A painters' painter, Bruneau tackles her metier with the exuberance of a child and the astuteness of a sage. She draws from a range of symbols, her own personal assortment of visual notations that take the form of fish, birds, boats, but also faces and masks, thus oscillating between reality and fantasy, the inner and outer world, and all the time keeping true to her visual lexicon.

It would be facile to compare her works to those of Picasso, Antonio Saura, or Mimmo Paladino. What all these artists have in common, more than their particular imagery and palette, is a powerful energy that drives their creativity. Free and audacious, these painters consistently, persistently labor on the side of artistic expression, all else be damned.
Kittie Bruneau tends towards the large format in her paintings; that kind of energy must be difficult to hold in check, and it is to her enormous credit that she does so with the same ease as when she releases it. Once she embarks on a painting, Bruneau in effect begins a kind of dance. She literally steps into her work, standing on and walking over the canvas spread on the floor, creating, sowing the images as she moves across it. There is no rush, the steps are deliberate, the gestures unencumbered yet controlled, the colors leading the way in this dazzling visual pageant.
Bruneau's tableaux, influences notwithstanding, are staunchly hers, and at one point, comparisons begin to wear thin. Her art is hers alone; her compositions and shapes speak of her inner vision and creative compulsion, ultimately telling the tale of her personal artistic experimentation. Each could be seen as a chapter, an entry in a continuing visual diary.
From time to time, Bruneau becomes a storyteller, her canvas a page on which to paint a tale, as is the case with Le grand pianiste, which at first glance resembles a child's drawing. Birds are cascading from the sky, others lift off from a shadowy corner, while a long-armed pianist plays with wild abandon, head thrown back in ecstasy. A giant shape sits atop the piano, composed of a tangle of colorful gestures, tiny ears pointing to a feline. The whole composition undulates, the colors and shapes in perfect unison, the narrative but a link between the many layers. Picasso once avowed: "It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child"; ditto for Kittie Bruneau.