Tactile and enigmatic, Adrianna Ault’s work in many ways finds its source in her vivid geographical background. She was born in rural Ohio, and though her family moved to New Orleans a year later, farm life imprinted itself on her thanks to summers spent with her grandparents. “I learned how to drive a pickup truck, operate a backhoe, and drive a tractor by the age of 12. I would help my grandmother feed 10 hands for supper by starting at six AM. Supper was at noon. When the midday bean report came on the radio, my grandfather would shush me,” she once recalled in an Instagram post. “It was a simple life that was met by the stress of the weather and the times. My grandmother, with sad tears in her eyes, would put me back on a plane headed south at the end of each summer. I’d return to joyful teary eyes the next summer…”

Between summers, the cultural kaleidoscope of New Orleans—famous for jazz pioneers, stupefying humidity, paranormal activity, and food you want to write home about—was her playground. Her next stop, New York City, was no less textural and provocative. Ault now lives in New York’s Hudson Valley, a region whose natural beauty—forests filled with mystery, epic mountain ranges, dramatic waterfalls and glimmering lakes, swaths of farmland—inspired the rhapsodic painters of the Hudson River School.

It seems the world around her contains an overflow of sensorial sparks, and Ault is inspired to catch them one by one, in isolation.

In November 2026, she’ll be leading the photography workshop “Seeing Beyond: Intuition and Presence in Photography” at Palm Tree Workshops’ Athens outpost. The premise: that photography is a way of paying attention, and that discovery follows when we let go of fixed ideas. Below, Ault responds to the Palm Tree Workshops Questionnaire. Scroll to the end for a 1-minute video portrait of Ault made by her daughter.

Describe an experience from your childhood that shaped you as an artist.

I grew up to the background of New Orleans music. In New Orleans, it’s everywhere you go all the time. Music is the most abstract of all the arts because it can almost immediately change how you feel. I danced on the streets with strangers from the time I was a child. That freedom of expression gave me the courage to believe in my work. Everyone can be creative, but those with the courage to live by it are a crazy breed.

What are some of the questions you asked yourself as a student? And what are some of the questions you’re exploring now, as an adult?

As a student, I believed ideas were the way pictures were made. As an adult, I have learned that pictures generate ideas.

Who were some of your mentors?

I’m a fan of Miyako Ishiuchi, but I have never met her. Learning from my work is the way I grow as an artist. It takes practice and intense focus, which can be difficult, but if I listen carefully and develop a relationship with my work, it feeds me what I need to know and what to do next.

If you could go back in time, what era in art history would you choose to live in and why?

Black Mountain College was the most influential on American Art and culture. It brought together creative minds from various cultures in a cross-disciplinary setting. I think art education should mimic this. There is much to be learned from crossing artistic disciplines. I learn more about my work from painters, writers, and poets than from photographers.

What is your morning routine?

Coffee, run, pack lunch, get to the studio by 9 am. My dog, Breesy, is my constant companion.

What project or photograph of yours marked a turning point in your practice?

Making Levee was a game-changer. I was in a state of grief, and I stopped looking for pictures to take and began a practice of “listening” with my camera.

What’s the last exhibition you saw?

Marcel Duchamp at MoMA. This is the first time I am seeing his work pulled together in one exhibition. I would have liked to be friends with him. I read “The Creative Act” when I studied art in college. It is just as relevant today. One of my favorite pieces was the “readymade” he gave to his sister as a wedding gift. He instructed her to hang a geometry book outside so that its pages would be torn apart and its text would be erased by the elements. She photographed it, then made a painting of it.

What would you be doing if you weren’t an artist?

I think I might be more comfortable financially if I weren’t an artist. But most likely, I’d be unsatisfied in life. I’ve fantasized about delivering mail for the post office. I have always loved the idea of walking from house to house and putting mail in people’s mailboxes. I don’t know how to sail, but I think I could be a sailor. I could stare at the horizon line between the ocean and the sky until my dying day.

Please share a photo of your workspace.