BY GRACE ROBERTS

Cape Town native Kirsten Sims’ paintings have been described as “gentle parodies” of the lives we see people living on social media; the swinging pool parties, pristine mansion sunrooms, and divine beach vacations. Certainly, the figures which pepper her landscapes possess a playful, almost giddy quality about them, from the way they raise aloft a champagne bottle or dive from a waterfall to the bright pinks and yellows of their outerwear. But despite their subtle way of poking fun, Sims’ pieces do not come off as satirical. Rather, they have a wistful quality that immediately pulls you in by the heartstrings. For me, pieces like “Trying to Leave the Party Quietly” and “Commotion” look more fun than any event I’ve ever seen portrayed on social media.

Sims was educated in Applied Design at Stellenbosch Academy before returning to receive an honors degree in Illustration, moving naturally into editorial and commercial illustration projects for magazines like The New Yorker and Apartmento, in addition to working on campaigns for Airbnb and AD Magazine. As a South African, Sims often focuses on the natural elements of scenery, painting landscapes that sing. Her devotion to the reverie exerted by the natural world is made even more obvious by her style of painting, layering visible brushstrokes to breathe life into forests and speckle a night sky with a spray of stars.

It’s not surprising that devotees of Sims’ work laud their whimsical quality, commenting that they feel evocative of childhood. Indeed, the storytelling imbued in each painting lends itself to children's book illustration quite easily, and Sims crafted Balthazar The Great in 2015, published by Orfeu Negro. The story follows a violin-playing polar bear on a journey to find home, with the narrative primarily told through illustrations of the bespectacled bear and his other animal companions. Though she has only completed one book, one can hope that she might return to book illustrations — it is not difficult to imagine her working on a story about mermaids or a house that can talk.

Whether depicting jungle oases or garden parties, Sims’ mastery of color theory is particularly admirable. Her favor of deep navies and almost-black greens allows her tiny specks of bathers or partygoers to pop, never garish in their appearance and instead representative of little bursts of joy. A blue-hued painting manages to glow with string lights on poplar trees and refracted light from pool house windows, neither melancholy nor dim despite its colorway. The same is true for a piece which showcases a slice of the South African coast at night, a hill glowing with soft orbs of light, the white waves crashing into the base. The contrast between darker colors and the lit-from-within quality of her work means that nothing feels remotely sinister, a tough feat to accomplish when working with such deep tones.

The actual narratives which are contained with her paintings are fascinating representations of the relationship between the real and the sublime: everything appears possible (save for a rogue dog at the head of a dinner party table) yet slightly unreal, if only in its portrayed perfection. One might look to pieces like “No Tinder at the Table” for inspiration for their next garden party, “Love Game” for ideas on the perfect tennis ensemble outfit, or “Commotion” for the next time you plan a dance circle around a bonfire. There exists parody, certainly, in her portrayal of these events, elite as they are in either stereotype (a tennis match) or exclusivity (a vaguely cultish gathering in the woods). Circumstances are heightened with elements of the sublime; a supernatural glow, wings on someone in the back of the crowd, an impossible rope bridge to a tiny home across what appear to be Scottish isles. But perhaps the most effective and ironic result of her parody is that her paintings seem to suck us in even further, latching on to a desire to be surrounded by soft forest greens or the late-night hues of an afterparty.

Sims has put on tens of exhibitions around South Africa and Canada, including her internet-famous Goodnight Moon presented at Salon 91. While all of her exhibitions are alike in their penchant for delighting viewers, You Are Here feels like the golden child of her portfolio. The idea that some of her more social scenes might be taken as a kind of light mockery of unattainable bliss is humorous and definitely makes her work even more approachable by nature of its universal enchantment. From the scope of her featured landscapes to the subjects of their foreground, this collection is exemplary of a masterful artist, and one whose work will continue to inspire, in reality and perhaps in sublimity.

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