Everything They Didn't Tell Me — ten paintings in four acts; acrylic and oil stick on yellow-ochre-toned canvas. First complete body of work.
Painter · psychological portraiture · Atlanta, GA
renestudioatl@gmail.com · @rene.fineart
Chicago, Illinois, 1991. Lives and works in Atlanta, Georgia.
Columbia College Chicago — studied theatre, 2010–2013. No degree awarded.
Working musician.
Self-taught as a painter.
Everything They Didn't Tell Me — ten paintings in four acts; acrylic and oil stick on yellow-ochre-toned canvas. First complete body of work.
New Contemporaries, dōdōmu gallery — online group exhibition; I Can’t Breathe, Joy, What You Were Meant To Do
HEARD 2, The Supermarket, Atlanta, GA — juried; Dead Riding Dead
Portrait, International Online Group Exhibition, No. 35 Gallery — online; Still Here
Pancakes & Booze Art Show, Atlanta, GA
Sherri Daye Scott, “Self-taught artist André René Epps Jr. pitches 10-painting series,” Rough Draft Atlanta, August 26, 2026
“Featured Artist Spotlight,” Artdose Weekly, July 26, 2026
Everything They Didn't Tell Me began with a title that arrived before the paintings — a phrase for what nobody had passed down. The series is ten paintings in four acts: Micro, Collision, Macro, Wisdom. They move from the interior — psychological, personal — outward to the systemic: labor, environment, exploitation, what a culture does to the people it needs.
I came to painting from theatre, which I studied at Columbia College Chicago, and from years of working as a musician. I am self-taught as a painter, and I still build a picture like a scene: the face as a mask that slips, the body caught in a moment of revelation. But the faces stay closed, on purpose. What you get is posture, costume, the weight of a look, and the colour that was already in the room. You end up standing in front of someone who will not tell you what they are, which is the condition the paintings are about. The visible seams are where two readings meet, not an opening. I learned to see by drawing what was around me, long before I had words for it. I work in acrylic and oil stick on yellow-ochre-toned canvas, building portraits where memory presses against the systems that shaped it. The series moves in four acts because that's how I learned a story holds.
These are think pieces. They're built to make somebody ask whether what they know is actually true. I wasn't prepared for this world — I was not. Black men often aren't; the ones who could have taught us weren't there, and the ones who were gave us everything they knew, which wasn't enough. So I went and found it. The work hands it back, as wisdom rather than comfort.