Thresholds of Memory, Doors of Perception: Reflections from My BFA Exhibition
- Mackenzie Biadasz
- May 28
- 3 min read
After four years of learning, experimenting, and growing as artists at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point, my peers and I brought everything together in one culminating moment: our Senior BFA Exhibition, Seven Voices. We spent nearly a year preparing for it. Countless critiques, conversations, and long studio nights all led to this weekend. The Carlsten Gallery at the Noel Fine Arts Center was our venue, but due to scheduling issues, we only had one full day to install the majority of the exhibition and another day to address final adjustments.
We met up early, full of energy and armed with snacks. Thankfully, we had support from our professors, the gallery director, and the gallery manager who helped guide us through the process.
One deeply meaningful moment happened before the exhibition even opened. My best friend, someone who has stood by me through some of the hardest times in my life, wasn’t able to attend in person. But they still found a way to be present. They surprised me with a custom set of press-on nails, hand-painted to match the color palette and emotional tone of my portion of the exhibition. It was such a tender gesture, and wearing them felt like carrying a piece of them with me, like silent encouragement wrapped around my fingertips.
For me, this exhibition was emotionally complex. I had fully transitioned into 3D and sculptural work, and I was afraid people would come expecting that and instead be surprised to see paintings again. It was an uneasy feeling.
I wanted to create more sculptures, but new safety restrictions in the studio made it nearly impossible. At times, I could barely use a hot glue gun. It felt like I had lost control over what kind of work I was allowed to make. So I made a decision. I picked up the paintbrush again, not out of resignation but with intention. I chose to reclaim my autonomy, confidence, and creative direction. I decided that if I was going to paint, I would do it on my terms and make something deeply personal.
My portion of the exhibition featured six hollow-core door panels, which were light and fairly easy to hang. I arranged them in a U-shaped space in the gallery to create an immersive environment that pulled viewers into my perspective.
Each panel reflected moments from my life. Four were landscapes of memories—experiences that had shaped how I see the world and continued to resurface in my mind. The other two panels focused on questions. One was filled with positive questions, the other with difficult ones. All of them came from my own thoughts while working on the pieces.
Sharing this work felt like tearing off a bandage. It was deeply vulnerable and exposed parts of me I had never shown before. I will admit it was scary to share paintings again after focusing so much on sculpture.
When the exhibition opened, something beautiful happened. People came up to me—friends, family, strangers—and told me how they connected with my work. Many had experienced similar thoughts or feelings. The empathy and connection I had been searching for finally arrived. I have always known I was meant to be an artist, but in those moments, I felt it not just in my heart, but in my bones.
Reflecting on this experience, I am incredibly grateful for each of my groupmates. We supported one another through every challenge, helped each other bring our visions to life, and created an exhibition that felt whole and honest. It was so rewarding to see all of our hard work come together in one space.
Seven Voices was more than a title. It was a shared effort, a collection of truths, and a reminder of how powerful art can be when we choose to be honest.
Comments