Julie Evanoff makes drawings, prints, animations, sculptures, and all kinds of other things. She currently lives in Brooklyn, but has lived in many cities across the USA. Her artworks have been included in several exhibitions including: Ulrike Müller’s Raw/Cooked, The Brooklyn Museum; Come Together: Surviving Sandy, Brooklyn, NY; The Tool Book Project, curated by Sarah G. Sharp; Collapse, Mississippi State University; If you see nothing say something, The Invisible Dog, Brookly, NY; Julie Evanoff: in between, The Art Institute of Tucson; and Stories real and vividly imagined, Gallery Niklas Belenius, Stockholm, Sweden. She received her MFA from Mason Gross School of the Arts at Rutgers University, and her BFA from the University of Washington in Seattle.

Co-Founder/Director of Tri-Tryagain Artist/Maker Space And Residency
From 2016-2021 Julie co-directed a collective studio/shop and residency in Ridgewood, Queens. Along with being an active studio space for several artists and makers, every summer using an open call application, Tri-Tryagain offered four artists free workspace, wood and metal shop lessons, group studio visits, and community for 8 weeks.

Reflections on my process (in progress)

There is a curious territory between figuration and abstraction that lends itself to imagining a story.  A narrative instance is expressed in a single frame filled with characters, often human/animal hybrids, that are holding, confronting or biting one another. Or a solitary figure is gesturing toward its own aggression, fury and sexuality. Space is made for conflict to flourish, not to resolve, and to look directly at what is uncomfortable or difficult to face in the self or the other. 

I work in a variety of media—from print-making to animation to woodworking to sculpture—but one element is always consistent throughout: the mark of my hand. Drawing thus underpins all aspects of my practice. Ricocheting between discipline and play, I channel uncontrollable surges of emotion lodged in my body into drawings and carvings. Using soft lead to make quick gestural scrawls onto paper, or chisels and saws to carve wood, I shape the marks into figures, leaving a sense of my touch, a sense of earnestness and immediacy. Direct, firm, hard-edge lines are laid down quickly and loosely. I make work without a plan, watching and listening for how to proceed at junctures, staying open for things to transform in unexpected directions.


Hello! You can reach me by e-mail me at hello [at] julieevanoff [dot] com.

I don’t have titles and details on each image, but I am happy to provide them and/or higher resolution images.

Also feel free to contact me about acquiring works. Thanks!

I build things up. I break things down. I do it again.

I build things up. I break things down. I do it again. 

My hand is the throughline in all of my work: drawings, prints, animations, and sculpture.

I draw, driven by the need to scrawl with force and intensity. I do it again. With 6B pencils onto toothy paper. I press hard. I erase. I break things down. I build things up. I do it again.

I draw human/animal hybrid characters that look like futuristic chimera, children’s nightmares, ancient gods, women gargoyles. They hold, confront, and bite each other. 

Sometimes I add colored pencils or markers. I build things up.

I make relief carvings. And sculptures. I work with wood. I work with wood that’s had a hard life holding water at the top of buildings in the New York skyline, wood that’s been tromped on by ten thousand feet in Coney Island, wood that’s ready to retire. I chew at this wood with chisels and saws. 

I cut out shapes, mostly angular: five sided heads, strong arms, beaks, a dozen legs, a hundred ears, jaws with teeth. I break things down. I sand. I build things up. I stain. I oil. The rough and the detailed. I do it again. 

I swap the arms the legs the beaks the heads. Another beak a third beak a forth beak the right beak. Frankensteining them until I recognize the monster on the bench as the monster in my head.

Some have wheels and roll. Some have nice toes. Heads spin. Eyes light up. The chomping rhino, the minimalist hippo, the stacking turtles, the elephant with a magnetic tail, the feminist cyborg with copper tits, the robot with light-up eyes: kids play with them, I do too.

I build things up. I break things down. I do it again. 

I make screen prints. 

I build things up. I start with geometry. I start with the square. I add a circle. I do it again. I squeegee ink onto the paper through the stencil. I add my hand. I overlap. I juxtapose. I assemble shapes until there is a planetscape of an alien world. Feminst Geometry. I do it again. I hold the paper, somewhat bent and worse with ware. There’s my hand. Always my hand. I end up with almost a square. I end up with a planet where the laws of geometry are slightly different. Feminst Geometry.

I break things down. I squeegee more ink. Noise patterns, unruly beasts, raucous birds, a menagerie of id behind sprocket holes of make-believe film. 

I make animations. I draw a picture on a piece of paper. I take a picture of that picture. I erase that picture on that piece of paper. I draw another picture on that piece of paper. I take another picture of that picture. I do it again. You can see the worn marks. I do it again.

I build things up. I break things down. I do it again.