By Maria Owen
Contributing Interviewer

Some gestures are automatic, while others take time and focus to train. MC Sparks’ paintings yield a continuous development of imagery and narrative, echoing the artist's own evolution. Yet as Sparks’ subjects and ideas constantly shift, their devotion to self-actualization roots each exploration.

On view at Institute 193 in Lexington, Kentucky through Nov. 2, “Muscle Memory” is Sparks’ response to the fluctuations and wonders of their ongoing gender transition — and of everyday life. Vibrant and infused with a rich language of camouflage, gravestones, fruit and music notes, the large-scale oil paintings illuminate self-creating avatars and shrines to expansion. Works like Core (2024) and Memory Maker (2024) visualize an inherent identity, an inner source driving growth and evolution.

“Muscle Memory” is Sparks’ first solo exhibition, and while the show possesses a strong sense of resolution when it comes to growth and reinvention, it leaves viewers pensive, asking themselves: “What comes after a metamorphosis?”.  A few days before the exhibition’s opening, Sparks welcomed me into their studio for a conversation, where we discussed storytelling as a healing tool, the seriousness and levity of transitioning and a general openness to experience.

Maria: “Muscle Memory” was made before and during your transition, putting themes of transformation and rebirth front and center. Do the paintings follow a timeline or are they happening simultaneously?

MC: I had started thinking about world-building fantasy, almost a storybook vibe. There’s definitely a shift in the most recent paintings that I see as stepping into a new chapter. The first works feel half-human — they were made in this time where I was trying to understand what the future looked like, and there was so much uncertainty. It’s a fantastical way of thinking about transitioning, and that felt easier to step into when it wasn't so literal. Camo, trees, layering, humanoid forms made up the language. Now, I’m exploring more realistic forms; I’m living it.

Maria: Can you tell me more about these stories and fantasies as mechanisms for planning the future?

MC: A lot of the work started before I had mentally arrived at wanting to medically transition, so I think it was a sort of subconscious plot — like, why am I painting a mermaid? Or why am I coming back to peach trees? But ultimately these stories are a place to gather all my thoughts and put everything into the same visual space. There’s a huge element of identity, obviously, but the work is also very much about the act of painting. I’m thinking about in-betweenness and the otherness that comes from transitioning. I’m thinking about the oddity of it all — you're doing something that feels so serious, but in other ways so unserious.  I think that’s where I want the work to land — reverent but with levity.

Maria: Do you find the serious narratives around transitioning limiting?

MC: It's hard for me to think of it as being so serious all the time. Sometimes it's not that big of a deal, other times it’s a thing to cherish. It does feel odd to start something at 28 and not necessarily know where it's going to end. You're not a kid anymore, but you’re learning your body all over again. I think the whole experience lends itself to be sort of funny, but also awkward. You have no choice but to be really vulnerable — you change in front of yourself, your peers. It demands a lot of presence to go through that in front of other people. It’s amazing, but definitely a lot.

Maria: Many people never step into even a fraction of that openness — it’s never asked of them or they don't make themselves. What do you feel are the rewards of that leap?

MC: You see a lot of possibilities. You learn how to evolve. It feels so unique. If you can channel that energy, you can do almost anything. If you feel so deeply that something should change, you can realize it. I also feel less limited by what I think is going to happen. The rules we’re living by aren’t fixed. That comes back into the painting too. It’s a space where I can create whatever I want, put all this imagery into one painting and build that world, and I can make that happen. There are no limits.

Maria: Who do you hope sees “Muscle Memory”?

MC: Who do I hope sees it? I mean, obviously the people who I love and care about. But showing this work in Kentucky feels really important. I think about myself as a younger artist, and I think about younger queer kids, and people who aren’t as familiar with these experiences. This work feels so hopeful to me, and so much about the future. I think about myself as a kid, and what it might have been like to have access to this kind of work. I think it would probably change things.

Maria: In some ways, it’s more impactful in a place like Lexington. There’s a budding mainstream dialogue around queerness there that for so long was mostly limited to subculture. As someone from Georgia, do you hope to further engage with the Southern region?

MC: It feels necessary. Even though we're in this time, there’s still a lot of space that needs to be created outside of major cities. So much of my childhood was running away from these Southern ideals — I conflated everything with being this one type of person. I spent so long trying to escape it, but have really come to see it differently. Queer people in the country make sense — to be connected to nature, live in wide open spaces. There are new narratives to be written in reclaiming that space.

Maria: Masculinity is a big theme in these paintings. How have you unpacked that idea here?

MC: I’ve been thinking about what masculinity means for myself. I’m trying to step outside the societal ideals and just pick and choose what resonates. Masculinity is far more expansive than what we normally think about. I’ve been asking myself what I want to feel, and how I want to present. The paintings are a mix — there’s some things, like the tails, that are so feminine, yet the figures have muscular physiques. I’m interested in the softer, silly masculine, and really redefining what this means.

Maria: Some of those themes come up in Falling into Everything (2024). There’s a seemingly male form partially hidden in a camouflage landscape. Can you tell us more?

MC: Camo is about blending into things, merging into a landscape. That leads to questions about what's real, the natural versus unnatural. How do we do something that feels natural, but can be perceived as an unnatural thing? So there are layers. This is a real landscape, but this form is covered in a synthetic camo and this is a painting of a landscape in a painting.

Maria: There are a few recurring symbols — apples, music notes... Can you touch on those?

MC: I come from a religious background, and grew up with all kinds of iconography and histories. I’ve been reframing these symbols — the apple. for example, represents this sense of choice and stepping into something transformative. I think I've gotten over all my religious trauma at this point in my life, but those experiences are still very much there and part of me. And this idea of choosing something for yourself that will change the course of your life is something that should be so celebrated. In the same way I’m reclaiming camouflage or Southern masculinity, I want to incorporate these symbols.

Maria: A couple of the paintings show gravestones. What drew you to that imagery?

MC: During my recovery from top surgery, I was walking through a cemetery and saw someone sitting by a grave; that image struck me. To come and sit and visit and remember — that's a lot of what I've been doing internally. Moving forward into new identities while also not forgetting where I came from. There’s a finality to that I’m not sure of. I’m interested in how we can reinvent ourselves and make new space, like burning a field to yield a new crop. The grave paintings are like bookends, memorializing the past.