Strength, Resilience and the Power of Modern Women. Interview with Artist Stefania Tejada
The works of the Colombian artist express exclusively the value of women
Tell us what you do and your beginnings.
My work exists in the space between oil and digital painting, two mediums that let me navigate the fine line between fine art and commercial collaborations. I was born in Tuluá, Colombia, in 1990—a town steeped in tradition, where life often felt bound by rules passed down through generations. The cultural roots were mainly Catholic, and expectations for women were clear: composed, obedient, and bound to roles predetermined long before they were born. Yet Tuluá was also a place of contradictions, where the vibrant, sometimes chaotic culture pulsed with a kind of magic realism that seemed to belong to towns like ours.
My Latino heritage is woven into everything I do—it shapes my perspective, my choices, and the stories I tell through my work. The experience of being a woman in this environment adds another layer to my art: a thread that is both complex and constant and one that has shaped the way I approach creation.
From an early age, drawing was always there, like a quiet rhythm in my life. It wasn’t something I excelled at; it was just something I did. My art teachers, mostly older men, focused on precise, traditional techniques—replicating objects as they were, lifeless. My only exposure to art beyond those classes was Fernando Botero. My grandmother had replicas of his work lining her staircase. I remember staring at his figures, the women in particular, and wondering, Who are these beings looking back at me? It felt as though they carried a message, something unspoken, hidden in their eyes.
When I attended college in Bogotá to study fashion design, I didn’t initially realize how much more there was to art than the replication of objects or people. My understanding of art was technical—a series of steps, a skill to master—but I had no awareness of how composition, symbolism, or storytelling could give my work meaning. That changed when I was mistakenly enrolled in an elective course called Expression.
That class, focused on pencil drawing, introduced me to a new way of seeing. For the first time, I understood how light and shadow work to create form, and how they shape the way we perceive objects. The concepts were simple, but they unlocked something in me. Art became more than just technique—it became about truly observing, understanding, and connecting with the world. It wasn’t just about circles, squares, and lines. It was about seeing deeper and creating with intention.
During this time, I connected with a group of artists from Cali who were also living in Bogotá. One of them became my teacher, helping me refine my drawing and watercolor techniques. But more importantly, he encouraged me to develop my own style, to create work that felt authentic to me. That period was a turning point. I stopped seeing art as a set of rules to follow and began seeing it as a form of self-expression.
A few years later, I moved to Monterrey, Mexico, to finish my studies in fashion design. A leap into the unknown. The move was transformative, —not just for my education, but for my personal growth. I didn’t know anyone when I arrived, but that solitude gave me the space to explore myself and my goals. One of my professors, Jasmin, had an enormous impact on me. Her curiosity was boundless, and she challenged every preconceived notion I held. Her approach inspired me to think differently—not just about art, but about life. During this time, I wrote countless essays, absorbing new ideas and trying to understand myself through them.
Eventually, I found a circle of like-minded people who believed in sharing knowledge and ideas as naturally as breathing. Every Friday afternoon, they held sessions at their apartment where each person would take a turn teaching a class on a skill or method from their creative discipline. Together, we were intellectually nurturing one another, exchanging perspectives, and building a unique community. This experience introduced me to a new way of thinking—something I had never encountered in Colombia.
Among them was Rodrigo Tello, who became a pivotal figure in my development. Rodrigo was blunt and always demanded clarity. He would ask: What do you want? Be specific”. He challenged me to define my goals, to strip away fear and doubt until all that remained was purpose. His advice was practical, almost ruthless: “You don’t get what you don’t ask for.” It sounds simple, but it wasn’t. Fear of rejection, of hearing “no,” had kept me small for too long. With Rodrigo’s guidance, I stepped into the digital realm, and everything changed.
This shift led to collaborations I couldn’t have imagined—first with Tumblr, the leading blogging platform in the US at the time, and then with Lenny Letter, the feminist platform co-founded by Lena Dunham and Jennifer Konner. Through Lenny Letter, I found myself painting stories of resilience, strength, and transformation.
