The Art of Being Jude
In Jude Wainwright’s world, nothing is quite as it first appears. Figures dressed in theatrical costumes inhabit strange, dreamlike settings, surrounded by curious objects, unexpected symbols and the occasional touch of dark humour. Look a little closer, and beneath the playful surface lie questions about identity, vulnerability and the many versions of ourselves we present to the world.
Born in Sheffield and based in Manchester, Wainwright is a figurative and surrealist painter whose practice centres on self-portraiture. Using herself as both subject and character, she creates elaborate scenes in which personal memories, dreams and fleeting thoughts take on a life of their own. Her paintings combine carefully staged photographic references with richly detailed oil painting, blurring the boundaries between reality and imagination.
In 2022, Wainwright reached the semi-finals of Sky Arts Portrait Artist of the Year, later returning as a guest presenter for the channel’s masterclass series. Alongside her painting practice, she is Studio Manager at AWOL Studios in Manchester, where she supports and works alongside a thriving community of artists.
Her recent solo exhibition, Spectacle, at The Whitaker Museum and Art Gallery, marked an important turning point in her practice. Drawing inspiration from the museum’s remarkable collection of objects and curiosities, Wainwright brought her imagined world into conversation with the gallery itself, creating an immersive experience that invited visitors to become part of the story.
In this interview, Wainwright discusses the freedom of painting herself, the importance of humour and theatricality, the fear of working under the television spotlight and her ambition to create entire worlds that audiences can step inside.
Self-portraiture sits at the centre of your practice. What does using yourself as the subject allow you to explore that working with another sitter might not?
My go-to answer is that I’m my most readily available subject! But in reality, I think posing for myself allows me to explore the subject of a painting much more freely.
I don’t always know exactly what I want the subject (me) to be doing. Quite often, I’ll just strike a few poses and see which body shapes I like. It’s difficult to explain to someone, ‘Could you stand like this, but hold your hands in that particular way? Oh, and make sure each limb is separate because that’s how I like painting them…’ I don’t have to rely on someone else’s interpretation of an idea that hasn’t fully formed yet. I can just work directly from the image in my head.
My work is quite impulsive, too. I want to avoid too much time passing between having an idea and making it happen. Hiring a model, setting a scene and explaining a pose can all slow things down. I need to execute ideas quite rapidly, before I have the chance to overthink them. I can manipulate myself much more easily, without having to explain why.
Another important reason is that all my work is essentially self-portraiture. It might not always be obvious in the figures, but they’re all from me, of me, and come from my own dreams and flashes of thought. I guess it wouldn’t really make sense for me to paint someone else?
Everything in a painting can carry meaning, even the smallest details. The appearance of a figure can influence how someone interprets the work, so it makes sense for me to use myself. The ideas and feelings are my own, so why introduce someone else’s physical characteristics into the painting?
Using myself also adds to the idea that I’m a character in this world I have created. It’s a place I can work things out, play about, experiment and soothe my own head by expelling these ideas.
Your paintings often involve costume, theatrical gesture and carefully constructed settings. Do you think of these elements as a form of disguise, storytelling, performance, or perhaps all three?
I think all three! Although perhaps less as a disguise and more as choosing the form that suits that particular moment. I like to leave little clues that the characters are still me – perhaps a hint of a harlequin leotard peeking out from underneath a suit, for example.
Costume is a really useful tool because it can simultaneously conceal and reveal something. We all use different versions of ourselves in different situations, and clothing and gesture are all part of how we communicate those identities. In my paintings, I can exaggerate that process and turn it into something theatrical, put on a performance.
I’ve always been quite theatrical and flamboyant. I spent some of my younger years involved in amateur dramatics, so the stage has never felt like an unfamiliar place to me. I’ve always been drawn to its sense of nostalgia, and I think that connection finds its way into a lot of my artwork, which often explores memory and the stories we construct around ourselves.
I’m interested in creating characters who seem to be playing a part, almost like actors. They might appear to be in control, but it’s not always clear whether they’re choosing that role or what might be going on beneath it.
