - Chris Sheridan - 3rd time resident at AARK
8.1.25
Brisk cold, everything not blanketed in snow is encased in black ice. Hardly dressed warm enough I set out, trying to beat dawn. The air has bite, thick gauzy fog is billowing out from the black skeletal trees, the dense silence is shattered by the crunch of my steps upon the frozen earth. It’s that deceptive dark where the spirits dart around in the shadows. I must get to the lake before it is too light. I need to make a fire.
9.1.25
Renja, Kate and I just ate an entire cake, and talked endlessly about our dog.
2025 residency gouache study - Chris Sheridan - 3rd time resident at AARK
11.1.25
It was well before dawn when I ventured into the cold this morning. The sky a deep marine blue black, the trees completely cloaked in a rich, inky darkness, only the dim contrast of the fresh snow gave a clue to the direction I needed to go in. I’ve walked these woods dozens of times, but in the complete darkness, and blanketed in snow, it is like another world… …At last, I find the old road that leads to my intended destination. But in this darkness, even it seems strange, and although I’m second guessing every step, this is the only road, and deep inside, under all the fear, I know I will get to where I’m going. I finally pass the abandoned cottages that even in the day seem eerie, but in the cloak of deep gray contrasted by medium gray, they appear like the abode of the old witch herself. Irrationally, yet compulsively, I stare down as I pass, for I fear that if I look in the darkened windows, I will stare directly into what is inevitably staring back at me. The wind is slamming into the canopy above, much like the pounding of my heart within my chest. (Later that night) …the thick blanket of clouds torn asunder, the sky opened up and a nearly full moon in all her glory cast rays of silver light upon everything. The shadows from the forest, the deepest blue, stretched from the snow drift covered shore, all the way across the frozen lake. The trees were aglow in radiant silver light, glistening magnificently, as if each and every illuminated flake upon them had been granted life and was exuberantly rejoicing.
14.1.25
The receding snow is revealing moss and lichen in a myriad of greens, broken now and then by tufts of ocher and burnt sienna blades of grass. I’ve made so many memories in these woods. Rich memories, with a vibrancy that blurs wakefulness and dreaming. With each step they flourish and appear to wear thin the veil between lifetimes.
18.1.25
As night takes a firm hold, I have undoubtedly worn the wrong socks, and my feet are getting gradually colder. The sky is moonless, black, and adorned in a vast array of stars. Venus is absolutely vibrant, with her reflection strongly illuminated upon the ice, like a searing silver beam.
2025 residency gouache study - Chris Sheridan - 3rd time resident at AARK
20.1.25
At the shore, the ice is singing its haunting wail. It’s been happening more and more often. It sounds like a heartbeat, and the sound is getting strong enough that I can almost feel it… …The temperature is below freezing, and everything within this area, each branch, twig, needle, the blades of grass poking out of the snow, every surface, is coated in a fine crystalline frost. The entire landscape is aglow, shimmering with enchanting iridescence, with the swaths still in shadow exhibiting a ghostly silver glow to them, and those raked by the sun have a dazzling golden radiance.
