Canadian artist Ally McIntyre transforms personal encounters with wildfire skies into bold, larger-than-life paintings. Her new exhibition (re)Kindling will run 11th September – 4th October at Jealous Gallery in Shoreditch explores themes of resilience, displacement, and the fragile ties between animals and their changing environments. Known for her intuitive layering of acrylics, spray paint, and gestural drawing, McIntyre invites viewers into a world both fragile and defiant. To learn more about her process, her inspirations, and what she hopes audiences carry away, we caught up with Ally McIntyre for an interview.
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Your new exhibition (re)Kindling is inspired by the devastating wildfires in Canada. How did those personal experiences under smoke-filled skies shape this body of work?
The past few summers in Canada have been marked by overwhelming wildfire smoke. It’s inescapable around here. The sun turns fuchsia, the sky becomes a muted orange haze, clouds disappear, and even stepping outside comes with hazard warnings. While I haven’t personally been displaced by the fires, many neighbouring communities have been nearly wiped out. In 2022, my husband and I drove through highways with scorched trees, ash in the air and active fires burning beside us. We’d encountered wildfires years prior, but never like this. After that, I couldn’t keep it out of my work.
Animals often appear as protagonists in your paintings. What role do they play in (re)Kindling and how do they connect to themes of environmental unrest?
I turn to animals because they carry so much symbolism. For me, their emotions at times are easier to read. With humans, it’s often more layered and nuanced. In a disaster, it’s often pets, livestock, and wildlife left to fend for themselves; not from neglect, but because fires and floods move faster than people can. That sudden abandonment haunts me. While painting this series, I focussed on a fox and a horse, two creatures from opposing worlds. One wild. One domesticated. Both have lost everything in the disaster but found safety in each other.
Your process combines acrylic, spray paint, loose drawing, and moments of precision. Can you talk us through how instinct and control interact in your studio practice?
I work instinctively but I’ve also learned when to step back. It’s a frustrating and delicate balance. Sometimes the best control is knowing when to pause and give it time, that’s often when the painting resolves itself.
You’ve said your work explores how animals occupy man-made worlds. What new dynamics or tensions emerged in this series as you revisited that theme?
This series made me think of resiliency differently, what survival might look like after people leave the frame. I’ll never forget when I was parked at the side of the road in the country. I looked out my window at an empty lakeside cabin and there were these little fox kits playing on a hill. Their joy was infectious, it felt like a dance. A perfect moment. But the air was smokey, the sun red, and I couldn’t help but worry for them. It feels so unfair.
Your paintings are often larger-than-life, demanding space and presence. How do you think scale influences the viewer’s emotional response in this exhibition?
I have always painted large as a preference. The size lets me get into the work and paint freely. It’s a bonus that this scale also suits the landscapes and the elements for this exhibition. For viewers, the scale commands presence and in turn, may make it easier for them to engage with the work.
Earlier this year, works linked to (re)Kindling appeared in the Jealous Summer Show. How does it feel to now reveal the full series in London?
London is a home away from home. Having the opportunity to showcase the work here is always a dream.
You’ve exhibited internationally—from Saatchi Gallery in London to the Art Gallery of Alberta in Canada. How does showing at Jealous Gallery again feel within your artistic journey?
I have tremendous respect for Jealous. They’ve been such a formative part of my journey, without them, I wouldn’t be the artist I am today. Their support opened doors and gave my work a reach I never could have imagined. Coming back feels like returning to the place that first believed in me.
Looking ahead, what conversations do you hope (re)Kindling sparks about the relationship between nature, animals, and our human impact on the environment?
I don’t have a grand message, but maybe just be kind to your neighbourhood fox, breathe in the fresh air while we still have it, and take time to admire the clouds. If the work encourages even small acts of care or awareness, I feel like it’s done something worthwhile.