The Power of Persistence in an Artist's Journey

Interview with Walker Antonio

1. Please tell us something about your background and your art journey so far.

I have always been surrounded by the arts — not in the traditional sense, but through my father, who ran his own graphic design company for over twenty-five years. Our home was always filled with the aesthetically pleasing; he had a strong hand in bringing an artist's touch to every corner of it. That upbringing, coupled with a brief stint as a graphic designer during undergrad, gave me a visual language heavily shaped by the rules and ideas of graphic design.

This is part of why I gravitated toward acrylic painting. I'm drawn to the quick drying times, which allow me to alter and shift work rapidly and efficiently within a single studio session. Working on five or six pieces at a time becomes a kind of dance around the studio — moving from canvas to canvas, making sure every bit of paint on the palette is used before it dries.

2. Describe what a normal day looks like as an artist.

During undergrad, I was a night owl. The silence of an empty shared studio was calming — speakers playing low music that filled the space, no audience to critique, just room for reflection and experimentation. Now, working as a full-time teacher at Woodberry Forest School — an all-boys, all-boarding school in Virginia — I have to squeeze painting between teaching and attending graduate classes online at Falmouth University.

One habit I've developed over the last year is taking leftover paint from my students and forcing myself to work with whatever palette they had mixed, applying it to my own pieces after class ends. It pushes my practice into unexpected territory and deepens my understanding of color in ways I wouldn't arrive at on my own.

3. Can you tell us more about the themes in your art and your inspiration?

Much of my early work revolved around personal memories, dreams, and nightmares. For about two years, I kept a dream journal, documenting nightmares immediately upon waking — and part of how I processed and understood them was to get them onto canvas. Those pieces drew from universal themes: anxiety, hopelessness, the experience of coming of age at a moment when the future feels uncertain, shaped by a declining job market and growing technological reliance.

More recently, my work has shifted toward the physical structures we collectively build in remembrance of others — columbaria, monuments, and gravestones. I've come to see these markers as a kind of chapel, a place of sacred remembrance, and they've become the grounding imagery of my current practice.

In Reverence

4. How does your art life impact other parts of your life?

At the risk of veering into cliché: I am constantly thinking about art. I teach it at Woodberry Forest School, I'm pursuing my MA in Fine Arts at Falmouth University, and in a single twelve-month stretch, I had four solo shows and four residencies. My practice and my life are deeply intertwined — my calendar revolves around every opportunity that presents itself.

An upcoming milestone that feels especially significant: my residency at the Gibbes Museum in Charleston, South Carolina. Receiving that kind of institutional recognition marked a turning point, and it will likely be the last major step before I begin applying to MFA programs in the coming year.

5. Could you share any difficulties and hardships you had to face in life and how you managed or overcame them?

Coming out of high school, I was riding high — I had just been awarded the Violet Niles Walker Art Award from Woodberry Forest School, and I believed myself to be a far better artist than I truly was. I had never received traditional, classical training in the arts, and I still haven't, but at the time that gap wasn't something I was honest with myself about.

Early in undergrad at Wofford College, I was rejected from several shows, including the student art exhibition "Hot Now." It was a significant blow to my ego. Rather than retreat, I decided to take matters into my own hands and curated two shows in empty commercial buildings in my hometown of Kilmarnock, Virginia. Both had decent turnouts, and the second of the two resulted in no sales.

The second show stung the most. I shared the space with another local artist who painted marshes, crabs, and birds — subjects people in that area actively sought out. She sold multiple pieces and did beautifully. I struggled to generate any interest at all. My career felt stalled before it had really begun.

I was showing work in traditional, conservative circles that simply weren't the right fit for what I was making. I decided to stop seeking validation in those spaces and start pushing into larger towns and cities — places where my graphic style of painting and vibrant, design-influenced palette might actually find its audience. I have had lots of help in this regard from Lilienthal Gallery (Knoxville, TN), Stevenson & Co. (Charleston, SC), and Sheridan Studios (Macon, GA).

