Olivia Zlota Interview | FAST — EDITION |

This is the definitive —an exploration of her influences, her process, and the haunting nostalgia that fuels her most famous works. The Setting: A Sanctuary of Chaos We met Zlota in her Williamsburg studio on a drizzly Tuesday morning. The space smelled of linseed oil and coffee. Canvases towered against every wall, some slashed with vibrant crimson, others covered in delicate, ghost-like figures. Zlota, dressed in a paint-splattered Carhartt apron and thick-framed glasses, offered a handshake firm enough to belie her wiry frame.

Securing a sit-down interview with Zlota is notoriously difficult. Preferring the rustle of a paintbrush to the hum of a microphone, she is an artist of few public words but monumental visual sentences. We were fortunate enough to catch her between the final touches of her upcoming "Lucid Ruins" exhibition at Gagosian’s new Miami space. olivia zlota interview

She points to a recent, unfinished piece in the corner. It shows a young girl standing in a flooded living room, holding a record player above her head like an offering. This is the definitive —an exploration of her

You’ve spoken a bit about anxiety. How do you deal with the pressure of the market? You have collectors begging for pieces that take you months to finish. Canvases towered against every wall, some slashed with

(Laughs) "Imitation is flattery, but it’s also annoying. Look, the texture came from poverty. In my early twenties, I couldn’t afford large canvases. I was painting on cardboard, on old shipping crates. I’d mix my gesso with sand from the street, with coffee grounds, with ripped-up sheet music. I was trying to build a history into the board itself. If I painted a memory, I wanted the surface to feel like a memory—frayed at the edges, rough in the center, fading into obscurity. It wasn't intellectual. It was economic necessity."