Tess McMillan: “Painting is a total examination of who I am”

Tess McMillan is a big believer in quitting if the passion isn’t there. Thankfully, art was the one infatuation she never walked away from. Though she’s built a successful modelling career and more recently forayed into acting, Tess identifies, first and foremost, as an artist. Looking at her magnetic paintings, it’s hard to imagine her as anything else. 

We meet in her East London studio, where she’s working on a new series. Getting a sneak peek into her process is exciting – but it also feels slightly intrusive, a sensation not unfamiliar to those viewing her extremely intimate and often unsettling self-portraits.

If her work carries an ethereal, sometimes nightmarish quality, in person Tess is disarmingly grounded – warm, funny, and self-aware. She laughs when the contrast is mentioned; it’s a comment she hears often. Perhaps this duality stems from her layered upbringing: born in the East Texas town of Beaumont, relocating to New York as a young adult, and currently based in London – at least for now. 

When she’s not in the studio, she’s travelling the globe, modelling for fashion houses like Maison Margiela and Jean Paul Gaultier, and taking on acting roles such as a pregnant teenager in Sean Price Williams surrealist satire The Sweet East (2023), followed by an appearance in Babygirl, one of the most talked-about films of 2024. We sat down to discuss her new painting series and find out what influences her practice, from dream symbols to, apocalyptic thinking, self-performance, and more. 

Flynn Roddam: What inspired your latest series?

Tess McMillan: I’ve been thinking a lot about my relationship to desire—how it ties into this tension between vulnerability and control, or privacy and performance. Specifically exploring those ideas through medieval apocalyptic imagery, and dream symbols, using both as a kind of canvas for the subconscious. 

FR: Is it a continuation of your past work, or a departure?

TM: It’s all a continuation. My relationship to myself—and the world—is constantly evolving, but I like to think of each new piece as a question I began asking in the one before. 

FR: Is there a central feeling, or image that anchors it? 

TM: I’m really drawn to imagery that reflects our primal need to control. A wildfire reduced to the steady flame of a candle, a forest tamed into the order of a garden—these visuals speak to that impulse. I think this inclination to control the chaos of nature sort of serves as a larger representation of our relationship to our own desire, hunger, and shame. 

FR: You talk about “controlling the chaos.” Is the chaos you’re navigating internal or external? 

TM: I experience both. I think something I am really interested in is this concept of living in a world where we’re overloaded with information, but then when we go home everything can feel so quiet. I’d liken it to the sensation you have when you leave a loud concert and your ears are ringing—then suddenly everything seems stiller than it’s ever been. 

FR: You were born in Texas; your family is in upstate New York, and you’re now based in London. Which place is conducive to making the best and most genuine work? 

TM: I don’t find myself in Texas very often these days, so it’s between New York and London. I find being home in Upstate NY so comforting. Being there allows me to stew, and come up with my ideas, letting myself just really think about what I’m currently most drawn to both emotionally and artistically. When I come back to London that’s when I can take those ideas and execute them. 

FR: We’re living through undeniably turbulent times. —Does the constant upheaval feed your creativity, or do you have to step back in order to be productive?

TM: I think it’s difficult for it not to influence the way that everybody feels about themselves and how they fit into everything at large. For me at least, it’s impossible to ignore. Every generation has felt like they’re living through the most troubling time in history – worried about some impending apocalyptic event. What fascinates me is that modern apocalyptic fear can be lonelier and more isolating than we might’ve imagined. I’m not necessarily interested in capturing the literal visual elements of that fear, but rather the emotional turmoil it provokes. 

FR: A number of your paintings are self-portraits. Do you see them as a real-life diary of your evolution, a window into your psyche, or both? 

TM: I approach painting, especially my self-portraits, as performance art. I think that as much as I am taking things that I notice about the world and trying to incorporate them, at the end of the day, what I’m mostly trying to achieve is something sort of subconscious. These things I have a harder time putting into words – a lot of the time that means interrogating dreams, or thinking about how I approach sex, longing, or loneliness. 

FR: Do you engage with modeling the same way in terms of it being performance art? 

TM: No, absolutely not! I think of modeling as a separation of myself and I don’t approach it in a personal way at all. Whereas speaking in terms of my self-portraits, painting is a total examination of who I am. 

FR: Viewing your work feels like stepping into a private moment – like a voyeur intruding on something intimate. 

TM: Whenever I’m making my paintings, I’m trying to capture this impression of absolute privacy, and whether or not somebody feels like they’re intruding depends from person to person. I am definitely very interested in the vulnerability of pure privacy, the things we do, and how I feel about myself when I’m completely alone. 

FR: Carl Jung interpreted the house as a symbol of self in dreams, or even nightmares. Your work often incorporates houses. Does that idea resonate with you?

TM: I’m really, really fascinated by the concept of recurring dreams. If you ask, most people have had variations of the same recurring dream since childhood. Mine is that I’m walking around a house, and I have this feeling that there is something really terrifying there. I can’t exactly put my finger on what it is – I just know that I’m waiting for something to happen but it never does. To me, ‘the house’ in my paintings represents a lot of different things: a sense of safety, a sense of belonging, as well as how I approach feelings of danger or stability. I’ve always been fascinated aesthetically and emotionally by the concept of domesticity and the home, almost as a separate character. 

FR: Have you ever seen Mother by Darren Aronofsky? That feels like a prime example of the house being its own entity. 

TM: Yeah, of course. I’m obsessed. I LOVE that film. 

FR: Where do you find peace? 

TM: I find peace when I’m asleep. 

FR: Really, because it sounds like you have crazy dreams. 

TM: Okay, maybe only 50 percent of the time when I’m asleep. I also like to go for really long walks, I start off with an insane amount of neurosis and I walk until I’ve completely exhausted myself then I’m the most peaceful I can be. 

FR: Tess, what are you planning for the Plaster store takeover?

TM: I chose three paintings that I think really tie together and reflect the themes I’ve been most focused on lately. They’re all oil on panel, and they all share a kind of narrative through-line of domestic isolation.

FR: After your Plaster Store takeover, what’s next for you? 

TM: Making moves in silence!