Naked bodies of women scrape and scramble their way up the sides of a volcano. It’s clear that some haven’t yet acquired their full form, and others have yet to even grace the canvas, but they were soon to be depicted en masse. Raya Terran, gesturing with her hand over the mouth of the mound, explains how she plans to make the then dormant volcano active. I pan over to her grinning face and apparent excitement, my eyes lightly outlining the top of her freshly shaven head. Her boyfriend had buzzed it last night, one of the first things I had learned about her upon arrival. Turning my attention back to the painting, I felt a sudden apprehension for the fate of the women. Their pink-white bodies seemed fragile against the ruggedness of the unforgiving ground they grasped. Why were they so eager to reach the mouth of their demise? Wincing in anticipation of a moment not yet pictured, of the lava cascading onto their pure, supple skin, I pleadingly looked to Raya. To my surprise, she did not share my worries for the state of her people.

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Initially, I felt there was something ominous and exposed about her work. I would shiver thinking about my bare skin in contact with the coarseness of lava rock or, depicted in her other paintings, brushed up against the sharp ends of yellow grass or submerged into frigid ocean water. When I inquire about a darker undertone, Raya casually responds, “People tell me that a lot.” Grazing the top of her smooth head, she continues. “But that’s not my intention. Sometimes I think, ‘that would be fun to paint,’ and I do it.” Maybe it’s this small sentiment that serves as a reminder that her work is a curious exploration in which expectations can be defied. And most importantly, it establishes that although they are naked, they are not vulnerable to the fears that I project.

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​There is a freedom in the tactile rawness depicted in Raya’s work. And in many ways, her art is simply whimsical fun. Women in the nude, often painted in great numbers, jump on trampolines, pack themselves onto school bus seats, mount horses, run through fields, embrace each other, and dance. The discomfort that creeps into my subconscious is rooted in the conventions that she aims to confront. And in the worlds she creates, she assigns liberation, joy, and amusement to the nudity that women experience much differently in our reality.

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As I’m preparing to go, against a gray sky, a woman in a naked arabesque sends me off. “I hope to have boobs as saggy as hers when I’m older,” Raya chuckles. Zipping up my winter coat, a sheepish“me too” slips from my mouth and I can’t help but smile as I walk away.