Virginie Snyder: Metamorphosis

By Kristine Pregot

Over the past few months, I’ve had the great privilege of becoming friends with Virginie—and it’s been one of the most nourishing and unexpected gifts of this season.

As adults, it’s rare to stumble into friendship that feels both easy and expansive. But from artist studio visits and gallery hopping to long meandering conversations about healing, creativity, and justice—we’ve found a rhythm. And in the midst of all that, I’ve had the honor of witnessing Virginie undergo something extraordinary: metamorphosis.

She’s been navigating a brutal situation—manipulative, litigious, and charged with the kind of narcissistic energy that makes your skin crawl. And I’ve seen the toll it’s taken. The frustration. The betrayal. The righteous anger.

But here’s what’s remarkable: Virginie didn’t stay stuck there.

Instead, she began a slow and sacred process of transmutation. What if this didn’t stay as just pain? What if it could become paint?

What emerged was a stunning piece of work—“Lucior Thorne”—a surreal, raw, and electrifying vision of chaos and catharsis. In it, you’ll see tendrils of madness and heartbreak. You’ll see something gnarly, otherworldly, and alive. And just above it all—a butterfly.

The symbol of release. Of evolution. Of letting go.

That’s what I’ve seen Virginie do. She didn’t deny the ugliness—but she refused to be defined by it. She let it become something new. That, to me, is real art. That, to me, is real strength.

And I’m so proud to be her friend.