Much of your work examines the tension between authenticity and the versions of ourselves we present to other people. Has making these paintings changed the way you think about your own identity?
It’s made me realise just how multifaceted our identities are. We play different parts depending on the situation we’re in, and that doesn’t necessarily make those versions of ourselves any less authentic. Quite the opposite, really. They might be the truest version of ourselves for that particular situation.
I’m quite enjoying realising just how many different ‘Judes’ there are. It’s also been really liberating as my work has developed, allowing myself to express more of my personality, particularly my sense of humour, and recognising that it’s OK to do that.
I think authenticity isn’t necessarily the opposite of the versions of ourselves we present to other people. Sometimes it’s simply about being the right fit for the occasion. I see it as similar to wearing a suit of armour for battle or a swimming costume for the pool. I don’t think anyone would accuse you of being an inauthentic version of yourself for being appropriately dressed!
Symbolism plays an important role in your imagery. When developing a painting, do you begin with a particular idea or emotion and then build the symbolism around it, or does meaning often emerge through the process itself?
There are different ways it happens, really. Sometimes an idea comes from seeing an image I like, or literally from a dream I’ve had. Other times, I’ll buy a cute little object simply because I think it’s pretty, then find a way to introduce it into a painting. I might start thinking about how a character would interact with it.
I like to maintain a level of intuition and spontaneity, allowing myself to paint what I feel like in the moment. It’s difficult sometimes not to overthink things, so I try to go with my first instinct.
Sometimes I’ll add a particular flower, bird or other symbol and only look up its meaning afterwards. I’ll discover that it has some uncanny connection to my state of mind at the time, and I’m genuinely amazed by how accurately it seems to fit.
I really love it when the meanings are ambiguous, too. I want people to be able to make their own interpretations, a bit like a Rorschach test. I like the idea that someone can look at a painting, see something completely different to somebody else and form their own story.
The brain is a funny thing. It knows so much more than we realise, and I’m sure half the time it doesn’t tell us! I’ll often finish a painting, having added all these objects and created a whole scene, then six months later suddenly think, ‘Ohhh, that’s what it must have been about!’ I love that.
There are also lots of recurring motifs in my work, mostly because I simply like them and I’m not finished with them yet. I like crows, the moon, star shapes, heart shapes, etc. They’ll keep cropping up, although at the moment I couldn’t necessarily tell you why.
Your solo exhibition Spectacle is your most ambitious exhibition to date. What ideas or experiences brought this body of work together, and what did you want the exhibition to reveal about your practice?
Spectacle was my first gallery show that had been offered to me in this way, the first time a gallery had asked me to put on an exhibition for them. They gave me absolute freedom to pursue whatever idea I wanted.
The Whitaker Museum and Art Gallery, where the exhibition took place, just happens to be one of the most magical galleries and museums. It has a cabinet of curiosities, a taxidermy room and an archive of beautiful paintings and objects, lovingly stored away in its attic. So many of these objects have a real connection to the local area. They’re such beautiful, fascinating things, and my magpie brain couldn’t stop looking at them and wondering what I could do with them.
I wanted to bring these objects to life again and give them some breathing space! It was Gaynor Seville, the Creative Director of The Whitaker, who suggested bringing a portraiture theme into the gallery alongside my exhibition. My work is rooted in portraiture, although it takes a less traditional approach, as all of my paintings are forms of self-portraiture. I loved the idea of bringing these two worlds together – marrying ‘Judtopia’, the world inhabited by me and my paintings, with the curiosities and collections of the gallery. It felt like an opportunity for the two to interact, allowing the objects to become part of a new narrative and perhaps take on a life of their own.
I wanted the exhibition to speak to the space it was in, to really belong there, almost as though it had been part of the gallery all along.
It also gave me the opportunity to think beyond individual paintings and consider how the works could communicate with one another within a space. I wanted to create something immersive and theatrical, but also encourage people to think about the relationships between objects, memory and identity.
