Sabrina Puppin’s art isn’t interested in repeating what the eye already knows. Instead, it breaks things open—replacing fixed images with sensation, movement, and color that seem to pulse off the canvas. Her work has been exhibited in cities including New York, Doha, and Miami, and across Europe and Asia, where her unique approach to abstraction has built a wide following. Her paintings don’t sit quietly on a wall. They move. They pull you in.
Rather than recreate the outside world, Puppin’s art draws from a more internal place—where thoughts shift, dreams flicker, and feelings override form. Her canvases are full of energy, not just in color but in how that color behaves. She doesn’t tell stories. She sets the stage, lights the sky, stirs the wind—and invites you to step into whatever unfolds.
Take GALE (2025), for example. It’s all about momentum. Red and orange tones sweep across the canvas, like heat rolling through air. There’s a flicker of chaos, but it’s balanced by calmer grays and cool blues that settle things just before they spin too far. The whole piece holds a tension between eruption and stillness.
The surface has a tactile quality—paint applied thick in some areas, pulled thin in others. You can trace the brushwork with your eyes, almost feel the resistance in the stroke. Puppin doesn’t smooth things over. She lets the energy of the act remain. The colors blend where they need to, resist where they don’t. It’s a physical painting—one that feels as much about the making as the final result.
Then there’s STORM 3 (2023), which comes at you with even more intensity. Bright purples, greens, reds, and yellows burst across the canvas in a restless, swirling rhythm. It’s a painting that feels like it’s still in motion—refusing to settle into any one shape. There’s a playful chaos here, like a dance with no leader.
You can imagine Puppin stepping back between strokes, reading the canvas like a moving target. Every line reacts to the last, creating a chain of spontaneous decisions. These aren’t hesitant marks—they’re bold, confident movements that demand attention. Still, the piece never tips into disorder. There’s structure inside the noise, like a beat inside a drum solo.
By contrast, WAITING (2023) takes its time. The color palette is gentler—cool blues, soft yellows, and white. The lines stretch and arc across the square format, moving diagonally and carving slow, winding paths. It’s not static, but it’s quieter. There’s anticipation in the space between marks.
Amid all that motion, Puppin adds layers of geometry—deliberate shapes like grids and small repeating forms that interrupt the flow without halting it. These details give the piece an underlying logic, like something working itself out behind the scenes. The dialogue between control and movement is subtle but steady.
Seen together, these three paintings show what drives Puppin’s process. She’s not mapping anything literal. She’s tuning into something felt. Her abstraction isn’t coded with secret meaning. It’s open-ended. It encourages viewers to bring their own emotional responses, to notice what moves them rather than what makes sense.
That openness is what gives Puppin’s work its staying power. Her paintings are less about message and more about mood—about creating space for a moment to unfold. There’s no fixed meaning, no endpoint. Just the viewer, the canvas, and whatever emerges in between.
In the end, that’s what Puppin seems most interested in: the gap between seeing and feeling. Her work doesn’t answer questions. It asks new ones. It challenges how we engage with color, form, and sensation—and reminds us that art isn’t always meant to be understood. Sometimes, it’s meant to be felt.
