Digital souls with names and stories. Each character emerges from pixels with depth, emotion, and presence.
Portraits
Stella
Stella
ADHD
Calm
Calm
Art that embraces the beautiful chaos of the ADHD mind. From serene stillness to fragmented intensity, these pieces reflect the spectrum of focus and flow.
Abstract & Geometric
Geometric Gaze
Geometric Gaze
Bold patterns and dynamic compositions that challenge perception. Pure visual energy captured in color and form.
Tech & Synthetic
TechMorphia
TechMorphia
Where silicon meets soul. Futuristic visions that blur the boundaries between organic life and digital consciousness.
Circuit Splendor Series
Circuit Splendor: Urban Android Mosaics
Circuit Splendor: Urban Android Mosaics
An expansive exploration of urban android aesthetics. Intricate mosaics merge technology and humanity in stunning geometric detail.
Robot & Bot Art
Zigzag Zestbot
Zigzag Zestbot
Playful digital companions brought to life through vibrant colors and whimsical character design. Each bot tells its own story of joy and personality.
Standout creations that defy categorization. Unique visions that demand attention and spark conversation.
Featured Pieces
Technicolor Skull in $DOG Wrappings
Technicolor Skull in $DOG Wrappings
Works in Series
jb.art — collections
Works in Series
Each body of work below grew from a single sustained question—about light, about place, about the residue that experience leaves on a surface. Browse the series that speak to you, or read the notes to understand what drove each one.
#chromatic-dissolution
Chromatic Dissolution
“Colour that loosens its grip on the objects it once named.”
This series began after a long drive through the Sonoran Desert at dusk, when the landscape lost its outlines before it lost its colour. Cadmium oranges bled into violet shadow; the horizon dissolved rather than arrived. Back in the studio, I wanted to recreate that specific sensation of saturation without boundary—pigment at the moment it forgets what it was describing.
Technically, each piece layers cold-wax medium over oil in four to seven sessions, sanding back between passes so that earlier chromatic events ghost through the surface. No masking tape, no hard edges. The colour relationships are pre-mixed on palette paper and auditioned against earlier layers before any mark is committed to the board.
#threshold
Threshold
“The door is always the most painted part of any wall.”
Thresholds fascinate me not as metaphor but as literal architectural fact: the worn stone, the paint-built edge, the scuff record of ten thousand passages. This series documents interior and exterior thresholds encountered during eighteen months of travel—a rented flat in Lisbon, a farmhouse in the Lot, a borrowed studio in Oaxaca—rendered in graphite underpainting with translucent oil glazes that preserve every erasure.
Several works in this series are large-format (60″ × 48″) to allow the threshold to become environmental. Standing in front of them, you are the same scale as the door you are looking at. That proportion is not incidental.
#field-notes
Field Notes
“Observation as practice, not preparation.”
These works are made entirely outdoors, completed in a single session of two to five hours. No photographs used for reference—the painting must be finished before the light changes. The urgency is the point. Field Notes pieces are uniformly small (8″ × 10″ or 11″ × 14″) because smaller formats can be resolved before the subject disappears.
I began this series partly as discipline and partly from frustration with studio work that had become too considered. The inability to rework a field piece—linseed oil and August heat conspire against glazes—forced a directness that has since migrated back into the studio practice in useful ways. Many collectors find these the most honest of my works. I think I agree.
#sediment
Sediment
“Paint treated as geology: strata, compression, the slow violence of time.”
The Sediment series emerged from reading about varve chronology—the study of annual lake-bed deposits that function as a calendar of past climates. I became interested in the idea that thickness is a record. In these paintings, I build forty to sixty layers of thinned acrylic, each allowed to cure fully before the next is applied, occasionally incising through to earlier strata with a palette knife or dental tool.
The surfaces are neither smooth nor conventionally textural. Under raking light, the edge-profiles of the panels are themselves worth examining: cross-sectional colour archaeology. Each piece takes between eight and fourteen weeks to complete. I am typically working on three to five simultaneously.
#interior-weather
Interior Weather
“Rooms remember, even after the furniture is gone.”
Interior Weather is a series of domestic interiors rendered in the immediate aftermath of change: a room the day after a death, an apartment stripped to its sub-floor before renovation, a kitchen still holding the warmth of a meal that marked the end of something. My interest is in the atmospheric residue of event—the way emotional temperature lingers in light angle and shadow density.
These are the most personal works in my practice and the hardest to discuss. I will say that the colour palettes are chosen for what they make me feel rather than what they describe, and that several of the pieces were made with the help of a limited palette I allowed myself in the months following my mother’s death: yellow ochre, raw umber, white, and one warm grey mixed from the other three.