I’m not sure how many people necessarily thought about those things, and that’s absolutely fine. Mostly, I wanted people to have fun, let down their guard for a moment and come and join me in my little world. To escape for a bit.
There is often a tension in your paintings between something visually seductive and something psychologically less comfortable. Is that contrast something you consciously look for?
I like the idea of a painting having layers. There’s the surface-level ‘prettiness’ which I strive for – something I simply enjoy looking at – and then there are the little bitty details, Easter eggs and extra bits hidden within it. You can just enjoy looking at the painting for what it is, but for those who want to spend a little longer with it, there’s something extra to discover.
Maybe it’s my love of horror films. I like watching documentaries about them and exploring exactly what makes a film scary, and the tricks filmmakers use to make the viewer feel a certain way, to feel slightly uncomfortable without quite knowing why. Some of my favourite works of art can make me burst into tears, and it’s not because they necessarily ‘look sad’, they just hum with emotion. I like that tension. It’s not necessarily a conscious effort on my part, but it’s something I’m drawn to.
There are so many visually striking, almost beautiful horror films with really dark plots. I find that contrast fascinating, the way something can be visually seductive while telling a much darker story. I suppose that’s something I enjoy playing with in my own work.
In 2022 you reached the semi-finals of Sky Arts Portrait Artist of the Year. What did painting under those conditions teach you about yourself as an artist?
Real, actual fear.
So much fear bundled into one experience. Being seen, having my entire process watched by an audience, presenters and cameras. I had to bare all, and it was terrifying. But I gained so much from it.
Being on the show, working under such time pressure, taught me to trust my instincts and recognise what was essential to a painting, rather than getting caught up in every little detail. I do love to rely on instinct, and the experience helped me hone in on that. I had to make decisions quickly, commit to them and keep moving, rather than overthinking every mark.
There’s also something quite strange about painting while people are watching you, knowing that the work is going to be judged. It totally goes against what I tell myself when I’m beginning a painting, which is not to think about what an audience will make of my work. I tell myself that for self-preservation, so it was pretty tough!
But I think it also taught me that I can work through that discomfort. You don’t necessarily have to feel confident to do something; sometimes you just have to get on with it.
My goalposts changed that day too. What I thought I was capable of became so much more. It was such a confidence boost, and everything else has seemed a little less daunting ever since.
To have the judges say such genuinely wonderful things about my work was incredible. Up until then, my work had mostly been seen by friends and family, and as much as I love them, they’re not necessarily going to give you the most critical feedback! To have that kind of encouragement from people whose opinions I really respect meant an enormous amount. It’s something I’ll cherish forever.
You later returned to Sky Arts as a guest presenter, leading masterclasses on patterns and narrative portraiture. How different was it to move from being the artist under scrutiny to helping other people think about their own work?
I’m pretty sure most artists will feel the same, but I felt very much like an imposter!
I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t terrifying. It’s tough being on camera in any situation, but it’s a darn lot easier when it’s just you and the team. I’m terrible at being competitive, I avoid conflict, I struggle even with board games, ha!
The subject matter of the episodes was tailored around me, too, which really helped. I felt confident in what I was doing. I try to talk about my work as much as I can, but I do struggle with it, so being put in that situation was a proper baptism of fire. I gained so much from the experience.
It was also lovely to be working with my preferred subject – The Jude!
I really enjoy helping people, too. I know how much it meant to me when I first joined my studios and had people around me who were willing to share their knowledge and experience. I like being able to do that for other people now. I also like the thought of someone seeing me, this anxious mess, achieving something and realising that perhaps they can too.
You are also Studio Manager at AWOL Studios and have curated exhibitions there. Has being surrounded by such a large community of artists influenced your own practice in ways you did not expect?
I joined AWOL in 2015, feeling lonely and doing very little artistic work. I was making the odd painting here and there, labouring over them for far too long. I felt a bit misguided and lost.
Joining AWOL introduced me to a whole group of like-minded people. I’ve made some of my best friends there, and they’ve taught me so much. They’ve encouraged me to up my game, lent me tools and materials, offered advice and been a shoulder to cry on. It became an escape that I didn’t realise was going to be such a powerful place for me.
