The women Mikki Itzigsohn paints are unflappable and out of time. In cowgirl hats and cat-eye sunglasses, her acrylic-rendered subjects play electric guitar in the desert and rendezvous at cafes with tigers, quietly content in their mythical worlds. A bassist herself with roots in punk, blues, and garage, the medium-hopping folk artist uses both warm pastels and moody blues in her quest to nod to every corner of Western tradition, from the cult of Connie Converse to the mystical presence of nuns in her native Los Angeles. Most of her figures, content in this colorful universe, don a smirk. Without words, you understand why.
