Los Angeles artist Jason Hernandez creates beautifully haunting works on paper and wood panels, from Bosch-inspired triptych paintings to detailed drawings of tortured souls and many-eyed monsters. Hernandez's pieces are not only truly an 11th Century type of awesome, evoking a biblical dread mixed with veneration, but also the skateboarder / surfer dude type of awesome. OK, gross.

An Art Center of Design graduate with an illustration degree, Hernandez flexes his knowledge of intricate line work, harmonious balance and composition, and use of negative space in works such as The Evolution of Man, The Gene Pool Curse, and The Open Sea. Mainly working with a black and red palette, Hernandez's artworks explore eschatological and religious motifs as well as cosmological. “I definitely have an interest in Medieval Art as well as Flemish art of the 14th and 15th centuries,” he says. “Mainly because of their depiction of theological concepts. I've been getting into Cosmology and our relationship with the cosmos as well as the Heavens.”

I Am Master of the Universe.

To create his devilishly delightful masterpieces, he draws like a man possessed with only an image in his mind, sometimes finishing a drawing in a day or taking up to two weeks. “I don't really plan out my drawings,” he writes, “I just start out with a figure and keep up my momentum until I run out of fuel.”

In Bats, Flames and Agony, Hernandez takes a simple image and expounds on it: “By the time I had a man getting eaten by another giant I knew I was headed in a hellish, Dante's Inferno direction. While drawing the piece I thought it would be interesting if the image could be viewed in either direction, upside down, or sideways.” As a result, Hernandez transformed his original piece with the use of multiple perspectives and focal points, conveying a sense of agony, torture, and well . . . Hell. It's like there's two artists working within his head. “It's kind of like playing exquisite corpse with myself.” (Or Dungeons & Dragons one might add.)

Sea of Terror.

Just as intricate as his drawings, Hernandez's paintings are definitely more epic in scope and scale. By integrating techniques and motifs such as Latin text, triptych panels, fantastical imagery and grotesque beasts into his paintings, Hernandez evokes non-secular, moral and biblical narratives and themes to his works. For example, in The 7 Sins, Hernandez hand-built his triptych panel and painted scene of Purgatory, Paradise and Hell while in I Am Master of The Universe, Hernandez incorporates the use of Latin text as well as gold leafing. For Hernandez these techniques can be as challenging as painting: “The gold leafing is a grueling process…it just tears apart in your hand [and] if you’re not tearing it apart you’re blowing it away as you breathe.”

Hernandez found inspiration early on in cartoons such as Ninja Turtles and Ghostbusters and almost found himself working in animation; however, he gave that up long ago to pursue work as a gallery artist. “I guess it beats drawing the same thing 150 times,” he jokes. Currently, Hernandez is designing a series of shirts for a company called 1910co., and preparing for his first solo show at Black Maria Gallery in June 2010. –Michael Hsiung / Hurley Art

For more on Jason Hernandez’s art, go here.

I Will Either Find A Way.

Don't ask him to draw you rainbows and unicorns

Jon MacNair could easily have illustrated the Grimm's Fairy Tales back in 1812, and though Jon probably wouldn't admit it, he might even have an extensive knowledge of orcs and elves, THAC0's and polyhedral dice–Dungeons & Dragons speak, for the uninitiated.

Bad Deed.

And like the kids in trench coats who hung out in libraries, Jon was exposed to fantasy in the literature– The Chronicles of Narnia and A Wrinkle in Time– and VHS stylings of The Hobbit and The Neverending Story, which would seep into his artwork, like black ooze.

Creating his world was a long gradual progress, emanating from daily sketchbook drawings and posting doodles on his blog. He's compared the process of creating his artistic netherworld to that of a fiction writer where once characters are created, they begin to dictate their own actions. A creepy thought. And like a writer, Jon's creative process begins with a word(s) and/or phrase(s), which then morph into thumbnail sketches. Through the process of erasing, penciling, and more erasing, his ideas eventually transmogrify into his dreamlike worlds in which alien flora and tentacled trees intermix with dark cosmic backgrounds filled with full moons and bright stars. A place where all the hills have eyes, and even the mounds of dirt too.

Harvesting Tears.

Thematically, Jon's artwork captures certain moments or “vignettes” like a frozen glimpse to the pre-creation of nature, the world and universe. Like legends and folklore from ancient times from every culture in the world, MacNair's world mirrors that of our own, but by making the familiar unfamiliar and the strange, even stranger in order to convey an observation about the human condition – survival, power, loss, death, and fear. With titles ranging from the mystical and mythological (Some Sort of Mystical Explanation and Consulting the Wise One) and to the mundane and humorous (Mobile Home and Evicted) Jon isn't all fire and brimstone; he's got a humorous side, albeit a subtle gallow's humor.