Over the years, I’ve realised how isolated we can be as artists, and how important these communities are. I like my privacy to work in, though. I’m a bit like one of those cats who just likes being in the same room as its owners but doesn’t necessarily want to be petted. I like knowing there are people around, but I’m also glad to have my own space.
Since becoming Studio Manager, I’ve found that I really enjoy giving something back. I love helping people, lifting others up and giving them opportunities, particularly because so many have done and continue to do that for me. It’s good to keep passing on the love.
Being at AWOL has also taught me that we all work in such different ways, and that there’s no one correct way to do things. That’s something that’s easy to forget, as there is a romantic image of what being an artist is ‘supposed’ to look like, but quite often that doesn’t exist outside of fancy dress parties. Being surrounded by such a spectrum of creatives has taught me to maintain my authenticity.
One of the unexpected things I’ve learned is what it’s like to be on the other side of the table. Having organised open calls, exhibitions and opportunities for other artists, I’ve seen first-hand what works, what doesn’t, and what can make the whole process unnecessarily difficult. It’s definitely made me think about how I approach opportunities myself, and the kind of experience I’d want to create for other artists.
Your paintings are often developed from staged photographic references before being built slowly in oil. How much does the final painting depart from the original photograph once the process begins?
Recently, I’ve been trusting myself a lot more to move away from my photographic references, while still using them to ground the painting.
I like the idea that the scenes I create could, in some way, physically happen. I want to retain a sense of real proportions, believable lighting and the physicality of things, while introducing my own twists without taking them completely beyond the realms of possibility.
If I were holding a wand, how would the light fall on me? If I were riding a wolf, how would my legs sit? I find myself thinking about these little practical details quite a lot. I think if you give the viewer enough familiar references to real life, the make-believe becomes much more believable. It almost feels as though these things could exist, or that you’ve just stumbled across a moment from another world.
The painting usually begins with a photograph of myself and a background reference. From there, I’ll add an object here, a moon there, and see where the journey takes me. I’m often making it up as I go along, responding to what’s happening on the canvas and seeing what feels right. If I think it, I do it. Then light it all up at the end and voilà!
Alongside the humour and theatricality in your work, there are recurring ideas around vulnerability, control and self-doubt. Is humour a way of creating distance from more difficult subjects, or a way of approaching them more directly?
Bingo! It’s always been that way for me in person, so it makes sense it would find its way into my art, too.
I think humour is a way of approaching difficult subjects more directly, although it can also provide a certain amount of distance. There’s something quite exposing about using yourself as the subject, but if you’re willing to make yourself look ridiculous, it can take some of the pressure out of that experience.
There’s far too much that we don’t talk about enough as a society. It’s exhausting bottling things up, but so many subjects still make people uncomfortable. Humour can be a great bridge into those conversations.
I’m also interested in the absurdity of how we present ourselves and the lengths we go to in order to pursue and maintain a particular image. Humour can reveal those contradictions in a way that feels more human than simply presenting something as serious or tragic.
I like the idea that a painting can be funny and uncomfortable at the same time.
As your practice becomes increasingly ambitious in scale and narrative, what are you interested in pushing further next?
I have great ambitions to push the immersive side of my artwork. I love the gallery setting, but I’m fascinated by the idea of twisting it and completely transporting someone into my world.
I keep comparing it to a ghost train at a fairground. You step inside and go on this little adventure, experiencing fear, excitement and emotion along the way. I love the idea of creating that kind of journey for someone.
I visited the Venice Biennale for the first time this year, and I absolutely loved the idea of these little capsules of thought. Some of the pavilions had really thrown themselves into the immersive side of their presentations, and it was magical. What an escape! And while the world is burning, the idea of creating somewhere else to go sounds quite appealing. I’ll build an escape, and we can all go.
I’m also really enjoying the path I’m on. It’s a constant process of reminding myself to let go of the rules I keep putting on myself. Must stay Jude.
Website: judewainwright.com
Instagram: @judewainwright_
