Today we’d like to introduce you to Tiffany Rankin
Hi Tiffany, so excited to have you on the platform. So before we get into questions about your work-life, maybe you can bring our readers up to speed on your story and how you got to where you are today?
My story begins in childhood wonder—curled against my mother’s chest as she read me fairy tales, and later, my father guiding my small hand to conjure a bear from blank paper, sparking my first belief in art as magic. For years, I chased that feeling, scribbling in my playroom until one day, lines coalesced into something alive.
But adulthood nudged magic aside. I traded pencils for office jobs, promotions, and ergonomic chairs, yet simmered with restless longing. Returning to my art became a quiet rebellion—a shy introvert revisiting that “far-corner” place of childhood to translate dawn’s whispers and paint-stirred adrenaline into tangible forms.
My work now bridges myth and reality. Raised in San Antonio and rooted in Austin, I blend acrylic and ink to craft exaggerated realism, depicting queens without kingdoms and women shaped by folklore. As a lesbian artist, I interrogate how myths cage femininity, probing solitude and resilience in figures like forgotten priestesses or gossiped-about temptresses.
Every stroke seeks to reclaim the “tingle” of magic I felt as a girl—not as escapism, but as a lens to dissect societal narratives. My art isn’t just about elves or fairies; it’s a manifesto for the power women hold when we rewrite the stories others confine us to. The journey? Still unfolding, still chasing that surge of color through my fingertips.
Would you say it’s been a smooth road, and if not what are some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced along the way?
Far from it. While creating has always been second nature, embracing it as my life’s purpose took decades of false starts and self-doubt. Art school sharpened my technical skills in Graphic Design, but I wrestled with an inner conflict: the structured world of design clashed with my hunger to create in the classical, time-intensive style that stirred my soul. I’d sketch mythological figures in margins between client projects, frustrated by the “real-world” grind that left little room for the deliberate, layered work I craved.
The turning point came in a bookstore, flipping through a worn copy of Art & Fear. One line gutted me: “Ten years will pass anyway—what will you have to show for it?” It reframed time as an ally, not a thief. That day, I stopped sidelining my art as a “hobby” and committed fully—studying anatomy, mastering acrylics, dissecting myths—even if progress felt glacial.
The struggle now? Balancing reverence for craft with the urgency to speak truths. Every piece—queens dethroned, priestesses defiant—is a battle against my own impatience, a reminder that magic demands both surrender and sweat. But that child who once conjured bears from blank pages? She’s finally calling the shots.
Can you tell our readers more about what you do and what you think sets you apart from others?
I’m a painter and storyteller who wields ink and color like spells, conjuring portraits of mythic women and landscapes humming with ancestral memory. My specialty lies in blending the African diaspora’s rich folklore with contemporary narratives—think queens draped in constellations or tempests shaped like braided hair. While I paint nature’s raw beauty, my heart thrums loudest for women who defy simplistic labels: priestesses, warriors, and gossiped-about figures reclaimed as icons.
What sets me apart? Two threads weave through everything: my obsession with ink’s alchemy (my studio overflows with bottles, from indigo to blood-crimson) and my dual life as a novelist. I approach canvases like pages—layering symbolism and history to “tell stories without words,” inviting viewers to unravel mysteries in a figure’s gaze or a storm’s swirl.
Proudest of? Rooting my art in my heritage. Recent works resurrect West African creation myths and Harlem Renaissance legacies, bridging past and present. But deeper still, I’m proud of the joy embedded in each piece.
In a world that often reduces art to trends, I’m the quiet rebel with ink-stained hands, proving that magic—and truth—can bloom in the same brushstroke.
What matters most to you?
What Matters Most? Unearthing the silenced. I’m haunted by history’s anonymous—the quilts stitched by Black hands unsigned, the hymns hummed by ancestors uncredited, the inventions buried under stolen patents. So much of humanity’s beauty was forged by women, queer folks, and people of color whose names were erased or deemed unworthy of ink. My purpose lives in those gaps.
I paint to resurrect whispers: the Yoruba priestess reduced to a footnote, the Indigenous midwife labeled “witch,” the Harlem Renaissance poet scrubbed from anthologies. Their stories aren’t lost; they pulse in my blood, demanding color and light. To me, anonymity isn’t a void—it’s a rebellion. When I layer gold leaf onto a portrait of a woman history forgot, I’m etching her into permanence, screaming, “She was here.”
Why? Because art without memory is decoration. And I refuse to let the world keep stealing magic from the margins.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://wickeddualblog.com/
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tiffanyrankin_art/?hl=en
- Youtube: https://youtube.com/@wickedlineart?si=XlXJCfPRr-UrTQXG
- Other: https://www.tiktok.com/@wickeddual?_t=ZT-8uw4fe3Dk5u&_r=1
