Marla Ianello

Luminosity isn't something I add to a painting. It's what made me reach for the pastel in the first place — that moment when light hits an object and transforms it into something unexpected.

I work in soft pastel because it’s the medium closest to pure pigment — color in its most direct form, applied by hand. There is no brush, no solvent, no barrier between the pigment and the surface. When I lay down a stroke, I am placing luminosity itself.

My work moves between three worlds. In Vermont, I chase the golden hour across barns, fields, and winter roads — the way late afternoon sun turns a snow-covered hillside violet, or how morning mist softens a red barn. On reflective surfaces, I follow light as it fractures and reforms — reflections that double the world and dissolve it at the same time. And in the city, I find luminosity at its most theatrical: neon on wet pavement, sunlight filtering through street trees onto a café sidewalk, the glow of a window against dusk.

These are not three separate practices. They are one conversation about luminosity — what happens when light meets earth, water, stone, or glass and the ordinary becomes radiant. My work is an attempt to hold those transformations still long enough for someone else t...