Sophie Jackson started by copying My Little Pony drawings in elementary school and never really stopped, not the ponies, and not the impulse behind them. Growing up online, immersed in fandom culture and the particular intimacy of internet communities, the work that has developed carries the internet not as a depicted subject but as a constant presence, a shadow woven into everything. Currently working through a body of work titled "Thought Daughter", a post-ironic reclamation of a term built to demean, Sophie Jackson makes paintings that are personal, political, and deliberately loud: about sexuality, labor, trauma, and the ways women are policed for their choices online and off.

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How has your upbringing or cultural heritage shaped the themes and techniques you explore in your art today?

I never really fit in growing up. Because of this, I spent most of my time either on my devices or drawing. As a kid, I was super into fandom culture, and have been active online as long as I can remember. My Little Pony and Warrior Cats was my life. The way I got into art in the first place was from copying my best friend's sister's My Little Pony drawings in elementary school. Even now, I'm still painting ponies, so I guess that itch never really left. I think the act of being online has influenced a lot of my practice now, the internet is less of a depicted figure and more of a constant in my work. Even if it isn't actively shown, its presence will always be there. It's a part of me now in a way, a shadow. 

How does your art engage with or comment on pressing contemporary issues, social, political, or environmental?

Much of my art is a commentary on my experiences as a woman, and the greater political diaspora that comes with that. In my current body of work, I have commented on pro-life movements, the relationship sex work holds as an act of physical labor, the role of female versus male “providers” in the home, as well as sexual and intellectual reclamation in the online space.

My recent body of work, “Thought Daughter”, in particular, is a series of self-portraits told through the post-ironic reclamation of the term ‘Thot Daughter’, formerly popularized in male spaces. This series is a larger discussion of my experiences with sexuality in the online space and as a young adult, as well as reflections on my personal trauma and childhood. Experiencing being sexualized at a young age online, I now take an interest in the dynamics behind slut-shaming, and how women are inherently judged and valued online for their ‘sexual worth’. In my current work, I aim to ultimately make sex a point of neutrality, neither inherently positive or negative, but somewhere in between.

Women have been policed long enough for their bodies and personal choices, my work aims to disrupt that, often leaning on the side of vulgarity to form a balance. I am definitely interested in getting bolder with my messaging in the future, as well, including how political parties place regulations on women and minorities’ bodies, and the ecological threat mass AI use holds.

Do you think art should have a political or ideological agenda?

Art is inherently political. Existing is inherently political. If you choose to ignore that, you're not only doing your work a disservice, but your own personal voice as well. And I think if you have the privilege to not "think" about politics, that's even more reason you should be making work about it. Because everyone is impacted by who we vote for and the choices of those leaders, whether you see it now or later. If someone gets to decide whether someone exists on paper or not, or whether someone gets the right to life altering care, why would you not have a stance on that

If you have the privilege to be heard, speak for those who don't get that luxury. I think it’s a waste to create art that doesn’t have deeper ideological philosophies. Sure, you can make pretty pictures, but what impact will that have on the greater culture? Why would you waste your voice on having nothing to say? I think as artists we had a duty to do that, have opinions. Life is derived from the meanings we place on it, making those meanings is an artist’s whole job. 

Can art be truly therapeutic? Have you experienced its healing power personally, or seen it impact others?

Absolutely. A lot of my work is about healing my own traumas. However, I recognize making work about my personal experiences is deeply personal to me,  that's why I use pop culture to bridge the gap. I don't like people to feel left out. (Though maybe just a little bit!). One of the more personal works I've done was recycle a painting I had made for someone previously into a new piece. This specific person brought me a lot of pain in the past, so sanding the previous painting down to make way for the new was therapeutic in and of itself.

The painting, "Dead or Alive", is made up of four panels, all of which are painted white, you therefore are unable to tell which panel holds the former painting. I see it as a metaphor that you never really know what’s going on beneath the surface, behind closed doors. The piece holds many symbols personal to me, including my own car that got totalled during that time. The phrase, “I am not your provider”, is a direct pushback against the conservative values I had placed on me, it reaffirms my identity not only in the domestic home, but in my daily life as a woman. It was scary to create such a vulnerable piece, especially posting it online, but through the making of it all those fears absolved. The catharsis I got from it was addictive. Now, healing is a central part of my practice, and an area I come back to again and again in my work. 

