Following the Thread

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In a sewing workshop tucked away in a basement somewhere in La Tuque, Quebec, Alice’s greatest inspiration and mentor—her grandmother—worked surrounded by spools of thread, buttons, and fabric. Alice watched as she transformed old leather coats into mittens, denim into handbags, aprons from scraps. It was there that Alice first understood the power not only of transforming materials, but also of raw creation.

As a child, she dreamed of becoming a fashion designer. She spent evenings drawing colourful dresses on printer paper and asked for a sewing machine for Christmas at age six. To her dismay, she received a toy version with a plastic needle. Disappointed but undeterred, she resorted to glue guns and staples to bring her creations to life.

In her teenage years, Alice branched out beyond sewing and drawing. With her father, an avid film camera collector, she discovered analog photography. Together, they wandered through Montreal’s alleyways at night, chasing the light, then developing their photos in the basement darkroom. This marked a turning point for her. She realized it was possible to create images. “By creating, I mean playing with light to invent something,” she explains. “You can capture reality, but also interpret, amplify, and transform it.”

Today, Alice divides her time between the structured world of graphic design and the fluidity of visual arts. Her work spans drawing, painting, print, and textiles. Whether using oil paint, airbrush, engraving, or fabric, she chooses her tools to capture a feeling—a dancing shadow, a fleeting shape, a lingering sensation.

Shaping the Blur

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Alice doesn’t always plan what she creates. Her process is a constant back-and-forth between thought and instinct. She sketches, she doubts, she waits… until something insists on being made. Then she dives in. Buys the materials. Cuts. Paints. And lets the piece unfold.

Her art constantly navigates that tension between structure and freedom, a duality that, for Alice, is deeply personal. “It’s this push and pull between wanting control, structure, and reflection, and the urge to live freely, experiment, and not always know where I’m headed. That’s just who I am.”

Creating Connection

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Alice Picard’s art is deeply rooted in relationships—the ones we build, lose, and sometimes find again. For her, there’s something profound in feeling connected. Whether she’s chatting with neighbours on a walk with her dog, spending time at her grandfather’s cabin with her cousins, working side by side with colleagues, or catching up with her mom on FaceTime, human connection  is at the heart of both her life and her work.

Her ideal studio? A shared one. A space where ideas flow as freely as the coffee, and conversation feeds creativity. Because for Alice, it’s not just about what she makes—but with whom, and how.

Art, for her, is a pivotal space where altering materials transforms our perspectives. It’s a way to express what words can’t capture, and turn it into a shared experience. “I don’t necessarily see creation as direct healing,” she explains, “but there’s definitely something restorative in the act of transforming, of embracing the changes and letting a new image emerge.”

This idea took on deeper meaning in 2020, when Alice was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma. At just 25, everything came to a halt—including her creative drive. Nothing seemed relevant anymore. Her return to art was slow and uncertain.

Over the past few years, she’s come to truly appreciate the value of time spent close to nature. As a child, she spent weekends in the Laurentides, exploring, playing, and getting muddy. Today, she reconnects with that same energy at her grandfather’s cabin, where calm and memory blend together.

“Nature has always fascinated me,” she says. “I remember as a kid discovering that birch bark tastes like mint. That’s where it all began.”