Inside the Studio: Denise Cooperman
- Art Dealer Street
- Sep 30
- 7 min read
From Beverly Hills teen art prodigy to interior designer, mother, and—after a 30-year pause—full-throttle painter, Denise H. Cooperman has never stopped composing spaces. Today, under her nom d’artiste “D. Harrison,” she builds images with the same sensitivity she once brought to textiles, light, and furniture forms. Her practice spans realism and abstraction: the pandemic-born iHeart series threads play and tenderness through gestural fields, while her Judaica works channel profound devotion sparked by her son’s religious journey. Fresh from exhibiting in the 18th and 19th editions of Clio Art Fair, Denise is also pushing into sculptural resin—sometimes even transforming pieces into functional tables—folding four decades of design into a defiantly personal studio language. Step inside as she reflects on return, reinvention, and the quiet power of seeing.
Read on to learn more in an exclusive interview with Denise Cooperman :
1. Your journey in art began in your youth in Beverly Hills, took a 30-year pause, and then returned with full force. Can you tell us about the emotional and creative experience of rediscovering your passion for painting after such a long sabbatical?
I stopped painting for a long time. I was working full time as an interior designer, married, raising two boys. When I became a single parent, everything shifted. My focus went to the kids and keeping my career steady. There were countless times I wanted to get back to painting, but the time never felt like mine to claim. Still, the desire didn’t go away. It hung around quietly—actually loudly—like something I hadn’t finished.
When my boys started high school, I finally had a little space to breathe. I picked up a brush and painted a portrait of my son and it caught me off guard. That part of me hadn’t disappeared. It had just been quiet, waiting. The whole thing hit me harder than I expected. I hadn’t stopped being an artist; I’d just put it on hold. And once I started again, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It felt like something cracked open, and everything creative stuck in my head came rushing out.
2. Having a career in interior design and furniture has clearly influenced your art. What role does your design background play in shaping your visual language, especially in how you incorporate elements like chairs and furnishings into your paintings?
Interior design shaped the way I see and make art. I spent years around beautiful furniture, rich fabrics, and the challenge of creating projects—each one unique. That design work was a challenging and satisfying exercise in creating interiors that carried over into my love of fabrics and furniture, especially chairs! I’ve always had a thing for chairs. I’ve got more than 50 at home. They show up in my work a lot, like a magnet. I’m also drawn to how light moves across fabric and furniture—how it shifts, softens, changes the feel of a space. My design background helps me build art that feels lived-in, like you could touch it or sit right on it.
3. Your “iHeart” series emerged during the pandemic and marks a return to abstract expressionism. What inspired this emotional and symbolic shift in your work, and what do hearts mean to you as an artist and individual?
Growing up, I was always pulled toward abstract painting. It was a natural expression in a way that made sense to me. But when I came back to art after that long break, I was surprised to find myself painting realism. It just came out. Years later the pandemic hit and something shifted. I needed space to play again, so I went back to abstract expressionism. It was loose, playful, and honestly, it kept me grounded during a time that felt anything but.
That’s when the iHeart series started. I’ve always had a soft spot for hearts. They’re simple, but they carry weight. I began working them into my abstracts, sometimes tucked away, sometimes front and center. For me, hearts stand for love, connection, and a little bit of play. I liked the idea of people spotting them in unexpected places—like a quiet message hidden in the painting. It gave me a way to share something personal and light, even when things felt heavy.
4. Your Judaica paintings are deeply personal and spiritually charged. How has your son’s religious journey influenced your art, and how do you navigate the balance between personal emotion and cultural symbolism in these works?
My son’s growing religious observance really moved me. I started taking photos of his journey and found myself wanting to turn those moments into paintings. It wasn’t planned; it just felt right.
What caught me off guard was how emotional it got. As I painted, I found myself overwhelmed, sometimes even in tears. There was something sacred about turning those moments into a reality on a canvas. It felt like I was tapping into something bigger than me. Or as my son Perry would say: Hashem.
A lot of these pieces have been shared within the Chabad community, and the response has been deeply moving. The paintings carry heart and spirit, and for me, they’re a way to honor both my son’s journey and my own experience—as a mother and as an artist. I don’t plan the balance between personal emotion and cultural symbolism. It just happens when the subject hits close to home.
