
![]() Wrapped in silence | ![]() Edge of extinction | ![]() Ripples by humanity |
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![]() Dreamcatcher's warning | ![]() A beacon of hope | ![]() Pressure cooker |
![]() #132.2024 | ![]() #130.2024 | ![]() #136.2024 |
![]() Dreaming [of a better world] | ![]() Pages of the dark: a whispered promise | ![]() Crossed signals |
![]() Fragile balance | ![]() FIN | ![]() Ghosts of heaven |
![]() Silent current | ![]() Layers |
Not just art
I create black-and-white abstract drawings and paintings as a direct, unfiltered way to express myself. Black-and-white has been a constant in my life since childhood, shaping how I see the world—or maybe it’s just what I’ve always been drawn to.
My work focuses on the hidden environmental and human crises that are too easily overlooked in modern life. These issues, masked by convenience, continue unchecked, mostly unchallenged. Through my art, I pull them into focus. I want to evoke the same discomfort I feel when confronting these realities. My pieces aren’t just representations. They are mirrors. If they make you feel uneasy, good. That’s the point.
Every line, circle, and spiral carries weight. They hold my frustrations, emotions, and observations about things beyond my control, things I can’t change alone. Sometimes, I add an element of red. It’s my favourite colour and a personal source of comfort, providing a brief distraction from the heaviness of my themes. For others, though, it has the opposite effect, making the discomfort louder.
There’s no single message. More than anything, my work, including my unexpected detours give my emotions, thoughts and experiences a physical space outside myself. It’s a release, a search, a protest, a way to throw my frustrations, sadness, and disappointment back at the world. As well as a way to explore ideas. Sometimes, putting it all out there feels risky, but that risk excites me because it feels like freedom.
I want my work to move through the world unguarded, without boundaries or explanations. Free to find its way and connect with those who need to see it. Like me, it doesn’t seek permission to exist. It just does.
Art should make people uncomfortable and push for change. The world is burning, and some of us are still sitting back. My art challenges that apathy.
The story so far
Rose Marimon, also known as Rosy Myart, is an Australian artist based in Canberra. Her work uses abstract forms, but it’s not about abstraction. It’s about what sits underneath: statements about the state of the world, what we ignore, and how we got here.
She stepped away from art in the early 2000s because life demanded it. Ten years later, she returned with a different perspective. Then came the COVID--19 pandemic. The pandemic along with growing environmental collapse, shifted her focus. Marimon's work turned toward the systems we live in what they’re doing to us and what we are doing to each other.
A background in graphic design and the influence of 1980s, particularly the music (listen to Rosy Myart’s 1980s playlist), continue to shape her creative process and visual language. The 1980s reflect the context of her youth, providing the foundation for her exploration of challenging themes.
Marimon's path hasn’t followed a straight line. Unexpected detours, personal and creative, have shaped how she works and what she pays attention to. That sense of interruption and re-entry is built into the work.
The Rosy Myart Project is where all of this comes together. It’s not a polished brand. It’s an ongoing body of work built around meaning. Direct, sometimes uncomfortable, and uninterested in being easily explained.
I’m not interested in the spotlight. I prefer working quietly behind the scenes, letting my art—and my platform, The Rosy Myart Project—speak for itself. I create because it matters to me.
