Cathryn Sofarnos

Cathryn Sofarnos is an abstract artist based in Melbourne. She grew up in Tasmania, spending a lot of time outdoors near the coast and in bushland. Those early years still shape how she thinks about colour and movement. In the studio she works with paint, oil sticks, spray paint, collage, and fabric, usually starting with small works on paper before moving to large canvases. She builds each piece gradually, letting the image find its direction as she works.

Swimming in the Ocean - Acrylic, oil, oil stick, spray paint on canvas, 2023

Q: What early memories from Tasmania feel most present when you begin a new work?

A: The memories that feel most present are those of the environment itself and the deep sense of freedom that growing up in Tasmania gave me. As children, we spent entire days outside, disappearing into the bush, with our parents simply calling us home when it got dark. There was no schedule—just space to wander, climb, observe, and leave marks wherever we went. The landscape felt vast, raw, and untamed. It’s this feeling of freedom and wildness that I wish to bring into each new painting, approaching the work with a trust that it will unfold intuitively rather than trying to control the outcome.

Q: Your paintings often draw on sensory experiences of place. What helps you choose which atmosphere becomes the starting point?

A: The colour palette I choose becomes the key starting point. Colour sets the emotional tone and mood and helps shape the atmosphere I want to evoke before any marks are made.  The atmosphere usually comes as a feeling rather than a clear idea. It might be something subtle I’m holding onto—light, mood, movement, or a sense of calm or energy connected to a place or memory. 

From there, intuition guides the process by responding to how the colours and marks interact.

Q: In “Swimming in the Ocean” and “The Sky Whispers,” how do you decide which parts of the experience to keep in the work?

A: In “Swimming in the Ocean” and “The Sky Whispers,” I’m not trying to describe a specific moment so much as hold onto the feeling of it. Because I’m essentially painting abstract impressions and emotions drawn from memory, place, or experience, the process becomes an intuitive response to whatever has already appeared on the surface. 

“Swimming in the Ocean,” for example, is about the joy that that sensory experience brings: the warmth of the sun on your skin, the expansiveness of a bright summer sky, the circling seagulls above, the cool immersiveness of the salty water, and the uncomfortable sensation of seaweed wrapping around your ankles. So I respond to the energy of each mark and colour as the work develops by retaining the marks that feel in keeping with the overall energy of the piece, and removing or painting over anything that disrupts that flow. In “The Sky Whispers,” I am responding to the subtle and shifting moods of the sky. 

As a child, I spent countless hours lying in long grass, staring up at the sky, looking for shapes in the clouds of animals and people and stories. The sky has its own language: it can warn us of a storm, or create some of the most incredible colours in rainbows, sunsets, and sunrises. 

So in this case, I aim to create an energy in the painting that is expansive and meditative. This means fewer marks and more negative space, for example.

Q: You often begin with small studies before moving to large canvases. What usually shifts for you when you scale up?

A: Scaling up from small studies to a large canvas creates a shift that is both physical and intuitive. The colour palettes I’ve experimented with in smaller works often create the foundation and a place to begin for the larger piece, and some marks may inspire the direction, but I never set out to copy or reinterpret a small work directly—it always feels contrived or forced if I do. The smaller studies serve purely as inspiration; once the painting begins, my focus shifts to responding to the marks and colours already on the surface. Working on a large scale allows me to engage more physically with the canvas, making bold gestures and embracing movement and energy, which by its very nature will produce a distinctly different result from the smaller works.

The Sky Whispers - Oil, oil stick, spray paint on canvas, 2025

Q: Materials like crayon, oil sticks, spray paint, and fabric each bring a different energy. How do you choose which materials to work with?

A: The materials I choose are guided by the size and nature of the work. When I’m working on smaller investigations, I use everything at my disposal—crayons, charcoal, acrylic paint, paint pens, oil pastels, and spray paint—because these works are more about freedom and testing ideas. When I move onto a large canvas, I deliberately limit my materials and mostly work with oil paint, oil sticks, and spray paint.

This helps me stay focused and present in the process. 

I especially love working with oil sticks instead of a paintbrush because of the directness of movement they offer. Drawing directly onto the surface creates an immediacy and physical connection that feels instinctive and expressive. I’m also drawn to oils, as opposed to acrylics, because it slows down my process, forcing me to pause and think more carefully about each response I make to the painting as it evolves. My fabric creations usually evolve as an extension of a broader body of work built around a central theme or idea. Once a series of paintings has taken shape, the textiles become another way of exploring and expressing that concept. Whether transformed into art-to-wear pieces or wall hangings, the textiles deepen the narrative of the work.

Q: What questions are guiding you most strongly right now?

A: Right now, a question guiding me most strongly, that is specific to my painting process, is how to translate my feelings, intuition, thoughts, and perceptions in a way that will truly connect with the viewer. 

I’m constantly asking myself how to convey joy, hope, and a sense of connectedness that transcends gender, race, language, religion, and culture. I believe that abstraction itself has the power to speak to all people, regardless of background, and I consider every mark, colour, and gesture in light of this.

However, a broader question that is always on my mind is how art can contribute to change in the world and enhance the human condition. Many artists have claimed that art can change the world, but if the artwork itself truly had that power, the world would look very different by now. A painting, sculpture, song, or piece of writing can leave a deep impression—but it doesn’t single-handedly transform the world in any dramatic way. What can change the world is the creative process itself. When a person engages in making art, something shifts internally. Creativity has the power to transform an individual—to expand their thinking, soften their emotional landscape, build confidence, and deepen their sense of connection to themselves and others. If every person on the planet had access to, and encouragement for, creative expression, the collective impact would be enormous. The world will change when people change, and creativity is one of the most powerful catalysts for that transformation.

So the question becomes: how can we bring this creative process to every individual in a way that it moves beyond a structured activity or occasional pastime, and instead becomes a natural way of life—a way of thinking, perceiving, and responding to the world? How can creativity be nurtured so that it is not confined to the studio or classroom, but woven into the fabric of daily living, shaping the way we problem-solve, connect, and experience ourselves and others? The challenge is to make the act of creation intuitive, accessible, and deeply ingrained, so that it fosters presence, reflection, and emotional growth, ultimately becoming a fundamental lens through which we live, interact, and interpret the world around us.