On Oct. 2, I had the pleasure of viewing Jenna Gribbon’s exhibit “Entwined” at the Rose Art Museum. Walking into the exhibition, I was immediately struck by the personal nature of the paintings. Figures appeared together in domestic spaces, bodies rested against one another and familiar moments seemed to unfold across the canvases. Yet, as I spent more time looking, the paintings began to feel like more than representations of relationships. They became questions about intimacy itself — about what it means to know another person, to be vulnerable with them and, perhaps most importantly, to allow someone else to look at you.

“Jenna Gribbon: Entwined” opened at the Rose Art Museum on Aug. 19 and will remain on view through Jan. 3, 2027. The exhibition is Gribbon’s first major solo museum exhibition and brings together more than 40 paintings created between 2001 and the present, including ambitious new canvases made specifically for the exhibition. The exhibition is organized chronologically and thematically and traces the development of Gribbon’s distinctive approach to figurative painting while demonstrating how relationships have remained at the center of her. Gribbon is best known for her intimate portrayals of family, friends and especially her wife, musician Mackenzie Scott, who performs under the moniker TORRES. Through luminous color, inventive compositions and emotionally charged imagery, Gribbon transforms ordinary moments into complex reflections on love, desire, memory and perception.

For me, the most compelling part of “Entwined” was not simply the intimacy represented within the paintings —  It was the intimacy created between the paintings and the people looking at them. As I moved through the exhibition, I became increasingly aware of my own position as a viewer. I was not simply looking at Gribbon’s subjects. I was looking at people who were looking at one another, sometimes directly and sometimes from a distance. At certain points, it felt as though the figures were aware that I was there. The paintings created a strange exchange in which I was observing the subjects while simultaneously becoming conscious of myself as an observer.

The title “Entwined” immediately suggests connection. Gribbon’s figures are physically and emotionally connected, but the word also describes the relationship between artist and subject, subject and viewer and viewer and artwork. The paintings exist somewhere between the private world of the people depicted and the public world of the museum. What may have originated as an intimate moment between Gribbon and someone close to her is transformed into an experience that strangers can stand in front of and examine. This transformation highlights the ever-changing nature of intimacy and how we as people interact with ourselves and each other. 

We live in a culture where the boundaries between private and public are constantly shifting. Relationships, friendships, bodies and personal experiences are increasingly shared through social media. A moment that once might have existed only between two people can now be photographed, posted and viewed by hundreds or thousands of strangers. At the same time, there is a growing awareness of the importance of boundaries and consent, particularly when it comes to deciding what parts of ourselves we are comfortable making visible. Gribbon’s paintings exist within this tension, as they feel deeply personal without feeling entirely private. They give the viewer access to intimate moments while simultaneously reminding us that we can never have complete access to another person.

That distinction became especially noticeable to me when looking at the paintings of Gribbon’s wife. Scott appears repeatedly throughout Gribbon’s work, but she is not simply a repeated image. Each painting presents a different version of her — a different expression, pose, mood or moment. The repetition does not make the subject easier to understand. Instead, it emphasizes how impossible it is to capture another person completely.

This exhibition moves simple representations of queer domestic life or desire. Those elements are certainly present, but “Entwined” asks a larger question about how identity itself is formed. The Rose describes Gribbon’s relationships as being grounded in reciprocity, care and radical empathy. Those ideas are important because they suggest that Gribbon does not see her subjects as objects to be reproduced. Her relationships with the people she paints become part of the artistic process itself. Love, in this sense, is not simply a subject of Gribbon’s paintings. It is a way of seeing.

To love another person is to pay attention to them. It means learning their expressions, remembering their movements and noticing details that might be invisible to someone else. It also means accepting that no matter how closely we know someone, there will always be parts of them that remain outside of our understanding. Gribbon turns that process of attention into painting, extending the confines of intimacy to the general population. 

Her work suggests that intimacy is not created through total knowledge of a subject. Instead, intimacy comes from continuing to look at someone while understanding that you can never know every part of them. This idea also complicates the relationship between vulnerability and visibility. Vulnerability is often understood as weakness. To be vulnerable is to expose something about yourself, to allow another person to see a part of you that could potentially be hurt or misunderstood. But Gribbon’s paintings suggest that vulnerability can also be a form of agency when a person chooses to be seen.

This feels particularly important in “Entwined”. Gribbon’s subjects are frequently depicted in states of physical or emotional openness, but they do not necessarily appear powerless. Their bodies and expressions communicate presence and agency. They are not simply being observed. They are participating in the act of being seen. This idea becomes particularly complicated when considering the history of representing women’s bodies in art.

For centuries, women have  been depicted as objects for a viewer, often a male one. Their bodies are presented to be admired, judged and consumed. Gribbon works within this long history of figurative painting but changes the dynamic by making the act of looking part of the subject itself. Her figures can look back, and when they do, the viewer is suddenly forced to consider their own gaze. This is especially apparent in “Examinationscape” (2021), where an intimate encounter between two bodies becomes an investigation of looking at itself. One figure holds a light that illuminates the other, creating a sense of examination. Yet the viewer is also examining the scene, encouraging the audience to actively participate in the painting. That realization made me reconsider my own experience in the exhibition. How long was I willing to look? What details did I focus on? Why did certain paintings feel intimate while others felt almost intrusive? Asking these questions made the act of viewing feel less passive.

Ultimately, “Entwined” asks its viewers to do more than simply observe intimacy —  it asks us to reconsider what intimacy means in the first place. Through Gribbon’s portrayals of the people closest to her, the exhibition demonstrates that intimacy is not about completely knowing another person, but about continuing to understand them through attention, care and connection. Her paintings recognize that people are constantly changing and that our perceptions of those people change with them. For me, this was what made the experience of viewing “Entwined” so compelling: I was thinking more critically about my own role as a viewer when in contact with different art forms. Gribbon made me aware that looking is never entirely passive, and when we look at another person, we bring our own experiences, assumptions and emotions into that encounter. The same is true when we look at art. The meaning of a painting is shaped not only by the artist or the subject but also by the person standing in front of it. In this sense, “Entwined” reminds us that intimacy is not found in completely knowing another person, but in the courage to keep looking, keep questioning and allow ourselves to be seen while accepting that some parts of one another will always remain unknowable.