Mystical.

Jon will be haunting the spring issue of Beautiful Decay as well as in The Washington Review. His works will show at galleries in Glasgow, Culver City, and Buenos Aires in 2010. —Michael Hsiung / Hurley Art

For more on Jon MacNair, go here.

Wise One.

Heavy metal, color theory and sincerity inform this Florida artist

Florida artist Johannah O’Donnell creates explosive, vibrant paintings in acrylic on wood panel, using neon color schemes with rich multi-layered backgrounds. Though the paintings are primarily portraits that question our collective view of beauty, her panels are also rich with existential subthemes.

Polaroid Baby BIG.

Her paintings portray young women placed before elements of nature – trees, mossy green lawns, and starry backdrops. You will also find silhouettes of animals such as sparrows, elk and bats. Layered into the backgrounds are patterns like cheetah print, a tangled web of graffiti style arrows, dripping paint, or a repetition of stars and circles. Menacing images such as a skull or hands with a mouth in the palm bearing a devilish tongue may appear along the perimeter.

Different For Girls.

To create this multi-layered effect she uses tools like Photoshop to mock up her painting before she commits paint to the panel. She says, “I come from a printmaking background, which is all about planning, so I plan my paintings before I start them.” Regarding her daring color scheme, she says, “I’ve just always loved color theory, the way certain colors bounce off each other. It makes an otherwise static composition come alive, and it creates dimension on a flat surface.”

O’Donnell finds inspiration for her work from the local art movement, pop culture and music. She often envisions a painting after listening to a song. She says, “Fully formed pieces will pop into my head. Some call it the artistic muse. I call it awesome, because it reminds me that I’m merely an instrument of creative forces, not the force itself. This helps with reducing the artistic ego, which is not your friend.”

Her latest creations portray hybrid human animal figures, such as a guy striking a relaxed pose in a v-neck sweater who happens to have a wolf head and a girl with a drink, a smile and whiskers. She says, “I have a soft spot for invented creatures, animals that don’t exist outside of the realm of human imagination. To me, they’re the mascots of the artistic mind.”

As to why she paints fantasy, she says, “I think I’m drawn to it the same way I’m drawn towards heavy metal music. It’s nerdy and sincere. It’s art without irony - pure enthusiasm, imagination, and talent. I’m a big believer in sincerity in art. Sarcasm and irony are just self-defense mechanisms, a way to keep others at a distance. I have no interest in art that alienates the viewer.” –by Camille Lowry / Hurley Art

Panda

Kevin Earl Taylor’s paintings have a reputation for being ominous, thanks to the otherworldliness of moody scenes featuring animals and androgynous humans.

Kevin Earl Taylor was one of those skate-or-die kids in high school. Those were the days when he was sponsored by Thunder Trucks, skipped prom to skate, and listened to punk. Skateboarding was important for another reason, too. The San Francisco-based painter says it helped him to develop an artist’s mindset. “When you’re skateboarding, you’re kind of walking down the sidewalk, and everything you look at has the potential to be something else,” he said. “If you’re behind a shopping center, and there’s nothing to skateboard on, all the sudden you start looking at the trashcans, and the dumpsters, and this crappy piece of wood that’s lying on the ground. And you start to almost make this kind of recreational sculpture.”

An Assembly Eternal.

Taylor still skates. But, today, his motto would more likely be paint or die. And he aims to maintain a sense of this scrappy playfulness in his artwork. Just take the pun-infected comics, or “punny fages,” he draws when he’s not painting—in one, a metal kid throws devil horns at his roof. Title: “Ceiling Fan.”

The lighter side of Taylor’s work often gets overlooked. His paintings have a reputation for being ominous, thanks to the otherworldliness of moody scenes featuring animals and androgynous humans. Taylor prefers to think art can be serious and have a sense of humor, too. Again, he’s influenced by his skating days, when bands like The Circle Jerks sang about overdosing and junk mail. “They have a good balance of this is a really serious moment, but let’s not take ourselves too seriously because the world’s going to end one day.”

Aqua Miami.

Taylor does take up meaningful themes in his paintings, often focusing on the animal world, as though he’s striving to remind humans that we’re animals, too, (if Taylor were an animal, he’d be a raccoon, which he likes to think of as bandits). Animals not only make great subjects for paintings; Taylor believes we could learn a thing or two from our furry, fanged friends. “If we could think a little bit more with that [animal] part of our brain that we’ve kind of lost touch with, I think that we would make some smarter decisions about our future, and the way we treat our habitat and other people on the planet,” he said. -- Sarah Tomlinson/Hurley Art

For more on Kevin Earl Taylor, go to www.kevinearltaylor.com.

