Mojgan McClusky’s journey is one of resilience, transformation, and the power of art to bridge the gaps words cannot fill. Born in Iran, she came to the U.S. in her late teens with little more than a deep desire to create. Art became her language when she had none. It was a way to express what she couldn’t say, shaped by a childhood where confidence was scarce, and creativity became a refuge.
Her work isn’t just about form and color—it’s about memory, emotion, and the spaces in between. For McClusky, true art comes from the subconscious, bypassing the limitations of spoken language to connect directly with the viewer. Her paintings don’t just tell stories; they evoke feelings, moments, and unspoken truths. Each piece is an act of quiet defiance, a reminder that freedom—whether in art or in life—is something to be fought for.
One of her works is a large acrylic painting, measuring 60 x 72 inches. It is stark in its black-and-white palette, with only a single burst of green. A young woman, faceless yet full of presence, sits at the end of a hopscotch path. She holds something green, something alive—an element of change, of possibility. Her hair flows, detailed with meticulous care, symbolizing a silent resistance against constraints that have long been imposed.
The choice of black and white isn’t just an aesthetic one. It reflects contrast—between past and future, confinement and escape, innocence and the weight of adulthood. The hopscotch path itself carries significance. A game of childhood, of simple rules and easy joy, now ends in uncertainty. The facelessness of the figure allows anyone to step into her place. She could be anyone who has stood on the edge of change, uncertain of what comes next.
And then, there’s the green. That single, intentional color breaks the monochrome world. It is life, growth, defiance. Held close, cradled, protected. It speaks to a future that is not yet certain but is undeniably there. McClusky doesn’t spell out its meaning, leaving space for the viewer to interpret—to find their own story within the scene.
Her approach to painting is deeply personal yet universal. She doesn’t aim for technical perfection or rigid realism. Instead, her work leans into emotion, allowing rawness and imperfection to carry weight. Every brushstroke feels deliberate, not in the pursuit of polish, but in the pursuit of honesty.
McClusky’s art exists in the liminal spaces—between past and present, between silence and expression, between repression and liberation. She paints not just to be seen, but to be felt. There’s no need for grand explanations; the work speaks for itself.
For those who have ever felt trapped between two worlds, or struggled to find their own voice, her paintings resonate deeply. They remind us that art is more than an image—it’s a testament to survival, a statement of presence, and, above all, an act of freedom.
