Katie Leimbach (b. 1995, Portland, Oregon) is a Brooklyn-based artist whose evocative paintings blur the boundaries between memory, nature, and the otherworldly. Rooted in the landscapes of her youth – the dry, stark desert vistas of Arizona and the lush, verdant tones of Oregon – Leimbach’s work channels a deeply personal connection to both place and the past. Her compositions are rendered in thinned acrylics, creating translucent layers that invite viewers into a world shaped by emotion and intuition. Entirely self-taught, she weaves her recurring motifs into her paintings, offering a meditative reflection on the natural world and our inner lives.
Where did you grow up, and in what ways do you feel that environment has shaped your artistic voice?
I grew up between Arizona and Oregon. I spent my early years in Arizona, where I was always outdoors, walking the dusty trails behind our house with my dog Bailey. I feel such a strong connection to the desert – there’s something about the dry heat and muted colours that I just love. The green cacti, sienna mountain ranges, and dusty pink and purple sunsets have stayed with me. In contrast, Oregon brought this lush, forested world that deeply inspires me. I grew up in a neighbourhood that felt like living inside a forest, with hiking trails just a few miles from my home. That contrast, between desert and forest, continues to shape the way I see and paint the world.
Your paintings feel like they live between waking life and a dream, where do you find the inspiration for your symbols?
I think of my paintings as abstracted landscapes or forms pulled from nature – visions rooted in the places I grew up. I’ve always been a daydreamer. I used to doodle constantly in notebooks at school, drifting off into little imagined worlds.
My work also reflects the emotional landscape of how humans interact with each other and with nature. The symbols are tied to memories, how a place or moment felt, and I use them to explore that feeling in a visual language.
You often incorporate recurring symbols throughout your paintings. Are there any that feel especially personal, or whose meaning continues to evolve for you?
A big underlying theme in my work is growth, change, or metamorphosis. Butterflies, flowers, and spirals come up a lot for me. They feel like visual metaphors for the cycles of life – transforming, blooming, shedding. These symbols continue to evolve in meaning as I do.
You’re self-taught, what has that journey been like for you? How do you think it’s shaped your approach to art?
Being self-taught has been really freeing because I never felt like I had to follow rules about doing something the “right” or “wrong” way. That freedom helped me stay intuitive. That said, in the beginning, I definitely had some insecurity. I worried that people might not take me seriously as an artist. But over time, that mindset shifted. I’ve built a personal style that I really connect with.
How do you access the mental or emotional space where your artwork begins? Do you have any rituals or habits that help you to enter that creative state?
I do have a few rituals that help me get into the right headspace. I like to bring tea or coffee into the studio, light some incense, and then start sketching. I usually work small on paper first, quick studies to get ideas flowing, before moving onto canvas. I almost always have music or a podcast playing. Lately, I’ve been listening to 9th Street Women, the audiobook about women in the modern art movement. Music-wise, I’ve been really into Air and Cocteau Twins – something about their sound pulls me into that dreamy, creative place.
Nature plays a profound, almost spiritual role in your work. Where does that connection come from, and what’s your relationship with the natural world like outside your studio?
That connection definitely comes from the places I’ve lived. In Oregon, I spent a lot of time hiking, camping, and taking trips to the coast. Nature has always felt like this deeply spiritual, grounding presence in my life. It’s where I feel most at peace and connected to myself and to the world around me. Now that I live in New York and I don’t have a car it takes much more effort to get those types of experiences but I still try to get out of the city to get inspired as much as I can.
Is there a particular mood or feeling that you aim to capture in your paintings?
I hope people can feel both joy and introspection in my work. It’s often soft, calming, and dreamlike, but there’s emotional depth, too. I want viewers to feel transported – maybe even reminded of their own memories. Hopefully, it feels like stepping into a dream that’s just familiar enough to feel like your own.
What do you think drives you to keep creating?
Painting is an escape for me – it’s fulfilling to watch a blank canvas slowly turn into something full of life and feeling. The process of seeing an idea from my mind come to life on the canvas is magical. That transformation is what keeps me going.
Where is your sanctuary?
My sanctuary is music and memories. I’m definitely someone who looks fondly on the past. I love how a song can instantly take you somewhere, back to a place or a feeling. I hope my paintings do something similar for people.
Looking ahead, what are your hopes for the future, both in your artistic journey and in life?
I just want to keep creating and share my work with more people. One of my dreams is to have a bigger, light-filled studio with massive windows—somewhere I can watch sunrises and sunsets while I work.