Asking, “How can I paint the body image without being literal,” Gwen Hardie turns a magnifying lens onto the surface of her own skin, capturing its every detail in paintings so close-up they appear abstract. In her work, her sun-illuminated skin appears translucent, washed with pastel colors. She focuses on small patches of flesh, like the space between her breasts, a nipple, or a portion of her palm. Her large-scale compositions confront viewers with the female body as a textured, flawed surface, a vast landscape stretching towards a faraway horizon. Hardie describes her presentation of the body as “a metaphysical, ambiguous landscape,” which she displays on round or ovular canvases. The shape of her canvases mirrors that of our eyes, the lens through which we see, and that of the globe itself, which encompasses her bodily vistas.