6. Tell us about your best experience in the art world so far.

Two moments came to mind immediately. The first was my debut solo show, where I secured an empty commercial building in Kilmarnock, Virginia, near the tail end of the pandemic. In twenty-four hours, I drove down to South Carolina and back, carrying over two dozen paintings to hang in my hometown. It felt like I had seized control of my own career — thrown myself headfirst into orchestrating a proper pop-up show. That exhibition resulted in four or five sales, which was nothing short of monumental for a nineteen-year-old.

Fast forward four years, and I made the biggest sale of my career — a piece called Fevered Mirage — to a collector in Knoxville, Tennessee, with the help of Lilienthal Gallery. The painting was twelve feet long and five feet tall, the centerpiece of my solo show following the Whetsell Family Fellowship at Wofford College. Knowing that someone paid a significant sum to fill an entire wall in their home with a piece of mine gave me confidence in both my ability and my determination that I hadn't felt before.

7. Share your worst experience in the art world.

I resist pointing to a single moment or direction and calling it the worst. I believe deeply that the road to becoming a self-sustaining artist is an inherently difficult one — it has always been, which is how the "starving artist" archetype earned its staying power.

The hardest moments, if I'm honest, are when the sales slow and the momentum around the work fades. There's a constant tension between needing money to fund more paint, canvas, and travel, and extending collectors and galleries the time and grace they need. That tension is especially sharp when you're sitting on a large inventory, a lengthy CV, and a struggling bank account. It may simply be a byproduct of the modern world, where time feels expensive, and everything moves at a pace that rarely favors patience.

8. What practical advice can you give to fellow artists?

Never stop creating — regardless of medium, regardless of circumstance. I've watched classmates, peers, and colleagues have their practices slowly squeezed out of their lives by the fear of failure or the vulnerability that comes with making something personal. To create with your own hands is a rare and distinct power, and it's one that no algorithm or artificial intelligence can replicate or take from you. Don't fixate on quality or quantity. Just keep making. It feeds something essential in us and helps us understand where we came from, who we are, and where we are going.

Enclosure

9. Is the artist's life lonely? Please share your thoughts and experiences.

I have found myself lonely on this path. I came to painting because I felt I could communicate and understand the world better through images than through words — and in those long hours alone in the studio, I was never truly alone. Those moments offer a kind of meditation, a stillness in a world that is otherwise deafening.

But as necessary as that solitude is to my practice, a strong support system matters just as much. Having a partner and a family who genuinely support the artist's life allows you to feel comfortable in your own skin, to take risks without the ground feeling entirely unstable beneath you. As the first Kenan-Lewis Fellow hired by Woodberry in the arts, I have been able to work around demanding schedules inherent in a boarding-school with trust and understanding. To have a job that not only allows but celebrates an artist’s successes is a rare commodity. Without all of this support, I would not be nearly as prolific — or as willing to leap — as I've been in recent years.

10. What are you working on at the moment, and are there any upcoming events you'd like to share?

I've recently completed my second series of the calendar year. The first, Terrarium, was an investigation into abstraction and mixed media, exploring the idea of a form or being that is sustained, or on the other hand, one that depends on outside care to survive. The second, Columbaria, turned toward the physical structures through which the living pay respects to those who came before, engaging with memory, loss, and place. Across both bodies of work, my ongoing preoccupations with social anxiety and the uncertainty of modern existence remain present beneath the surface.

On the exhibition front, I was recently accepted into my first group show in New York City — Under 30 Under Pressure at The Painting Center in Chelsea. July will be spent at the New York Academy of Art as part of their residency program, followed by the start of my MFA applications this fall. In November and December of 2026, my solo exhibition Reverence for Things Sacred will be on view at Woodberry Forest School. The year closes with my residency at the Gibbes Museum in Charleston, South Carolina — my first opportunity at museum validation, and a milestone I've been working toward for some time.

Website: https://walkerantonio.com/

Instagram: @walkerantonio_studio