Meet Mark Brasuell | Artist specializing in Conceptual Art

We had the good fortune of connecting with Mark Brasuell and we’ve shared our conversation below.

Hi Mark, what role has risk played in your life or career?
First off thank you for reaching out to me again for an update on what I am doing. Being an abstract artist basically means getting real comfortable with risk—or at least learning how to laugh when it punches you in the gut. There’s no manual, no “right way” to throw paint around, so starting a new piece kind of feels like jumping off a cliff and hoping you land on something soft. Sometimes it’s magic. Other times it’s… well, let’s just say a very expensive mess that looks like a lunatic had a meltdown with art supplies. But that’s part of it. You show up, trust your gut, and try not to freak out when your gut suddenly changes its mind halfway through.

The risk isn’t just in the making—it’s also in the showing. Most people don’t know what to make of abstract art. I’ve heard everything from “This is amazing!” to “My kid could’ve done that,” which, by the way, is usually my cue to smile and say, “Awesome—get them to start selling it.” I’ve had pieces praised, ignored, totally misread, and once, very memorably, compared to “vomit on canvas.” It happens.

But here’s the thing—if you’re not risking something, you’re just decorating. I’d rather swing big and fall on my face than play it safe and make something forgettable. Yeah, it’s a gamble. But every now and then, there’s that moment when the chaos lines up just right and it clicks. And whether anyone else gets it or not, you know you made something that matters. Or at the very least, something that looks cool as hell—and that counts too.

Alright, so let’s move onto what keeps you busy professionally?
I’m originally from Texas and lived there until I was 19. I moved to Colorado in 1987 and eventually got my MFA from the University of Denver. My art journey started when I was about 11—my mom hired a local artist to teach me how to oil paint. I picked it up fast, and not long after, I was taking classes at a local art shop in my hometown. By 15, I was teaching that class. Go figure.

My work has gone through a lot of phases. I follow ideas, leave them behind, then bump into them again years later—like finding an old sketchbook you forgot you loved. The first work I showed in Denver was abstract sculpture, and at DU I was diving into both abstraction and figurative work at the same time. These days, I’m circling back and bringing figural elements into the mix again. It feels like past and present versions of myself are finally having a conversation.

I’ve also been a teacher and mentor for a long time, which is its own kind of art form.

The big question is: how did I become who I am? Honestly, I’m still figuring that out. The older I get, the more I want to experiment. I’m not interested in repeating myself or sticking to some formula. I’m always evolving. Sometimes the work gets better. Sometimes a show falls flat. But that’s part of it. The highs, the flops, the awards, the rejections—it’s all part of being an artist.

And if you want the real story? You probably shouldn’t ask an artist—especially not me. We go through phases. Right after I got my MFA, I was completely convinced I was the best artist in the world. Not in Colorado. Not in the U.S. In. The. World. The catch? No one knew who I was.

My first real show in Denver was at EDGE Gallery, back when it was a commercial space run by Ken Peterson. I showed these strange, slightly eerie sculptures in almost complete darkness. People had to wander around to find them—like they’d stumbled into some haunted art cave. That was 1989. It was a bold debut, sure—but the real work was doing it again. And again. And again. That’s where the ride really starts.

There are good shows and bad ones. Not everyone’s going to “get” your art, and that’s totally fine. It’s not a group project. You just keep doing the work. Andy Warhol said, “Art is work,” and I’ve taken that to heart—just without the soup cans.

If I’m not selling, I’m still painting. Because it makes me happy. What sets my work apart is that it doesn’t look like anyone else’s. It’s built from a mix of abstract expressionism, minimalism, and conceptual art—but with a twist of “Wait, what is that—and why can’t I stop looking at it?” The pieces talk to each other, and to the space around them. People tell me they feel something when they see it. I’m not always sure how that happens, but I’m glad it does.

If you’re into work that’s honest, original, and a little off the beaten path, come by the studio. Nothing makes me happier than seeing one of my paintings living its best life in someone’s home. A critic once said my work exists “outside of a normal narrative.” I’ll take it. Because once you’ve seen it, you’ll know it’s mine.

