There’s a particular kind of magic in Denise Steward Sanabria’s work—one that doesn’t begin on the canvas, but on a table. Or rather, on many tables, surfaces, and carefully constructed stages where objects gather, interact, and quietly (or not so quietly) perform.
Sanabria’s paintings feel abundant, playful, and just a little mischievous. At first glance, they’re lush still lifes—overflowing with pastries, fruits, patterned wallpaper, and ceramic figures. But spend a little more time with them and something shifts. These aren’t just arrangements; they’re scenes. They have personalities. They have jokes. They have tension. They tell stories.
And crucially, those stories don’t emerge spontaneously in paint—they’re built, piece by piece, in real life.
Building a World Before Painting It
Sanabria’s process begins physically. She constructs her compositions in the studio using real objects: handmade ceramics, found figurines, carefully chosen foods, and richly patterned backdrops. Each element is selected not only for its visual appeal, but for its narrative potential.
A ceramic rabbit isn’t just a decorative object—it might become a character. Place it mid-stride with a stack of whoopie pies, and suddenly it’s doing something. It’s on a mission. It’s part of a joke you’ve walked into halfway through.
The same goes for her environments. Wallpaper patterns aren’t passive backgrounds; they act almost like stage sets, reinforcing mood and rhythm. A floral pattern might soften the scene, while a more graphic or surreal backdrop can push things into dreamlike territory. Everything contributes.
What’s striking is how intentional—and yet how open-ended—these setups feel. They’re precise, but never rigid. There’s room for surprise.
Still Life as Theater
Looking at Sanabria’s process images (which you’ll see throughout this post), you start to understand just how much choreography is involved. Objects are nudged, rotated, swapped, stacked. Food is arranged, partially eaten, repositioned. Nothing is accidental, but everything feels alive.
There’s a theatrical quality to it. Her setups function almost like miniature stages where objects take on roles:
- A cluster of pastries becomes a kind of indulgent landscape
- Vegetables transform into something surreal—a disco celery forest, shimmering with personality
- Religious or historical references appear through small statues, quietly anchoring the scene in something more symbolic
In The Dogma of Renaissance Women, for example, the inclusion of Venus and Mary introduces a layer of art historical and cultural weight—but it’s immediately complicated (and softened) by the presence of half-eaten pastries. Reverence and irreverence sit side by side. It’s thoughtful, but never heavy-handed.
Humor, Appetite, and Slight Absurdity
One of the most compelling aspects of Sanabria’s work is her tone. There’s humor everywhere, but it’s never loud or forced. It’s observational, slightly absurd, and deeply human.
A rabbit carrying whoopie pies is funny—but it’s also strangely believable within her world. A forest made of celery might sound ridiculous, yet when staged with care, it becomes immersive, even elegant.
Food plays a huge role here. It’s sensual, colorful, and inherently tied to pleasure and consumption. But it’s rarely too pristine. Things are bitten, crumbled, rearranged. That sense of “after” or “during” adds to the narrative—like you’ve arrived in the middle of something.
From Setup to Painting
Once the scene is built, documented, and fully realized in real space, Sanabria translates it into paint. But the physical setup isn’t just a reference—it’s the foundation of the painting’s energy.
Because the objects existed together, interacted under real light, and occupied real space, the final work carries a kind of authenticity that purely invented compositions often lack. The density, the layering, the relationships between objects—they all come from something lived-in.
And yet, the paintings don’t feel like documentation. They feel heightened. Edited. Amplified. The storytelling becomes clearer, the humor sharper, the composition more deliberate.
Why the Process Matters
Seeing Sanabria’s process images changes how you experience the finished work. You begin to notice the decisions—the way a pastry tilts toward a figure, the way a pattern echoes the curve of a plate, the way objects cluster like conversation.
It also reveals just how much care goes into creating something that feels effortless.
Her work reminds us that still life doesn’t have to be still. It can be narrative, strange, funny, and even a little chaotic. It can hold contradiction—beauty and mess, reverence and play, order and excess—all at once.
And maybe that’s the real magic: these are worlds you could almost step into. Slightly off, richly detailed, and full of characters—waiting for you to notice what they’re up to.
