L. Scooter Morris’s paintings don’t just hang—they press forward. They reach into your space, ask things of you. Built with rough textures, shifting surfaces, and sculpted layers, her works are less about visuals and more about experience. Morris calls herself a sensory illusionist, and it’s easy to see why. Her pieces invite movement, contemplation, and touch. They’re not passive objects; they’re invitations.
What motivates her isn’t polish or perfection. It’s the need to tell the truth—especially the hard, uncomfortable kind. Morris’s work opens space to sit with contradiction, with what we’ve buried, ignored, or rewritten. Her goal isn’t to simplify. It’s to reflect. Her “Sculpted Paintings” aren’t meant to soothe. They’re meant to hold space for doubt, history, and what comes next.
We Are The People (2025)
Acrylic and Mixed Media, 60” x 48”
This painting lays it out plainly. Using pieces of the U.S. founding documents as actual material, Morris layers them into the surface. The result isn’t clean or reverent. It’s frayed, painted over, weathered. The Constitution and the Declaration don’t sit untouched—they’re part of the work’s structure, tangled into the medium like a memory that won’t sit still.
She doesn’t treat the documents as relics. Instead, they’re treated like working material—ideas meant to be tested, revisited, and re-examined. Some of the words remain visible, others are partially lost under thick strokes. That unevenness feels deliberate. Morris seems to be asking: What are we really holding onto?
There’s no nostalgia here. The phrase “We the People” becomes a question more than a declaration. Who counts? Who’s been left out? Who’s still waiting to be heard? The painting doesn’t answer. It holds the discomfort of not knowing.