One of the most pivotal moments was creating a portrait of Kesha during her legal battle against Dr. Luke. Kesha’s story—her fight for freedom, and her resilience in the face of abuse—felt deeply personal to me. The portrait wasn’t just an image; it became a symbol of defiance and solidarity. It was shared by women across the globe, and it taught me something profound: art has the power to amplify voices, to encapsulate a movement.
From that point, my work began to carry more weight. It became less about technique and more about meaning. I started to peel back the layers of my own life, to question the beliefs I had inherited, to confront the darker corners of my mind. Carolina Cantu, another influential figure in my life, once told me: “You need to break yourself apart, over and over, until you find what truly belongs to you.” It’s a painful process, but a necessary one. It means unlocking hidden rooms within yourself, standing in the shadows, and letting everything come out.
That dark space is where my art lives. It’s where I find the version of myself I’ve been running from, the one who carries both pain and strength. She is the woman I paint—not just for myself but for anyone who has felt fragmented, silenced, or unseen. Through her, I’ve learned that art isn’t just a reflection; it’s an act of becoming. It’s how I tell my story and the story of so many other women around the world.
During those years and beyond, I invested everything I had—every form of income, every spare moment—into traveling to New York to connect with the people I aspired to work with. I would empty my bank account, carrying prints of my work to share with those I admired. There is something uniquely magnetic about New York City—the energy, the openness, the unspoken respect for those who hustle and believe in themselves. The city taught me that anything I envisioned was within my reach.
It was there that I met Sara Won, who had been a key supporter since my early collaborations with Tumblr. She opened countless doors for me, including opportunities to work on my first mural in Williamsburg in partnership with Colossal Media. More recently, I collaborated with Colossal again on a mural in Los Angeles for a project with Hennessy and LeBron James. Another defining moment came when I created the main artwork for the United States of Women campaign, launched by Michelle Obama, through the Tumblr platform. These experiences were not just milestones; they affirmed that persistence, vision, and self-belief are powerful tools for turning aspirations into reality.
After a few years, I returned to Bogotá and worked briefly at BBDO as a Content Creator and Copywriter. I stayed for less than a year. As someone deeply invested in women’s empowerment and liberation, I found it increasingly difficult to navigate the restrictive and outdated views of the male gaze that dominated the environment. It was clear to me that I couldn’t reconcile my values with a culture that stifled them, so I decided to move to Spain to pursue a postgraduate program in Fashion Management.
That move wasn’t just about advancing my education; it was part of a larger search for something—something better, something grounding. I was chasing a sense of belonging, a place where the restlessness in my chest might settle. Spain, however, brought its challenges. While I recognize that part of my heritage is rooted there, I felt little connection to the country. Instead, my time in Barcelona taught me about the immigrant experience in a way I hadn’t encountered before. I was "the other," and the reality of that position deepened my understanding of identity and belonging.
But the most valuable lesson I took from my time in Spain was a deeper, more profound recognition of my Latino heritage—the worth of my skills, my intellect, and my voice. In environments where others sought to remind me of what they perceived as my “place” in their imagined hierarchy, I came to understand the depth and resilience of where I come from. Ours is a culture marked by relentless determination, an inherent ability to adapt, resolve, and press forward no matter the circumstances. It is a culture of unstoppable energy, where solutions are born out of necessity and ambition walks hand in hand with ingenuity. That relentless drive, so ingrained in the spirit of my Colombian heritage, became my anchor.
This realization wasn’t just empowering—it was transformative. It allowed me to reframe my position in the world, not as something granted but as something defined by my terms. It was a turning point, one that solidified my identity as both a woman and an artist, navigating a path that is wholly my own.