The D&D-Inspired Art of Levon Jihanian

His superheroes fight backaches and uncomfortable spandex. He’d like to draw a 200-page comic of someone watching TV from the perspective of the TV. He likes depressing music. Meet Levon Jihanian.

Levon Jihanian lives in a world of islands, isolated people acting apart from each other—monsters, robots, outsiders—who all see themselves as outsiders even if they’re not. In this fantastical place, creatures worry about making it until payday. He says, “Humanity is a series of cyclops. I like the idea of giving these characters the problems we have, and real feelings: love, loneliness, desire, insecurity. I always try to figure out what that part is really, at the root of a person.” Set Jihanian up with a bag of cheap micron pens and he’ll draw a monster. He begins with a shape and tries to uncover who is behind it. “I start from the most random detail. I might start from the armpit, whereas other people might start with the head.”

Post It.

Born in Allepo, Syria, 1978, most of Jihanian’s childhood was spent immersed in Dungeons & Dragons. He graduated with honors from Art Center College of Design seven years ago, and admits that D&D deeply informs his art. “It totally fits my mentality of world-building and inventing things, not just things but people. It’s funny because others think of D&D as you creating this idealized version of yourself as a dragon slayer, but usually you're some four foot tall dwarf.” Jihanian imbues his monster portraits with human challenges, like a cyclops surrounded by all different types of chairs, or a robot battling an alien water cooler. Fantasy faces its mundane details through his comic books, Ordinary Fieldbook, Enjoy The Hot Dog, and Fork Frenzy. His superhero in Bitter Disappointment fights backaches and uncomfortable spandex.

If his characters came to life, what would they say to their creator? “They kind of talk to me already,” Jihanian claims. “They'd probably complain or maybe stay quiet. They're kind of all manifestations of myself. They'd probably make sure people liked them.” While we might giggle at his goofy, slightly pathetic monsters, Jihanian describes his work as quiet and sad, “not really zany.” He’d like to draw a 200-page comic of someone watching TV from the perspective of the TV. He likes depressing music and cries when the gypsy women go crazy to the sound of triangles in Bizet’s opera, Carmen.

Grassman.

Currently, Jihanian has rediscovered print-making, particularly enjoying the happy accidents that leads to finding new colors or palates. “It's part of the discovery that I like about art.” He also continues work on his opus, a graphic novel called Danger Country. “It’s an extension of this world I am talking about. ‘If the monsters came to light.’ It should be out sometime in 2045.” —Daiana Feuer

For more on Levon, go to www.levonjihanian.com

Mel’s artwork, done almost exclusively in micron pens and ink washes on coffee-stained paper, will tickle your amygdala

There was a thread that bound kids like Mel Kadel, growing up in the suburbs outside of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. “Every kid I knew there had one thing in common, which was to get out of that town as soon as they graduated from high school.” The dull landscape of strip malls nudged her along, first for a short time in New York City, where nothing clicked.

“I made a very blind move to LA,” she explains, “I got a job as a receptionist and made drawings at night. It was a shocking move. I didn't know the city, didn't have any friends, and swore I wouldn't stay more than a year. That was 11 years ago.” Today, she and fellow artist Travis Millard share a cabin high atop a hill in Echo Park, with drawing desks a few feet apart. With a little wood stove and a rustic feel, it’s the kind of urban retreat perfect for a self-barricading writing session with an acoustic guitar, or for this pair of artists to work.

Spacing Awake.

Mel’s artwork, done almost exclusively in micron pens and ink washes on coffee-stained paper, immediately seemed to tickle my amygdala, an uncanny blend of the special artwork stored in my back-brain childhood. “Shel Silverstein was my favorite,” she says, “I would read his books over and over. The drawings and stories were a perfect balance or weird, dark, and funny.” As in the line drawings of the great, weird poet and storyteller, there’s a tension in Mel’s work, too. Her characters – a company of actors in similar garb in tableaux of action – are pushing, pulling, riding, rising, often against great, ornate quilts on the verge of becoming their own animal and force.

Falling in Line.