#atlas
Atlas
“Maps lie about everything except distance.”
Atlas grew out of a commission that required me to spend three weeks looking at historical cartography. I fell into it. The precision of a surveyed coastline alongside the pure invention of a terra incognita interior; the way political certainty gets encoded into projection choice; the decorative convention that marks the edge of the known world with sea-monsters—all of it seemed rich for painting.
These works are not illustrations of maps. They borrow the visual grammar: the use of hatching for elevation, stipple for marsh, the pale wash of ocean, the named interior that may or may not correspond to any recoverable reality. Several include hand-lettered texts in fabricated languages. One contains a route I have never walked.
#frequency
Frequency
“What a tuning fork and a Rothko have in common.”
These are large, near-monochromatic paintings intended to be experienced at close range. From across a gallery they read as single fields of colour; approach them and the surface reveals a dense undergrowth of tonal variation, small marks, and micro-contrasts that produce an effect closer to vibration than stillness. I think of them as slow paintings: they require time to enter and time to leave.
Frequency pieces are typically made with a restricted palette of two or three pigments, mixed in varying ratios across hundreds of discrete applications. There are no drawn structures beneath the surface—the composition is entirely chromatic. Size matters here; works below 36″ × 36″ tend not to achieve the necessary field effect.
#fugue-states
Fugue States
“Made between midnight and four. The body knows things the mind won’t allow.”
Fugue States are made exclusively in the hours between midnight and four in the morning, without preliminary drawing, in a studio lit only by a single warm incandescent bulb. The constraint is procedural: whatever is made in that session either stands or is destroyed—no reworking the following day. This has produced some of the most resolved and some of the most embarrassing paintings of my career. The series includes both.
These are available only through the studio; I do not send them to galleries. Part of the reason is that they require conversation to place properly. If you are interested in acquiring a Fugue State piece, use the contact form and we will talk about what the work asks of the room it will inhabit.
#provenance
Provenance
“A painting is an object with a history before it has a buyer.”
Provenance is an ongoing conceptual series in which each painting ships with a documented material history: the batch numbers of every pigment used, the manufacturer and grade of the ground, the temperature and humidity logs for each working session, the audio recordings of the studio during the period of making, and a written account of what I was thinking about while making the work—not interpretation, but literal cognitive record.
The premise is that the making of a painting is as much an event as the object that results, and that collectors who receive this material are in possession of something more than canvas and oil. Currently fourteen works have been completed in this series. The documentation runs to between twenty and sixty pages per piece.
#groundwork
Groundwork
“The support is part of the argument.”
Groundwork explores what happens when the substrate becomes a primary subject. Works in this series are made on raw, unsized linen; on reclaimed timber with its own paint history; on Japanese kozo paper laminated to board; on panels I have built from salvaged architectural material. The ground’s prior life is never concealed and often amplified.
This is in some ways my most material-forward series and in other ways the most austere: if the surface is already speaking, the painted marks must earn their presence. Several Groundwork pieces contain almost no painted mark at all—the work is in the selection and preparation of the support, and in the decision about when to stop.
#small-devotions
Small Devotions
“Made slowly, held in the hand before being hung on a wall.”
Small Devotions are small-format works (4″ × 6″ to 9″ × 12″) made with a level of attention per square inch that would be unsustainable at larger scale. Each piece receives the same number of sessions as a large studio painting. The result is a density that reveals itself over time; these are works for living with rather than for encountering.
I release Small Devotions in groups of six to twelve, roughly four times per year, through the newsletter. They are priced for accessibility. If you are new to collecting original work and uncertain where to begin, this is where I would suggest you begin.
#borrowed-light
Borrowed Light
“North light, reflected light, light that has already been somewhere else.”
Borrowed Light is a series about secondary illumination: the light on the underside of a leaf, the glow that fills a north-facing room not from the sky but from the white wall of the building opposite, the way a face is lit in conversation from a laptop screen. I am interested in light as courier—it arrives from somewhere, carries evidence of that somewhere, and delivers it to a surface that changes it further.
Technically these are among my most complex works. The luminosity is achieved through multiple semi-transparent layers over a warm white ground, with care taken that each layer is optically thinner toward the light source it is depicting. The effect, when it works, is that the light appears to originate within the surface rather than to fall upon it.
#residue
Residue
“What remains when the painting you were making turns out to be something else.”
Every Residue painting began as a different painting. In some cases I was a dozen sessions into a work when it became clear it was failing—not technically but conceptually; it had become illustrative of an intention rather than the thing itself. Rather than destroy these, I stripped them back—solvent wash, sanding, in some cases gesso over the surface—and began again on top of the history.