My journey has since brought me to my home base, Paris. As Naguib Mahfouz once wrote, “Home is where all your attempts to escape cease.” I arrived here without knowing the language, driven by love—a love that has enveloped me alongside this country’s rich culture and boundless opportunities. Paris has given me the chance to live the life I had dreamed of in my earliest years, a life rooted in creativity and growth. My first agent in France, Karine Garnier, was the only agency to respond when I first arrived. With her guidance, I began my initial steps into collaborations with esteemed editorials and brands. Sarah Carrier, who had worked with Maison Kitsuné, opened the door for me to exhibit with the brand in 2021. From there, my work expanded to include major international collaborations.
Through every step of this journey—from Tuluá’s quiet rhythms to Bogotá’s awakening, Monterrey’s transformation, Spain’s challenges, New York’s boundless energy, and Paris’s embrace—I have learned that my path is not linear but layered, defined by resilience, reinvention, and the courage to claim one’s place in the world. My work is a reflection of this evolution: a tapestry of heritage, identity, and the enduring strength of women. It is about storytelling, not just of my own life but of the universal threads that bind us—our connection to each other, to the earth, to the untamed parts of ourselves. I believe in the power of art to challenge, to heal, and to transform. And as my practice continues to grow, my purpose remains steadfast: to create work that not only reflects the world but inspires it to imagine something greater.
In 2022, I signed with MtArt Agency, a pivotal moment that marked a new chapter in my career and gave me the confidence to delve deeper into the world of fine arts. I owe much of my foundational understanding of color and oil painting to Pilar Galindo Reinales, an artist and mentor from my hometown, who taught me to see beyond the surface of a single pigment—to perceive the intricate tonalities and quantities of colors within it. She guided me in grasping the technical processes of oil painting, laying the groundwork for my artistic evolution.
That same year, I held my first exhibition in Paris, The Almighty Feminine, at Galerie Virginie Louvet—a transformative milestone in the evolution of my practice. This journey has since led to remarkable achievements, including the acquisition of my work Monumental by the FAMM Museum in Mougins, where it now shares space with renown artists such as Frida Kahlo, Leonora Carrington, and Marina Abramović. Another significant moment was the auction of my work I’ve Been Too Many Women at Christie’s, achieving an extraordinary 10x valuation. Most recently, my work was showcased at the inaugural dinner hosted by British Vogue for Frieze in collaboration with Carolina Herrera, where I presented a piece created in partnership with the Colombian brand Agua by Agua Bendita.
Today, my practice is deeply rooted in themes of ecofeminism, identity, and diversity. I am continually drawn to the profound connection between nature and women—a bond that invites us to embrace our wildness, reconnect with our origins, and honor the source of all knowledge: the eternal mother. My work continues to evolve, guided by these truths and by the desire to explore the elements that ground us and the connections that unite us all.
What does your work aim to say?
My work is a testament to the strength, resilience, and complexity of women. It is shaped by the generational heritage I carry—a lineage of warrior women—my mother, grandmothers, aunts, and sister—whose lives were marked by endurance and transformation. These women were fierce, their strength forged by the challenges they endured. While their presence could often feel intense, even threatening and violent, those experiences prepared me to walk into the world with a sense of purpose. They taught me to rise, over and over again, no matter how many times it was required. Their stories ingrained in me a deep understanding that my power is my own, untouchable and irrevocable. This understanding is the foundation of everything I create.
Through my art, I aim to portray women not as they are expected to be but as they truly are: dynamic, multifaceted, unapologetically powerful. Growing up in Colombia, I was acutely aware of the limitations imposed on women, their lives often confined by expectations that felt as immovable as stone. The absence of representations of autonomous, formidable women became a catalyst for my work. I paint the women who challenge those confines, who reclaim their narratives, who embody both strength and vulnerability with equal ferocity.
My work exists at the intersection of the personal and the universal, drawing from the surrealism of Latin American magic realism, fashion as a communication tool, and the raw vitality of nature. The women in my paintings confront the viewer with a direct gaze, unyielding—a conversation as much as a declaration. Their presence speaks to identity, resilience, and the evolving role of women in a world where progress feels tenuous, where hard-won rights are being stripped away under the guise of tradition and control.