Along with her successful studio art practice, Mel’s managed to keep her hands in zine-making, a most labor-intensive and non-remunerative art form – especially when one prints them on paper lovingly coffee-stained by hand and distributing her small-run zines by hand or via Travis’ Fudge Factory Comics. Should you find yourself in Sydney in March, look for Mel and Travis at the Semi Permanent Conference in Sydney, Australia. While the thought of it, she says “makes me nervous, it'll be a great honor.” –by Caleb Neelon / Hurley Art

For more, go to melkadel.com

Catching up with honorary member of the artists collective Space 1026 and life-long skateboarder

Self-taught Philadelphia painter Jim Houser combines words and storytelling with cartoony renditions of recurring motifs, everything from ten-gallon hats to snakes. An honorary member of the artists collective Space 1026 and a life-long skateboarder, Houser had a busy year in 2009. “I moved out of and back into my house, put in a new kitchen, got married, had hip surgery, got Jessica pregnant, and did three shows.” It’s a wonder that his paintings, sculptures, and installations don’t show the same frenetic pace – instead, they’re the near opposite: purposeful, considered, and peaceful. Incredibly peaceful.

The Sound of a Drum.

Jim has a vocabulary of images that he draws on continually, among them vines, cowboy hats, hands, scalloped patterns, octopuses, and wallabee-like shoes. Throughout his paintings, he combines his imagery with lines of text, rarely with a line longer than a few words. Such text is planned, but only to a point. “Whatever it is I write down usually changes or is changed by the time I paint it on a painting. I carry as much of the stuff around in my head as possible at one time, and whatever order it comes out in usually is about 35% governed by my conscious and the rest just is what it is.”

Two Face.

Among Jim’s friends, he has a reputation as a homebody, and he agrees. “I like being home more than anywhere,” he says, “I am half-heartedly looking for a studio right now, since once the baby comes, I need to get out of the house. My studio is the whole 3rd floor of the house, and I need to clear out room.” Does that mean he’ll be looking for a studio in its typical form? “Rather than a dirty warehouse-y place, I'll probably rent an apartment. I need a comfortable place with cable and a sofa, or I will never go there to work. I don't think i have the personality to share a space with another artist.”

The Hit Taker.

At the moment, Jim is putting finishing touches on a February solo show at Monster Children in Sydney, and on return, plans to paint a bedroom in his house for his and Jessica’s lil’ player to be named later. “A couple other shows after that, a lot of diaper changing and baby singing, in the near future, I think. Can't wait.”

The Barrage.

Like a lot of artists, I like to collect art, and like a lot of collectors, I find that each piece on my wall develops a bit of a role in my daily life. The small piece of Jim’s lives by my door, and when I see it, I’m reminded to take a long, slow breath and find my center. That baby room will be a wonderful place. –Caleb Neelon / Hurley Art

Spending time with the sculptor/photographer. Video: Hurley Art

Spending time with a photographer who makes musicians (and other subjects) larger than life.

Neon shards of light and dark are this painter’s medium

Francesco LoCastro’s new paintings are a pulsating mix between abstract eruptions and pop-infused realism. They’re sleek, calculated, but, at the same time, completely guttural. “I make the best decisions when I don’t think about them too much,” LoCastro says. “It doesn’t come from logic. It comes from something more primal than that.”

After years curating, organizing, and working to make South Florida’s art scene sizzle, LoCastro has taken some time out—“I’ve been trying to come back to silence and get rid of all the noise, clutter and outside pressures”—to pin down exactly what he wants to say in his own art. What he’s finding is that his connection to counter-culture irreverence and free-spirited imagery may all be part of a subconscious search that started years ago.

LoCastro grew up in the middle of a culture clash. He spent his childhood in Germany and, at one point, lived near Stammheim Prison. Members of the Red Army Faction, the anti-imperialist group that, among other affronts, killed high ranking officials and hijacked an airliner, were held at Stammheim, and the prison acts as an unhappy symbol of what happens when youthful unrest veers out of control. “I saw all of that go down, and it’s taken me this long to digest it,” LoCastro says.

When he left Germany for Ft. Lauderdale, LoCastro was 17. He caught wind of the iconoclastic underground festering in New York and California and when he saw an issue of Juxtapoz with Mark Ryden, king of lush phantasmagoria, on the cover, “it all just kind fell into place.” The “lowbrow” language of Ryden and other artists in that scene was one LoCastro could speak to. And though he’d grown up thinking of drawing as a hobby, not a career, he soon had his first show at San Francisco’s Shooting Gallery.

Since then, LoCastro, who still works out of Ft. Lauderdale, has exhibited nationally, spearheaded exhibitions that included artists like Shepard Fairey and Dalek, and started the Vanguard Art Fair—he wanted “to show artists that they could be as free as they want.”

And now, even though he suspects the underground scene he’s championed is about to break open, LoCastro is laying low, revisiting his youth, rediscovering himself, and making resin covered paintings that marry flare-ups of color with controlled rendering. “I have more fun doing these than I ever have,” he says, “because I feel like they’re more my voice than me trying to be part of anything that’s been done before.” –Catherine Wagley / Hurley Art