Words by Helena Alge

“Everything Is Important, but Somehow Also Not” In Conversation with Stella Winter

Stella Winter is in a love-hate relationship with the internet. Her hyperrealist paintings capture moments born from internet culture and give them material form, transforming fleeting digital imagery into something physical, lasting and impossible to scroll past. In this conversation, we speak about her unconventional entry into the art world, the friction between online speed and artistic slowness and whether art is sometimes simply over-explained.

You became visible to many people, myself included, through social media during the lockdown, would you say that this digital space was always part of your artistic identity?

I created an Instagram account for my paintings to have a place where I could sort of collect everything in one space. I absolutely didn’t expect that this digital space would become so present, but I think that’s exactly why things developed the way they did.

Instagram, as a digital space, was never something I had to actively think about, which is probably very typical for my generation. It just felt natural.

In the beginning, my work didn’t have this internet aesthetic that my paintings have now, which I think only confirms how natural it feels today to have a kind of public gallery online.

How do your paintings come into being? Can you walk us through your process a little?

Gladly. Often, I already have ideas that I carry around with me for a few weeks while I’m finishing another painting, because I really don’t like working on multiple paintings at the same time.

I work with photographs, so the next step is usually going through my gallery to see whether I already have images that match the idea I have, or whether there are photos I’ve wanted to paint for a while anyway. And if neither applies, I take new photos.

That’s definitely a part of my process that has developed a lot over the last few years. In the beginning, I mainly worked with spontaneous snapshots. Now, I curate the photographs much more carefully and the creative process already begins there. I choose the people I want to paint, usually by bothering my friends into agreeing, and sometimes I even pick the location and stage a specific mood.

Once I have all of that, I move on to building the canvas.

And when is a painting truly “finished”—if that clear point even exists?

The question of when a painting is finished is actually made easier by the photographic reference, because I’m aiming for a clear result. In paintings where I leave myself more freedom, or change a colour, I intervene more intuitively.

Are there recurring motifs, thoughts, or emotional states that you find yourself returning to?

Definitely. There are several people I’ve painted more than once, as well as objects and places that reappear.

Through that, I hope to create a cohesive storyline where many of my paintings connect and can tell a larger story together.

We live in a time where we constantly consume images—doomscrolling, reels, endless feeds. Do you feel your art helps you process that visual flood, or perhaps even intensifies it?

I wouldn’t necessarily say that painting helps calm the overstimulation. It’s more my tool for capturing my interests and my fascination with certain aesthetics.

How does this constant overstimulation affect your perception and ultimately your work? Do you see your art as a kind of archive or filter for what you absorb online?

I’ve actually never thought about it as a kind of archive before, but I think that’s a really interesting and fitting term.

I’ve definitely developed a love-hate relationship with the internet. My art wouldn’t be what it is without it, but at the same time, I’m constantly trying to capture a specific moment in time while also reflecting the fast pace of the internet and its shifting trends.

How do you navigate the tension between fast online reception and the slow nature of artistic practice?

I hope people can tell that I’m playing with exactly that tension.

I enjoy analysing the internet and trends on a level where I have to figure out which aesthetics, games, or even “brainrot” phenomena will last long enough to make it worth translating them into oil on canvas.

Sometimes I get an idea and just know it will work. And by work, I mean that it can be understood broadly, regardless of generation, but also in terms of how it will ultimately be perceived online. In those moments, I know I have to move quickly.

When I painted the Subway Surfers piece, or the split-screen paintings in general, I knew there was always the possibility that someone else had the same idea, or was already working on it at that exact moment.

Because my paintings are so time-intensive, humour also becomes an important part of the work. That fits perfectly with the corner of the internet I personally exist in.

Spending so much time on something that could be completely irrelevant tomorrow—that might actually be exactly what defines my work.

I often ask myself whether things in art are sometimes overexplained. I don’t like that.

Your path into art was relatively unconventional and strongly shaped by the pandemic. Do you think you would have found your way to painting sooner or later without that period?

Painting feels so natural to me that I can hardly imagine not doing it in this life.

But I do think that without the pandemic, painting would have entered my life much later or maybe not at all.

Has your relationship to art changed since then? If so, how?

Before the pandemic, I simply had no access to the traditional art world.

What I mean by that is: I’ve always loved watching films and listening to an incredible amount of music, which are probably some of the most accessible forms of art. But painting, galleries or even people doing what I do now—none of that was part of my world.

Not because I didn’t want it to be, but because it was simply a world I had absolutely zero points of contact with.

So to answer your question: everything has changed, because I’ve had the unbelievable luck of gaining access to that world now.

Your work can be difficult to pin down in words, but if you had to try, how would you describe your own art?

I think the word contemporary actually describes it quite well.

In my art, I aim to capture seemingly mundane moments that resonate because they feel familiar, whether through lived experience or internet culture, making them relatable to many people.

How important is it to you that your work is “understood”—or is it more about creating a feeling than conveying something clearly legible?

In general, it’s not that important to me that my work is fully understood. Once a painting is hanging on a wall, I don’t really have any control over that anymore. But if you get it, you get it, you know?

To be honest, my paintings also aren’t especially difficult to understand, nor are they hiding some deep secret meaning. But if someone sees something in them, or wants to engage more deeply with the work, there’s definitely something there to find and engage with.

Are there artists or visual influences that have shaped you—online or offline? At Fräulein, we’re especially interested in female perspectives: which women have had a lasting influence on your work or your thinking?

Absolutely. By far, most of my inspiration comes from films and simply from being online.

The Bling Ring by Sofia Coppola is one of my favourite films, and I’d definitely hope that shows.

And at this point, I also have to mention every woman I’ve painted so far. I pay close attention to making sure that the female friends I portray already fit the motifs or worlds I want to place them in. I’m honestly just incredibly lucky to know so many cool women.

There are also so many female artists in music whose profiles, photos, and rebrands I love looking at and draw so much from, like Addison Rae, Tiffany Day, and of course Charli XCX, among many others. Even female-led brands, like OGBFF, inspire me through their campaign shoots.

There’s also Nymphet Alumni, a podcast hosted by three women. They had an episode about Snapchat that made me dive even deeper into filter aesthetics, which lead to one of my paintings.

Women inspire me constantly, daily, everywhere. Whether it’s my university best friends, some niche influencer I love posting a new selfie, or even the fact that Trisha Paytas’ reaction in Euphoria was improvised.

Everything is important, but somehow also not.

Screenshot

Looking back at your work so far, what has changed the most for you?

Aside from hopefully having developed technically, my general perspective on art has changed a lot and will probably keep changing constantly.

From the way I approach painting to how I develop ideas, I think a lot has already shifted in my work.

What are you currently working on—is there anything we can look forward to?

Since I just exhibited at Art Düsseldorf, I’m currently in that phase of simply painting again and figuring out how I can continue developing the concepts I already have.

I can’t say too much yet, but there may possibly be another exhibition later this year.

Exiting! Finally, is there something you hope people feel, think about, or take away when they look at your work?

Fundamentally, it’s actually not that important to me what exactly people think about my work. It’s enough for me if it’s simply beautiful to look at.

Of course, I find it especially great when people are already familiar with my work, can understand the references or even say my thoughts out loud for me.

But art should function on its own and speak for itself.

Any feelings or thoughts that emerge from that, or even better, a conversation, are really just a bonus. Maybe they prove, in some way, the lasting strength of the work.

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