Nancy Prager is a strategic advisor at the UN and works with the US Government on international human rights issues. Specifically, Prager specializes in anti-trafficking work, serving on many humanitarian boards both in the US and internationally. She is also an artist who is having a solo exhibition at Kate Oh Gallery. Her expressionist works feature anatomical suggestions and an outcast array of figurative elements: a suggestion of a hand, a limb, or an outline of a head can faintly be made out in her works. Prager’s background and work in this specific sector of human rights is, in fact, continuous and homomorphic, insofar as the trauma wrapping human trafficking is made explicit in Prager’s work—which the artist notes is, indeed, related to her work on human trafficking.

This topic would be difficult for any artist to approach, particularly one who does not have the professional and empirical insights that Prager, given her background, wields. It would in fact, be arguably an inappropriate topic for many artists, whose knowledge about human trafficking may be circumscribed only to true crime documentaries and sparse articles about the better-known traffickers (e.g., Ghislaine Maxwell, Jeffrey Epstein, Jean-Luc Brunel). Perhaps the sole two exceptions would be: 1) someone who has experienced trafficking/sexual/violent abuse, such as artist Maria Farmer; or 2) someone with direct insights, who has prudently studied the literature and involves themselves in this field, such as Prager.

For those of us non-specialists, when we read about human trafficking in the newspapers or hear stories of it on podcasts, this is indeed illuminating. Such media consumption often begins to unveil the structural elements bolstering this horrific endeavor— which all of us know is operational but few of us see or deal with directly—yet few of us know the names, faces, or make-up of the victims and the myriad trafficking operations across the world; Prager wields this background, sporting remarkable accolades such as the “la Grande Prix Humanitaire de France” medal, awarded by the French Government. Thus, it is only appropriate that she takes up this endeavor. The artist also received a BA from Cooper Union, and has been exhibiting her paintings since the 1970s in galleries and museums around the globe. Thus, she has a background in both the arts and in humanitarian policy, making her adept at approaching a subject that would be inappropriate—insofar as the result would be the product of intuitions rather than erudition—for most of us to confront.

There is, then, the question of Prager’s aesthetic style. The artist has a penchant for abstraction. Is this an ethically-informed choice? Indeed, to depict scenes of trafficking abuse, or even those of victims in stages of their recovery, with figurative vim would be disconcerting to many—albeit whether this ought to concern the artist or not is a distinct issue; indeed, I am not convinced that disconcerting art of this genre ought to be censored, provided there is an adequate argument as to the instrumental value of the displeasure of viewing such works. (Notably, such figurative realism on this subject would also be further disconcerting to those who may be victims of sexual abuse.) Separately, the world of veridical representation forgoes the emotional, phenomenological truth that primes this issue. Indeed, this is why artists ranging from Toulouse-Lautrec to Beauford Delaney have diverged from naturalist scenes and figurative studies. Prager’s penchant for abstraction is dually-armed.

The paintings, themselves, are enthralling. The background fields are distinct from a Hans Hoffman or any abstract artist working with geometrical patterns. Instead, there are willowing, soft wisps and tuffets of creamy-white and golden yellow that populate and pour. This pooling myriad of fragmented parts includes patched slivers of prismatic kind: verdant and frost-bitten blue, streaks of blood orange. Expressionistically executed, these paintings proffer hoary golden-white streak-bitten drips that flood over the canvas. In one notable piece, a pink calf muscle strikes out. Following it, we rise to the backside of a thigh and buttocks—the outline of feet flow in and disappear with the streak-struck background. In another, an anonymous, ageless, sexless skull outline and an upturned foot can be made out. Given the artist’s background and her noting that her art practice is, in fact, informed by this background, Prager’s figurative elements can readily be read as those of anonymous bodies that compose the cast of victims of trafficking.

That these are beautiful paintings belies her representational content, for what these paintings pick out and express in the world is a genuine horror. The descriptive content of it is difficult to even write about, let alone paint. Prager is likely less prone to such bewilderments, given the tenacity and firmness her position requires. Granted, we have no reason to think that these are scenes of occurrent trafficking—they may be abstractions of scenes from therapy sessions or just survivors navigating the annals of the world. Nevertheless, they are framed by the circuitous latticework of human trafficking, anchoring these works in a harrowing reality. This reality is one that ought to be expressed in art, but only by those who can do it, and the subject, justice. Prager is that artist.

(Text by Ekin Erkan)