Aftermath, Acrylic on Canvas, 30 x 40 in

A Color That Lingers

There’s a reason the color red stays with us. It lingers in memory, whether we want it to or not. Anger, longing, movement, confrontation it doesn’t always shout, but it always speaks. In this collection by Breanna Gillan, red is the undercurrent. It pulses beneath each painting, shaping not only the palette but the emotional pacing of the entire room.

These works aren’t just surreal scenes or playful puzzles. They are living records. Pages from a journal that hides nothing but explains even less. Some images are deeply personal. Others are left just far enough away that you begin to see yourself in them.

That Bird Was Never Just a Bird

Starting with Don’t Feed the Birds. On the surface, it’s whimsical goat tails, chess pieces, diner lights. But nothing here is accidental. The bird, perched under a light that’s been turned off, represents a past relationship. The kind that still brings color but no longer sits center stage. The sea goat in the middle, holding a coffee cup, is Bre. It’s a symbol of who she was at the time—freshly moved, newly graduated, trying to find her footing in a new state and a new life. A single chess piece hovers like a reminder. Too many choices. Not enough direction. Everything uncertain. And still, somehow, you smile. A squid-shaped lightbulb. A barista frog. A joke told only in paint. This is how Bre tells the truth with levity, with color, with strange companions.

Don’t Feed the Birds, acrylic on canvas, 48 x 36 in

When the Water Feels Red

In 444, there is stillness. The koi swim below. The tiger rests above. But the red water tells you everything. It’s not just beauty. It’s what happens when you sit in pain for too long. When resentment becomes routine. When stillness becomes a trap. But look closer. There are signs of life pushing through. Ripples. Movement. The quiet encouragement to leave the boat, take the leap, and let someone help pull you out of it. There’s joy in absurdity. There’s purpose in letting go.

444, acrylic on canvas, 90 x 24 in

The Silence After

Aftermath changes the tone. A red-hooded figure walks a checkered path beneath an angel, suspended and distant. This is what comes after. When the event is over, and you’re left with the echo. Bre speaks here to silence—the kind that settles in once survival is behind you. For those raised with religion, the echoes come with symbols. The chessboard isn’t just metaphor. It’s childhood. It's control. It’s the weight of how we were taught to interpret the world. Not everyone sees this, but those who do, feel it deep.

Aftermath, acrylic on canvas, 30 x 40 in

Some Stories Don’t Need Telling

And then there are the paintings that don't offer a script. Hierarchy. The Haunted Manor. No artist statements here. No directions. You don’t need them. Bre trusts the viewer enough to let you find your own way through. In Hierarchy, a tiger sits above a koi, held aloft by a pair of hands. There’s tension in the order. Who holds more power? Who carries the weight? In The Haunted Manor, it’s light that leads the eye. Ghosts and chandeliers drift room to room in a scene that feels more dreamed than drawn. Here, the story unfolds on its own time.

Left: The Haunted Manor, Acrylic on Canvas, 40 x 30 in
Right: Hierarchy, Acrylic on Canvas, 24 x 30 in

Cards Worth Holding

Together, these works hold more than just acrylic and canvas. They hold chapters. You don’t need to know Bre’s life to feel what’s underneath. Each painting asks something different. Sit with the anger. Reflect on the silence. Let yourself laugh. Let yourself shift.

Each piece invites the viewer to ask: What cards are you holding? Are they tied to ego or to passion? Can you let yourself change direction, even when you thought you had it figured out? 

Gillan’s collection does not offer a map. It offers a possibility. It asks you to sit with memory, find humor in contradiction, and stay open to movement.

You don’t have to be one thing forever.

And that’s what makes this collection worth living with.