Kimberly Koltcz

Kimberly Koltcz (she/her)

Artist Bio:

Kimberly Koltcz is a New Mexico-based graphic designer and multidisciplinary artist originally from Allentown, Pennsylvania. A U.S. veteran, Kimberly spent many years raising her two children and caring for a lively household of dogs alongside her husband, with whom she has shared life since 2002. After an 18-year hiatus from artmaking, she returned to her creative practice in 2016 as a means of processing and healing from a series of personal traumas. This reconnection with art became both therapeutic and transformative, reigniting a lifelong creative spark. Today, Kimberly continues to use art as a vital tool for healing and self-reflection. She creates under the studio name Art Cathartic, a reflection of her belief in the emotional power of making. Her work explores themes of resilience, identity, memory, and the deep connection between personal history and visual storytelling.

Artist statement:

Some things can't be talked out - especially when you're raised to stay silent. Some things I never learned how to say. Other run too deep for language, or there simply aren't words strong enough to hold them. This is often where my art begins.

Art has become a way for me to externalize thoughts and emotions that once remained sealed inside. Through making, I've found a way to process trauma and communicate with the world in a language that feels truer than words. Therapy is powerful - art, for me, can be even more so.

I still don't know eactly where I fit in this world, and I've made peace with that.

That uncertainty has become a creative strength. Because I don't feel bound to a particular place or definition, I move freely through styles, aesthetics, and materials. I'm learning to play without fear - without the pressure of being "good enough."

My practice includes clay, ink, paint, graphite, charcoal, metal, and paper - and I'm constantly seeking out new materials and techniques. I have no desire to confine myself to one medium or a matching body of work. Instead, I embrace experimentation as a form of self-discovery, exploration, and healing. My work doesn't always offer answers, but it's how I continue asking the questions and finding myself.

Gilded Grasp I

Medium: Porcelain, black wash, glaze, gold luster, epoxy, music wire . Approximately 14"x14"30"

This sculpture embodies a deeply personal and political rage. Constructed in high-fire clay with black wash and underglaze, the piece uses tactile contrast—raw wire, glossy red glaze, gilded accents—to convey the false allure and grotesque reality of power imbalance. The raven-headed cage evokes myth, death, and watchfulness—its dark, metallic frame meant to feel industrial and inescapable. The cherry inside is exaggerated, almost cartoonishly ripe, meant to represent sexualized femininity. But it’s no object of pleasure here; it’s marked with a golden handprint—a symbol of entitlement, assault, and ownership. At the front of the cage, a golden padlock gleams—not for security, but for show. It’s the lock of control, placed there by those who demand obedience under the guise of wealth, tradition, and power. Men who buy their way out of consequence while locking women into cycles of trauma, invisibility, and silence. This is not just about victimization—it’s about complicity. About the systems, both cultural and legal, that allow men to do this over and over again. It is about the golden boys with no cages of their own—because they believe women were made for them.

Uninvited

Medium: Digital painting, Photoshop, giclée print, framed size: 17-1/2"x23“

A young girl, dressed for a delicate tea party, clutches a tray of cupcakes as a looming monster in a crown sips her tea. The crown he wears was once hers. Behind her wide, fearful eyes and formal dress lies a cultural script too familiar: be gracious, be accommodating, make space even when you're afraid. The monster has taken what was hers—her celebration, her authority, her voice— and in its place, she’s expected to serve. This piece explores the deeply ingrained expectations placed on women— particularly those raised in households where performance, perfection, and politeness were considered duties above selfhood. The table is neatly arranged, with flowers, and the tea is poured, but the guest is uninvited and the host is visibly distressed. Still, she offers him cupcakes.

Floral Defense

Medium: Pen and Ink on paper, each frame 18"x18"

Floral Defense is a series of three pen-and-ink illustrations—a rose, a lily, and an orchid—all classic symbols of womanhood. Each flower is intricately rendered with stippling, emphasizing delicacy, precision, and traditional craftsmanship. But within the softness is danger. Each bloom bears a gaping mouth filled with teeth. This series is about reclaiming femininity without relinquishing power. It confronts the tired narrative that beauty equals weakness, or that softness must mean silence. These flowers do not apologize for being beautiful—and they certainly do not apologize for biting back. To be feminine does not mean to be defenseless. We are not ornamental. We are not fragile. We are not here to be plucked. This series honors the quiet power of those who are underestimated because of how they look—and it issues a warning: just because we bloom doesn’t mean we won’t bite .

The Last Thing I Saw

Medium: Digital Photo Collage & Painting, Photoshop, giclée print, size: 24-1/2"x18"3/4“

The Last Thing I Saw is one of my most personal pieces—a digital collage that speaks to the pain, fear, and reverberating sorrow surrounding suicide. It reflects not only my own experience surviving a suicide attempt but also the emotional aftermath witnessed by seeing my child’s attempt, and the tragic loss of my mother-in-law, who did not survive her attempt. In creating this work, I wanted to strip away metaphor and show something real—not romanticized or symbolic, but tangible and disorienting. The downward-pointing hands—mine—are swallowed by shadows and tangled hair. The hands above grasp a ledge, barely clinging to a reality that seems too far away. Above it all is a ceiling that looks divine, unreachable, distant—evoking a place I almost went, a place someone I loved did. This piece is about devastation. Not just the act, but its ripple effect. It’s about the impossible grief of those left behind, and the silent legacy suicide can leave in a family. But it’s also about witnessing. About saying: this happened, and it matters. By confronting it, perhaps we can begin to speak honestly, to support each other better, and to recognize the deep, silent wounds that so often go unseen.

Obtuse

Medium: Low -fire ceramic, white underglaze, clear glaze, 10"x12"x14.5"

Obtuse is a satirical lidded jar sculpted in low -fire clay and finished with white underglaze and clear glaze to mimic the visual language of formal political busts —clean, elevated, and meant to be revered. But here, the reverence is a farce, his ego is so big there was only enough clay for his head, not a full bust. Beneath the white surface, orange tones peek through, disrupting the illusion and exposing the subject's absurdity. This caricature of Donald Trump —mouth agape mid -rant, features exaggerated to reflect bluster and selfimportance—serves not only as political critique, but as functional pottery: the "toupee" lid can be lifted to reveal a hollow interior. I call it my “Cheeto jar,” a term that captures both the grotesque humor and snackable emptiness of the persona it represents. The piece is titled Obtuse for its layered meaning—suggesting willful ignorance, a lack of sharp insight, and the exaggeratedly bloated rhetoric that marked an era of political theater. It’s both an object and an opinion, meant to make viewers laugh, squirm, or reflect— preferably all three.

The "Gift" they offer

Medium: Oil paint on canvas, 30"x24"

The imagery draws directly from my fear and anger about Project 2025 and the growing campaign to curtail women’s rights under the guise of tradition, morality, and national identity. The young woman at the center is visibly pregnant, yet emotionally and physically distant—her posture expresses weariness and defeat. Around her, a sea of men presents her with poppies—symbols of sleep, sedation, and war remembrance. They offer them as if bestowing honor or beauty, but what they truly offer is confinement. Her ankle bears what appears to be gold jewelry—something meant to represent value, femininity, and delicacy. But it’s a shackle. It’s meant to look pretty. It’s meant to look chosen. But it isn’t. This work is about performative control: the lie that submission is for our own good. That womanhood means servitude. That motherhood is mandatory. That silence is dignified. It asks the viewer to look deeper: What are you being told is a gift? And what does it cost?

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