We live in a time of contradictions. While there are extraordinary strides in representation and empowerment, we are also witnessing the systematic dismantling of freedoms that women have fought for over generations. In the United States, abortion rights are being eroded, reducing bodily autonomy to a political battlefield. Platforms like Meta quietly suppress access to information, while immigration policies often fail to recognize the humanity of women who cross borders seeking safety and opportunity. These realities remind us that the fight is far from over and that the strength of women remains as necessary as ever.
Ultimately, my work is about more than just imagery; it is a statement of resistance and intent. It honors the past while forging a vision for a future where the fullness of womanhood is neither censored nor controlled but celebrated. It reminds women of their ability to rise, reclaim their place, and hold the line against forces that seek to diminish them. It is a celebration of womanhood in all its forms—a defiance of regression, an embrace of possibility, and an invitation to imagine a world where the strength of women is not only seen but truly revered.
Where do you find inspiration in your art?
What is the experience of a woman who has been conditioned into believing she has no power? This is a question I return to often. It is an experience of living within invisible confines, where her identity is shaped by expectations and roles imposed long before she had a chance to define herself. It is a life of internalized limits, where she learns to serve, to silence her voice, and to see herself as less than what she truly is. Yet, even in this conditioned reality, there is an undeniable strength—a quiet rebellion that simmers beneath the surface.
I think about women in cultures and moments where their humanity has been systematically denied—those living in countries at war, where violence against their bodies is weaponized, their existence reduced to tools of conquest. These women endure unimaginable atrocities, surviving with a resilience that defies comprehension. While I cannot fully grasp the depth of their suffering, I sometimes catch glimpses of those feelings through my own experiences—moments where I have been silenced, diminished, and stripped of agency.
I went into the world alone. There have been times in my life marked by violence—physical, verbal, and emotional. Times when trust was betrayed, when boundaries were violated, and when my identity felt reduced. I have known what it is to feel powerless, to be continuously underestimated, to have my voice drowned out by forces larger than myself. These experiences, though deeply personal, connect me to a broader narrative of resilience, one that so many women share.
I find inspiration in the women who surrounded and still inhabit my life—the women who formed me, healed me, embraced me, educated me, celebrated me. They saw beyond my mistakes and flaws, seeing instead my spirit, my soul, everything that was good and worth preserving. These women inspire me endlessly. Some have left, some have returned, and some have always been here—friends who became mothers in one moment, daughters or sisters in another. We cared for each other, showing up as the women we needed for the moment in time. In these relationships, these cycles of nurturing and being nurtured, I find strength and guidance.
Inspiration for my art comes from the intersection of these emotions, histories, and unspoken narratives. I am drawn to contrasts: the interplay of chaos and order, strength and vulnerability, tradition and progress. These dualities drive my creative process, allowing me to explore themes that are both deeply personal and universally resonant. For me, art is about observing life’s subtleties—the weight of a fleeting moment, the untold stories woven into fabric, the way light transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary.
Literature has always been one of my deepest sources of inspiration. As a child, I encountered emotions so complex that words often failed me. Then, in a single sentence from a book, I would find clarity—a truth that captured what my entire being was holding. Eventually, art became my way of navigating those depths. Alongside this, I’ve developed a relationship with what I can only describe as a life force. It is something larger than myself, a quiet guide that leads me toward books, films, songs, and experiences rich with meaning. This relationship is intimate yet challenging, testing my patience, my insecurities, and my humanity.
I don’t believe in God in the traditional, Catholic sense—the God I was taught to fear, who casts women like Eve as symbols of sin and burden. That interpretation of faith has always felt oppressive and foreign to me. But there is something undeniably celestial about the experiences I’ve had—something expansive and deeply personal. It isn’t a God of control or judgment, but a force that challenges and reveals truths, shaping my understanding of the world and my place within it.
