Deep Carve

The women of Julie Goldstein’s art are more elongated than she is, but they share an unmistakable sisterly physiology—broad shoulders, narrow waist, muscular thighs, their most telling curves rendered in the short sweep of a tomboy bob or the graceful bend of a wrist. And though they move through the world on surfboards and boats and dirt bikes, the immediate impression is less athletic than whimsical: the flapper. It’s that short hair, yes, but also the knowing smile of a woman in full. One envisions a swishy beaded dress stashed in the closet and Charleston dance moves at the ready. And men? They love men and will abide their foibles, but they certainly don’t need ’em.

Goldstein’s women are strong and independent—and real. They have stories, true ones, even if they aren’t revealed openly in her art, where messages are transmitted via jigsaw cuts and knife gouges made in woodcut panels then printed onto bright sheets of paper. In the riotous