Ann Craven (b. 1967, Boston) makes self-reflexive paintings that comment on devotion, loss, and the immortalizing nature of her medium. Primarily using unabashedly high-key colors, she paints and repaints her key subjects—animals and flowers often modeled after those found in vintage books, postcards and the internet  — and the moon as observed by the artist en plein air.

Craven’s emotional conceptualism inheres in these affectively charged repetitions, each of which is accompanied by an indexical canvas Palette used for the respective work’s color mixing and archived by the artist, like her Stripes, for her future reference. Like On Kawara, her oeuvre is a catalog of time passed; like Agnes Martin, evidence of her hand is the true content of her work. With each rearticulation, Craven reasserts her brushstroke as a bulwark against the degradation of memory. Craven lives in New York City.