5. You’ve studied at respected institutions like UCLA, University of Colorado, Studio Incamminati, and with Jim Repenning. How has this diverse educational background shaped your approach to both realism and abstraction?
Back in high school, I was one of 30 students chosen from across Los Angeles County to take a special art class at UCLA. That experience stuck with me. It opened up my imagination and gave me the push to dive into abstract painting with real intensity and freedom.
I majored in art at the University of Colorado, but to be honest, that part didn’t do much for me. Things didn’t really change until I studied at Studio Incamminati. That was a tough, intense experience, and it pushed me to focus on realism—especially how shadows and light play across an object.
For the past 18 years, I’ve been taking weekly studio classes with Jim Repenning. He’s an incredible artist and teacher. His critiques have pushed me to grow, especially when it comes to finishing my realism pieces. UCLA helped shape my abstract work, but everything since then has been key to building my skills in realism.
6. You’ve shown your work in many places from Aspen to Miami to New York. How would you describe your experience exhibiting in the 18th and 19th editions of Clio Art Fair, and what impact did that platform have on your career or artistic community?
Showing my work in exhibitions is always exciting, but Clio Art Fair was something else. Being part of the 18th and 19th editions changed things for me. It made me feel like my art wasn’t just being seen—it was being felt. Watching people stop, take it in, and really think about what I’d made was surreal in the best way.
Let’s be honest—there’s nothing like seeing that little red dot next to your piece. It’s a rush. It feels like a mini-Oscar for artists. Sales are great, sure, but the real win is knowing someone connected with the work enough to take it home. That’s what makes Clio special. It brings artists and viewers together in a way that actually means something.
7. Under your nom d’artiste “D. Harrison,” you’ve honored your family legacy. Can you share more about why keeping that name alive through your signature feels significant to your identity as an artist?
When I was younger, I signed my paintings “Denise.” But when I came back to painting years later, that name didn’t feel right anymore. I’d been divorced, just remarried, and I didn’t feel connected to either my first name or my married name. The new name felt too fresh to tie to my art, so I went back to my maiden name: Harrison.
That name means a lot to me. My sister and I are the last Harrisons in our family, so using it in my signature felt like a way to keep the family name alive. Signing my work as “D. Harrison” lets me honor where I came from and carry that legacy forward through my art.
People tease me all the time—who are you: Harrison, Cooperman, or Brachman? And yeah, I get that it’s a little confusing, especially since I use Denise H. Cooperman on my website and in other places. But signing as “D. Harrison” just feels right. It’s the name that ties me back to where I came from. When I’m standing in front of a canvas, that’s the name that fits.
8. What’s next for you—are there any upcoming series, themes, or mediums you’re eager to explore in your evolving practice?
I’ve gotten into resin recently and I’m completely hooked. It’s opened up a whole new lane for me creatively. I’ve started making sculptures that tie straight into my paintings—almost like the work is stepping off the canvas and into a tactile sculpture.
Here’s the fun part—some of the sculptures are actually tables. With my background in furniture and design, it just made sense. It feels like a natural extension of my 40 years in the industry, blending function with fine art. Resin is so dimensional. It lets me play with light, texture, and form in a way that’s totally new for me.
I’m all in. I’m building a dedicated studio space off my home just for resin work. It feels like the start of a whole new chapter, and I’m genuinely excited to see where it goes.
Denise Cooperman paints from the lived-in center of a life—where design fluency, maternal devotion, and unapologetic intuition collide. Whether embedding hearts in a field of gesture, honoring faith through intimate portraiture, or coaxing resin into furniture-scaled sculpture, D. Harrison builds work meant to be felt, used, and remembered. After her back-to-the-canvas return and two energizing showings at Clio Art Fair, the next chapter is already taking shape—bolder, more dimensional, and unmistakably hers.
You can learn more about Denise Cooperman and her work via these links:
Website: @Denise Cooperman / @Denise Cooperman Instagram: @denisecooperman Facebook: @Denise Cooperman
Artsy: @Denise Cooperman
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