Symbolism plays a central role in my practice. I use natural elements as metaphors for the cycles of life and death—the beginnings, endings, and transformations we all experience. Themes of women’s rights, sexuality, power, and freedom also run through my work, intertwining with nature to reflect the raw, untamed energy of femininity.
Through these symbols, I aim to spark a dialogue about autonomy, endurance, and the layered complexities of the human experience. My art is a space for reflection—a means of exploring the strength, beauty, and quiet rebellion of women in all their forms. It seeks to honor those who have faced the unimaginable while reminding us all of the power we hold to rise, endure, and reclaim our voices. In every woman, even those conditioned to believe they have no power, there is a spark waiting to be reignited—a reminder that no matter how silenced or diminished we may feel, we are never without strength.
Could you give us some insight into your creative process?
Walking is a major part of my creative process. It’s a ritual of detachment—a way to step back from the noise, from expectations, and immerse myself in thought. As I walk, I reflect on life, on experiences, and on the messages I want to convey. Then, often without warning, an image will form in my mind, like the first piece of a puzzle waiting to be assembled. I don’t rush it. The best ideas often take weeks, sometimes months, to evolve. I keep revisiting the image in my mind, questioning it: What is its purpose? What is it trying to say? Should it exist? And then there’s a moment—a feeling, a sign in my body that says, “That’s the one.” It’s excitement, clarity, and certainty all at once. That’s when the work begins.
From there, I seek out the elements, the references, and the symbols. This part feels like being a channel for something beyond myself, as though the painting already exists somewhere, and I am simply finding the pieces to bring it into being. The same intuitive feeling guides me—an object, a pattern, or a detail will stand out, calling for inclusion. It’s a process of discovery as much as creation, where my role is as much about listening as it is about deciding.
Sometimes, I fully complete a sketch before I begin. Other times, I allow space for the meaning and symbology to reveal themselves throughout the process. While I paint, I navigate through memories—some joyful, others painful. I revisit moments that have shaped me, traveling in my mind to places and people I’ve loved and lost. I walk through my parents’ house, feel its warmth, and hug them in my imagination. I forgive them. I tell my sister I miss her, and that I’m sorry for being hard on her. I tell Patricia that I should have tried harder. I tell myself I should have fought harder when my body was taken from me. I let myself feel it all. I allow the pain, the longing, the joy, and the memories to consume me.
Sometimes I sing salsa as I paint, letting my body remember the freedom of movement, the time before it was touched by violence or grief. I break my heart with memories—fragment by fragment—and piece them back together in the strokes of my brush. Little by little, the painting reveals itself to me, not just as an image but as a story, an experience, and a truth that needed to be told.
This process is deeply personal yet profoundly universal. It is an act of remembering, of confronting the fullness of life—its beauty, its pain, its contradictions—and channeling it into creation. Through every brushstroke, I navigate the fragments of memory and emotion, weaving them into something tangible, something that speaks to the shared human experience. Each painting becomes more than just a work of art; it is a vessel of healing, a reckoning with the past, and a celebration of resilience. It’s a reminder that even from the deepest fractures, we can create something whole, meaningful, and alive. My art seeks not only to tell a story but to inspire—to show that no matter how broken we feel, we carry within us the power to rebuild, to transform, and to rise anew.
What are your future projects?
At the moment, I’m focused on completing several ongoing projects. Once these are finished, I plan to dedicate myself fully to the next phase of my artistic journey. This involves not only deepening and evolving my current practice but also exploring new creative landscapes—unfamiliar territories that push the boundaries of my work and invite fresh perspectives. My goal is to expand my artistic vocabulary, allowing myself the freedom to experiment and grow, while staying true to the themes and vision that anchor my work. It’s an exciting and transformative period, and I look forward to discovering what emerges from this space of exploration and reinvention.
Interview by Fabio Pariante, X / Instagram / Website