That’s the kind of weird, wonderful legacy I’m aiming for.

If you had a friend visiting you, what are some of the local spots you’d want to take them around to?
If we’re staying in the city—and the weather’s good (which it usually is)—I’d definitely hit a couple parks. Cheesman Park is one of my favorites. It’s got this kind of low-key, slightly weird energy to it—in the best way. A little offbeat, full of character, and just a beautiful place to hang out. Washington Park is more classic Denver—big trees, lakes, runners, dogs, volleyball games. It’s perfect for a walk, or just sitting with a coffee and people-watching.

Of course, you can’t skip the Denver Art Museum. It’s a great collection, always something worth seeing. And the Museum of Contemporary Art? That place is wild. You’ll find stuff that makes you stop and say, “Wait, is that art?”—which, honestly, is half the fun.

Now, food—here’s where I’m no help and too much help at the same time. I’ve got wide-ranging tastes, so I usually tell people: don’t ask me where to eat—tell me what you’re craving. Denver’s got pretty much everything. The Ethiopian food here is fantastic—some of the best I’ve ever had. Sushi Den is legendary for a reason. I’ve had sushi all over, and that place still stands out.

Nightlife’s solid too. Good music scene, big acts roll through, plus some really solid local talent. If you’re into bars with atmosphere, The Cruise Room inside the Oxford Hotel is a gem. Total art deco vibes, great cocktails, and it feels like you stepped back in time—in a good way. (And no, not the Ogden. Don’t confuse the two.)

And hey, if you’ve got the time, get out of the city. The mountains are right there. Boulder’s a good place to start, but if you want something really striking, drive south to Garden of the Gods. It looks like another planet in the best way.

Denver’s kind of got it all: good food, great art, nature, weirdness, charm—you name it.

The Shoutout series is all about recognizing that our success and where we are in life is at least somewhat thanks to the efforts, support, mentorship, love and encouragement of others. So is there someone that you want to dedicate your shoutout to?
Success? Honestly, most of mine comes from falling flat on my face, getting back up, and doing it again—hopefully with a shred of dignity, though that’s not guaranteed. I don’t know if that bounce-back ability comes from some wise teacher, a life-changing book, or just stubborn DNA passed down from a very persistent ancestor. Definitely not a book.

I’ve been lucky with support, especially from my husband, Aidan. He’s steady, loyal, and just disinterested enough in going to every art show that I have. Truly, it’s a gift. Still, he’s got a big role behind the scenes—helping me shape the work, giving feedback, and reminds me to eat something other than sweets when I’m in the zone. I call him my MVP: curator, critic, and snack guy all in one.

Recently, my little brother’s become this unexpected well of wisdom. He’ll start with, “What is reality, though?” and somehow we end up on some weirdly profound thought that actually sticks with me. We both share a love for the author, Daniel Quinn. We talk about success a lot, which is what this question is really about—and honestly, it’s a slippery thing.

If success means money, well, let’s say I’m “creatively funded.” Fame? I’m somewhere between “local legend” and “who?” But if we’re talking about success as an artist—yeah, I’d say I’ve made it. I create work that I love. People connect with it. Sometimes they even buy it. But even when they don’t, they often tell me it moved them, or at least made them pause and think, “Huh.” That’s enough for me.

At the end of the day, you’ve got to make work for yourself first. Not to impress, not to cash in—just because it needs to exist. And no, that won’t get you a mansion or a biopic. But it does give you something better: truth. And in a world that’s part beautiful, part bonkers, being honest in your work feels like the most successful thing you can do.

My goal’s simple: make good work. Try to leave the world—or at least my little corner of it—a little better, or weirder, or more interesting than I found it.

Website: https://www.markbrasuell.com

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/brasuell/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mark.brasuell.5

Youtube: @MarkBrasuellArtist

Other: Bluesky: ‪@brasuell.bsky.social‬

Image Credits
All Photos by Mark Brasuell