What you are looking at in a Residue piece is partly the new painting and partly the record of its excavation. The original work is not visible but it is present: in the undulations of the ground, in the slight variations of tooth, in the colour temperatures that leak through from below. Collectors sometimes ask which painting they are buying. Both, I tell them. Always both.
#fault-lines
Fault Lines
“The crack is where the painting is.”
Fault Lines came from noticing that the most interesting passages in my paintings were often the ones I hadn’t planned: the place where a dry layer pulled away from a wet one, the crack in a cold-wax surface made by flexing the panel, the fissure at the edge of a poured field. I began to deliberately induce these events—not to manufacture accident but to create conditions in which accident becomes decision.
These are demanding works to live with if you want your paintings to be settled. The surfaces are unstable-looking even when they are not, and the compositional weight concentrates at the fracture rather than being distributed across the field. I find them the most honest paintings I have made about the actual process of making.
#long-exposure
Long Exposure
“The painting as a record of duration, not of a moment.”
Long Exposure takes its name and method from photography: the long-exposure photograph records not a frozen instant but the accumulation of all the light that arrived during the shutter’s opening. These paintings are made over a minimum of six months, with marks added in response to the changing conditions of the studio—light, temperature, the physical and emotional state of the maker—rather than in response to a pre-formed composition.
The works are large, typically 48″ × 60″ or larger, and they repay large walls. They are not background paintings. They are made to be the primary visual event in whatever room they inhabit. I have never made more than two in a year and in some years I have made none.
#negative-capability
Negative Capability
“Keats’s phrase, applied to the practice of not resolving.”
Keats defined negative capability as the ability to remain in uncertainty and doubt without any irritable reaching after fact and reason. I have been thinking about this idea for twenty years in relation to painting and this series is my attempt to embody it: these are works that deliberately resist resolution, that hold multiple readings simultaneously without collapsing into any of them.
Whether they succeed is not for me to say. What I can say is that they are the works I return to most often in the studio, not to rework them but to look at them and ask myself what they know that I don’t. That is the only criterion I can offer for whether a painting in this series belongs in the series.
#contact
Contact
“Paintings made in direct physical contact with what they depict.”
Contact is a series in which the subject—bark, stone, architectural plaster, corroded metal—has physically impressed itself into the wet ground of the painting via direct transfer. The panel is pressed face-down into the source material, or the source material is pressed into the panel, and the resulting imprint becomes the compositional armature for everything that follows.
These works raise questions about representation and indexicality that I find more interesting than the answers: is a work made this way a painting or a document? Is it abstract or hyperrealist? I don’t know. The ambiguity is not a failure of definition. It is what the work is about.
#ordinary-time
Ordinary Time
“The liturgical phrase for the weeks between the high moments of the church calendar—not ordinary as in unremarkable, but ordinary as in ordered, counted, named.”
These are paintings about the texture of regular days: the particular quality of Tuesday afternoon light, the specific quietness of a room at 6 am, the accumulated weight of routine. I have always thought the high moments of experience are, in aggregate, less of a life than the low-grade continuous middle of it, and I wanted to make work that honored the middle.
Ordinary Time paintings are characterised by a kind of deliberate plainness at the level of subject—no drama, no event—held against a chromatic complexity that gives them, I hope, a depth that rewards sustained looking. These are paintings for people who slow down in front of paintings.
#translation
Translation
“Every painting is a translation of an experience into a medium that cannot hold it exactly.”
Translation is a series that foregrounds the gap between source and result. Each work is accompanied by a written account of the experience or observation that initiated it—not as explanation but as parallel text, the way a translator’s note sits alongside the poem it cannot fully render. Collectors receive both the painting and the text, and are encouraged to read neither as definitive.
The written components are not didactic labels. Some are prose poems, some are more like journal entries, several are in the form of questions I have not answered and do not intend to answer. The relationship between the text and the image is not illustrative in either direction. They are in conversation, across the gap that makes conversation necessary.
#wall-art
Wall Art — Prints & Reproductions
“The image without the object. Something is lost; something is also freed.”
Not every collector wants or can accommodate an original work, and I have no interest in pretending otherwise. The Wall Art collection makes high-resolution reproductions of works from across the series available as giclée prints on 300gsm cotton rag, in limited editions of twenty-five per image. Each print is signed, numbered, and accompanied by a certificate of authenticity.
I am particular about reproduction quality. I have declined relationships with print-on-demand services whose colour management did not meet the standard I require. The prints in this collection are produced by a single specialist printmaker I have worked with for eleven years, on equipment calibrated to match the colour profile of each original work. If you have seen mediocre art prints and assumed that is what prints are, I would ask you to look at these before deciding.