Lisa Boudet: I’d like to start talking about your studio portrait for the promotion of your new exhibition. What inspired its creative direction?
Katelyn Ledford: It’s a very traditional expectation now for artists to be seen in their studio with the work they’ve prepared for a big solo exhibition. I’ve done them before, but they usually feel a bit stilted and forced. I think of my paintings as performance, so I wanted this to translate into these portraits as well. For the stool shot, the harsh spotlight evokes a theater stage which I paired with an ethereal Philosophy di Lorenzo top and Louis Vuitton trompe l’oeil boots that look like strange prosthetic legs. I’m standing on my actual painting stool, elevating everyday objects just as I do in my paintings. I’m fully on display but not engaging with the camera, accepting vulnerability without inviting consumption.
LB: What about the idea behind the clown makeup? How does that play into your critique of the art world?
KL: It represents performativity and humor. I am telling the viewer “You can laugh at me and with me, I’m your performing monkey.” It also points to the absurdity of being a female artist expected to be “consumed.” We’re trapped in a ‘hot girl’ algorithm where looks drive engagement on social platforms, so I’m reclaiming that space with my clown makeup. It’s a mask that allows me to be as vulnerable as possible while mocking the status quo. I’m giving the viewer what they want, but on my own terms. We’re all culpable in this performance: the galleries, the collectors and the artists.
LB: It seems to address a topic that people in the art world are often hesitant to discuss openly: pretty privilege.
KL: Nobody wants to admit it, but ‘pretty privilege’ is a real thing in the artworld. Depicting myself as a ‘hot clown’ is my way of leaning into that while refusing to play into that power structure. I’m poking fun at the viewer’s expectations and the industry’s thirst, while reclaiming the female body through a tongue-in-cheek performance.
LB: Your show is titled “Verso” which means reverse in latin. If the art world is built on the high-gloss facade, what’s the raw, reverse reality you’re exposing in this body of work?
KL: “Verso” references the fact that I’ve painted the backsides of many historical paintings in this show. Most specifically Dutch masters and older works, using the Met and Sotheby’s archives. It shows the hidden life of the artist through the objects they loved and handled intimately. One painting, a denim apron marked “END,” captures that feeling of exhaustion after a long studio day. Another features a Mary Magdalene face peeking through a red curtain with the text “KEEP LOOKING”; it’s a direct, almost embarrassing plea to the viewer. It reflects how we all crave attention as artists and online. My paintings are a simulation of intimacy, much like the internet is.
LB: By depicting Madonna, Mary Magdalene and clown faces, you’re playing with extreme archetypes of the female performance. Is this a mirror of the digital binary we’re trapped in? Worshipped one second, cancelled or ridiculed the next?
KL: Precisely. In art history, Madonna and Mary Magdalene have been painted over and over in almost identical ways, what differentiate them is their gaze: if the eyes look up, it’s the holy Madonna. If they look down, it’s Mary Magdalene begging for forgiveness. The clown acts as a shield; it gives people something to laugh at before they can laugh at me. These are representations of myself that allow me to show extreme states of feminine emotion.
LB: You incorporate different types of tape in your work: masking tape, blue painter’s tape, even duct tape. Why focus on such mundane material?
KL: People expect artists to be particular about their brushes or pencils, but it is actually one of the most hotly discussed topics among artists. It’s incredibly personal. We all have different experiences with it, I might swear by a specific 3M contractor-grade masking tape, while someone else might only use blue painter’s tape. It’s a nerdy, studio-specific conversation that usually stays behind the scenes. In my paintings, I often paint tape as if it’s applied carelessly or starting to peel, suggesting that the whole composition might fall apart at any moment.
LB: Talking about the “perfect” illusion starting to fall apart. Why is it important for you to expose the cracks in the artifice?
KL: I use trompe l’oeil to make viewers question authenticity and I want to lose the facade of the “untouchable” artist who always knows what they’re doing. By leaving those moments in the work, I’m sharing that vulnerability with you. Instead of just looking at a polished painting, we’re connecting over the fact that the process is human, messy, and occasionally fails. It’s like reading a book that’s clearly been through a massive editing process, but then you spot a single typo and think, “Look at them! They have flaws, too. They messed up just like me.”