Courtesy of Alan Grostephan
Trees with human faces; humanoid forest creatures; dancing cats; humans with fur and tails. This list may sound fantastical, but for artist María Korol, this cast of characters regularly appears in her paintings. These creatures, already so vivacious in their personalities, will come alive in a new way in Korol’s solo exhibition, Playing Ball Without a Ball, at Lyndon House Arts Center in Athens (July 18–September 27).
Born and raised in Buenos Aires, Korol, who is the chair of the Visual Arts Department and an assistant professor at Morehouse College, spent her formative years practicing an entirely different art medium: dance. Korol was a classically trained dancer until age 23, in multiple styles.
This upbringing influences Korol to this day, with fluid lines a hallmark of her drawing style; she is most interested in “drawing as exhalation,” or a building up of emotion within oneself and then its gushing release. This sudden discharge forces Korol to work quickly—ensuring her lines remain fluid—and prevents her from overthinking a mark. “When I belabor something, it kind of loses the magic,” Korol says.
This process of buildup and release has most traditionally manifested in ink-wash auto-fiction drawings. Drawing from various childhood memories and taking inspiration from Latin American writers and culture, the artist creates narrative scenes filled with characters and events rooted in fact and imagination. Korol’s emphasis on characters and their interactions has provided a through line for her studio practice, and fusing animal and human characteristics has given her the ability to work while maintaining movement. These cryptids have been a mainstay for her practice, but now, they are evolving.
For her exhibition, Korol created drawings, paintings, and ceramic sculptures of her hybrid subjects, including her cat, Charlie. Set across the multiple levels of a vitrine, her characters interact—gazes connect, gestures guide the eye. Although presented in a static state in this exhibition, the scene is full of poised playful interactions between the marionettes, as if these characters are alive.
Video animation will be added to Korol’s practice in the future, but in some ways, her approach hasn’t changed. She has always been invested in flow, and animation has allowed Korol to again find a way back to exhalation. As these creatures live and breathe, they embody the release that characterizes her work.
Now, the only question is what these creatures will do with their newfound freedom; perhaps they will bicker, perhaps they will dance. But one thing is certain: They will always remain free-flowing.
This article appears in our September 2025 issue.
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