What are your long-term aspirations as an artist, both personally and professionally?

My dream is exactly what I'm doing in school now: making work. I have always known I’ve wanted to be an artist, but the clarity on what that meant to me only really made itself clear in the last couple years. I love connecting with people and meeting other artists, so I hope to travel and do just that in the future. I love new experiences. As much time off my phone is a win, to me, I hope to be phoneless one day, somehow. I also really want to paint some album covers, music is my other passion, and informs much of my work. (Though I don't have the chops to make it, unfortunately).

In terms of career, I have always been an ambitious person. I fear mediocrity, and have big dreams of what I hope to achieve. I am a strong proponent of women and minorities in the contemporary space and plan to not only take up space, but create opportunities for more space to be provided down the line. Art has and will always be my primary passion and purpose in life, and I intend to do whatever it takes to make it my primary income. I’ve also always been impassioned with the business side of things, I understand marketing is an essential component to success, and am always looking for ways to expand on this. I hate capitalism but unfortunately in this career, you have to work with what you've been given to an extent. It’s kind of a fun game to make posts and figure out the most engaging way to bring people in. 

How do you feel social media is shaping the way art is created, consumed, and valued today?

Social media has formed the landscape of the art movement we live in today. I think we’re past the point of picking and choosing when the internet shows up in art: almost 99% of us are online, so art will inherently reflect that at least somewhat subconsciously now. It’s inescapable. For my personal work, I view the internet as a medium to push and pull with; but no matter what, it is a constant in my work. I think my interest now lies in how I can push the internet beyond its iconography, produce the feeling of being online, in the physical realm. It’s difficult to function as an artist online. Algorithms are not built around meticulous paintings. Corporations push for users to post daily. It is an inherently unnatural thing to try to build an audience through artwork.

On the same note, I am grateful I live in an era where it has never been easier to get discovered. You don’t just have to live in New York or LA anymore to get eyes on your work. I currently live on a (somewhat) small island in Canada. Of course, there are many times I get bitter when it’s time to post another reel, but I also recognize the inherent privilege in that. I also think many people online are jaded, AI has fractured people’s perceptions of anything they see. In this way, I think more incentive will be put on seeing art physically in the future. Largely, I think social media is a positive thing for the art world, though it is inherently changing it as well.

How do you measure the impact of your work, by its reception, its personal meaning, or something else?

In my eyes, If I piss someone off, I’m doing something right. Which is actually very hard for me, as I’m a huge (former) people pleaser. However, I recognize the topics I discuss in my work and in general are inherently seen as "controversial” by a homogenous, traditional society, so if I have people talking, that’s a win. I think my worst fear is people having nothing to say, I want conversations to be had. If anything, my goal as my body of work grows is to open people’s eyes to new perspectives and modes of thinking, whether that comes out through arguments or not. 

How do you envision the evolution of your work in the coming years?

I think things are only going to get bolder from here. I have a fire within me, to speak my mind, to share my experiences, and to bring people together (or apart). Regardless, I want my art to be inherently loud. And feminine. And me. I also want to expand with materials beyond just the traditional modes of painting. While painting will always be my baseline, I’m interested in the idea of questioning what a canvas really is. I think materiality can do a lot of the storytelling legwork in a piece. If my choice of materials or canvas can help further the narratives I’m trying to push, I’m interested in that.

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Sophie Jackson is an artist who understands that having nothing to say is the real failure. The work is ambitious, the politics are clear, and the willingness to be vulnerable in public, to post something raw and watch the fears dissolve in the making of, it has become a central part of the practice itself. The catharsis, as described here, is addictive, and it shows. What comes next will be bolder, louder, more material in its storytelling, more expansive in its reach. The itch that started with a borrowed drawing in elementary school has grown into something with genuine teeth, and it is nowhere near finished finding its voice.