by Alex Wells
Both lyrical and poppy, contemplative but unpretentious, James Jean’s work points to the limits of the saleable categories of the artworld. He’s never been quite lowbrow and not brash enough to be a hype beast, but his work still somehow doesn’t fit easily into the typical universe of collectors and museums despite being, in his own way, relentlessly experimental.
Whatever his path is, he’s been incredibly successful on it. We caught up with Jean just as he was releasing a new print…
Although all of your art has these graceful lines, it seems you draw and paint in a variety of different ways—how do you view this plethora of styles? Is it all one person or do different personalities make different work?
It took many years before my approach started to coalesce, probably about 15 years before I arrived at my current way of working. In the beginning of my career, it was difficult to pinpoint what it was I was doing, but it was always about process and self-discovery. At the heart of it all is drawing and narrative, which spawned a variety of different expressions. I didn’t have the luxury of complete self-indulgence in my art making, so I had to take on commercial projects to survive. These restrictions further helped me refine my approach, but also time allowed the work to achieve some sense of coherence. Looking back at almost 25 years of work, I think a connective thread is perceptible between the sketchbooks, the paintings, the digital works, the sculptures, and the architectural projects.
You live in LA but you’ve been showing a lot in China, right—how is the experience different? Is the Chinese art world very different than the one in the US?
It’s been difficult to show in the West. Even though I grew up in the US, my path has veered back to Asia. I’ve just received so many more opportunities there, and I’m able to work on a more ambitious scale in Asia, a type of scale that is currently elusive in the West for me. Chinese collectors have propped up much of the global art market for the past decade or so, but now that support is waning as economic conditions are shifting and tensions between countries are rising. The contemporary art world is designed to transcend borders as an expression of power and a way to preserve capital—that’s part of the reason why there are so many museums in China designed by incredible architects. On the ground, I would say a big difference is the pace and work ethic. Things move very fast and the people work all hours and are very productive.
How did the connection to China start? Was it one particular collector or curator who took an interest in you?
To properly explain the trajectory, it would be have begin in 2015 when Takashi Murakami brought my work to his gallery in Tokyo, where I did a small solo show. That led to a larger solo show with Kaikai KiKi gallery in 2018. Then in 2019, I had my first solo museum show at the Lotte Museum of Art in Seoul. In 2020, I did a collaboration with BTS which involved a solo exhibition at HYBE’s museum space in Seoul, but that occurred during covid. At this time, Gallery ALL approached me about producing large steel sculptures China, using a special method that is only utilized by craftsman there. I had always wanted to try to produce large sculptures, so it was exciting embark on this new venture. We met in my backyard, wearing masks, and thus began a collaboration that eventually led to my first solo museum show in Shanghai at the Modern Art Museum, which I couldn’t even attend due to quarantine requirements and covid lockdowns. I couldn’t risk being away from my family for that long—I know that some artists were locked away for weeks at a time trying to travel around Asia during covid. Despite all the challenges we faced, Gallery ALL helped produce all the various shows in China in collaboration with the museums, with the last one ending this past November at Today Art Museum in Beijing.
So, you just released Adrift III—can you explain why this is a big deal?
Adrift III was a large-scale painting I had completed a few years ago, and my printmaker Brad Keech and I worked diligently in the background to turn it into an edition. We knew the image would be especially sought after, so we developed a few versions using different materials. In the end, we settled on developing our largest embossing die thus far to create the edition. What makes our prints unique is a combination of my direction and Brad’s ability to precisely register all these disparate processes together into one image. It takes incredible care and skill to line up all the different layers through separate presses, and his capabilities allow me to dream up interesting combinations of embellishments and materials.
You recently worked with Fila and it seems like you’ve worked with various companies throughout your career. Can you talk about how you handle the constraints of that? Or the opportunities?
Like I had mentioned before, I take on various commercial collaborations to sustain my studio practice. However, I also appreciate how these collaborations allow me to connect to an audience in a different way than art. Certainly there are many constraints, but as with anything, it’s all about problem solving. The limitations imposed by each project can be liberating, leading me down unexpected pathways. It’s been interesting to work in fashion, film, technology, food, and other fields—I like how these diverse touchpoints allow my work to permeate different aspects of culture.
Who were the artists who influenced you most when you were starting out?
This would be in the early 2000s, so I was looking at a wide variety of things from Yoshitoshi and Hokusai to Chris Ware and Daniel Clowes, to Dean Cornell and Istvan Banyai, Lucien Freud and Francis Bacon, Antonio Garcia Lopez and Vincent Desiderio. Vilhelm Hammershøi and Henry Darger. I was really inspired by draftsmanship and the mystique of painting, as well as the ability of the image to convey a narrative.
Have your influences changed? Is there any work you’re looking at a lot right now?
These days, I actually look at a lot of photography. I especially like Rinko Kawauichi and Ren Hang, as well as Masahisa Fukase and Daido Moriyama. I like to take photographs as well, as it feeds my addiction to images.
In your list of influences there seems like a balance of illustrators who had an influence on comics and artists who are known for very skillful depictions of clarity and calm. Do you see a sort of dichotomy there?
I see connective tissue throughout the visual universe that has helped mold my own work. For example, there are echoes of Hammershøi in the panels of Chris Ware’s comics. In Daido Moriyama’s high contrast photographs, I see the noir tinged ink drawings of Frank Miller. In the vibrant costumes of West African Masquerade, I see the shamanistic stylings of Moebius.
All the photographers you named are very different (Rinko Kawauichi is miles from Moriyama) but all Asian, is there a sensibility there that you’re coming in tune with as you get older?
I suppose it might be a sensitivity to composition, balance, and detail that is particularly evident in Asian art. The subject matter also feels familiar and stirs up the faint memories of the brief time I spent in Taiwan growing up, which was interrupted by a long stint in the US during which my youth was corrupted by American comics and John Hughes movies. These days, I spend 3 months out of the year in Japan and other parts of Asia, somewhat at ease but still feeling like an outsider.
You’re doing a lot of multiples and unusual formats, not just the typical fine art product of single objects. Is there a specific reason for that?
My official answer is that I like to make my work accessible to a broad audience, while being mindful of overproduction. However, recently my subconscious started murmuring the term, Landfill Artist … I suppose I’m guilty of entering the pantheon of Landfill Artists that apply their name and branding to products that will eventually be discarded and form towering detrital monuments of consumption.
You’ve had a long career and during that time you’ve probably read many reviews of your work—has anything anyone said really stuck with you? What was it?
There was an article in The NY Times that likened my work to Maxfield Parish, which was memorable, since he was one of the first artists I was exposed to as a student at the School of Visual Arts. There was also another time on Reddit where someone said I was ugly with eleven exclamation points. Ugly as in my face, not my work. That still stings.
Do you think that reddit remark stung more because of the ugliness or the exclamation points?
Well, it stung because truth is a venom that wounds pride but nurtures wisdom, kills illusion yet births clarity. The problem with exposing yourself online is that your every insecurity will be exposed and exploited in the comment section. Flesh flayed raw, the skin grows back with mesmerizing textures and astonishing contours.
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James’ Instagram is @jamesjeanart
Images: Courtesy of Artist