Where do your narratives come from?
JJ: They come from quiet, vulnerable moments, from silly coincidences and sensations of déjà vu. From days conquered, devoured, and excreted.
Is writing important to your process?
JJ: Not particularly at this point—making images expresses something and satisfies a compulsion that writing cannot.
How have you been able to successfully transition from doing commercial work to fine art?
JJ: I’m not sure if I have been entirely successful in either venture, but I did make the slow transition by having enough courage or foolishness to turn away lucrative commercial projects while creating a personal body of work. I think the fine art always existed, and I always made work for myself, so when the commercial work was stripped away, the fine art was laid bare.
Some of your painted works have a relatively realistic, figurative style, whereas your drawn pieces tend more toward the fantastical. From where does this distinction in mediums arise?
JJ: This distinction comes from my interest in external and internal observation—these are two very basic impulses that drive my urge to draw and paint. I like to draw what I see with my physical eyes as well as my mind’s eyes. But ultimately, it’s about having the freedom to create whatever imagery I want. I’m not limited by market forces or personal ideology.
How do you divide your time between illustration, painting, sculpture, and product design?
JJ: Whenever I feel exhausted or bored with one thing, I bounce to another. I don’t have a real schedule unless I’m working on a book, but even then, I make sure to take breaks or to change my perspective in some way by alternating my activity.
Why did you take Maharam’s commission?
JJ: I had known about Maharam for some time, and I was honored to be included among the list of illustrious past collaborators. Having lived in Los Angeles for so many years, it’s impossible to ignore the influence of Charles and Ray Eames. I’ve also worked with 2x4 in the past [and] with Prada, and I’m a huge fan of Paul Noble’s work. . . . Jacob Hashimoto shows with my gallerist in Los Angeles, and Marilyn Minter teaches at my alma mater, the School of Visual Arts. So there was a continuum there that felt very good to be a part of.
In developing the artwork for Pagoda, what was it like working from a list of poetic phrases?
JJ: Too much freedom is always difficult, so it was good to have some kind of constraint with which to work. The most challenging and interesting part of the process was to find the connective tissue between all the disparate images and phrases. I basically started the drawing on the left and slowly let it grow and evolve toward the right without much foresight or planning . . . but somehow, on its own and independent from conscious effort, it always achieves equilibrium in the end.