Aaron Elvis Jupin

Aaron Elvis Jupin once went looking for fairylands, sewer lairs, and maybe a portal to “It”—and somehow ended up an artist. We dive into cartoon physics, suburban weirdness, melting flowers, and why every good idea starts with a bad Photoshop file.

What's the story behind your name, Aaron Elvis Jupin?

Name my mother gave me. She was going to give me Elvis as my first name but was convinced not to. Elvis Presley's middle name is Aaron, so they flipped it. I'm grateful for it.

You grew up in Orange County and have spoken about suburbia having this underlying surreal or eerie quality. Was that something you noticed at the time or later in life?

I think when you're young, you live in a world of storytelling—or at least for me, that was the case. Always looking for something or somewhere new to explore: places like "Fairyland" (a storm drain that ran behind people's homes) or "Hell" (where a sewer opened up underneath a football field). Guess I wanted to find the Ninja Turtles' hangout or "It."

I think everyone has these places in different iterations. They aren’t unique to my experience—just a part of being a kid at that time. I hope those places still exist in some context. We would have these tales you’d hear about the man on the corner, or about this area behind the houses where no one could see you. I guess it's a sense of escapism.

Although at the time I wasn’t fully aware of it, looking back, it's been a constant reminder of the bizarre nature of being alive—and the anxieties and insecurities that come with growing up in a fabricated world.

“We live in a Disneyland world—Dole Whips and funnel cake, with no consequences.”

How did the "cartoon reality" of places like Disneyland and Hollywood impact your work?

This theory, "Cartoon Reality," is validated by places like that—and even suburbia. These places are real but are a complete fabrication of human-made comforts or illusions. Orange County wouldn’t exist without the aqueduct and the changing of the landscape. Hollywood is a fictional land, a facade of a dream where anything can happen—and nothing at the same time. We live in a Disneyland world! Wouldn’t that be something? Dole Whips and funnel cakes—with no consequences.

I guess my idea around this has changed, but there are no rules to art-making, just like the rules of reality don't apply in cartoons or movies. Buster Keaton always escapes his fate, and the coyote only falls when he looks down. I'm trying my best not to look down. But we all stumble.

Your paintings have this striking contrast between razor-sharp details and blurred, out-of-focus elements—which is clearly intentional? The work becomes very hyper-realistic and dreamlike.

I'm thinking about the way I see the world, how I remember, or how I focus on objects or elements. Maybe I have bad vision. I like this distortion—it comes from my basic knowledge of photography and my terrible use of Photoshop. It creates an uneasiness that I'm still trying to understand and lean more into. We have so much at our fingertips to make things perfect; I’m trying to let go of that idea and leave more up to chance and experimentation. Hopefully, it will become more present in the coming works. These tape lines are too sharp.

Do you collect notes or screenshots that then become inspiration for some of your initial sketches?

Maybe I do this too much. I'm constantly taking screenshots of things or people I don’t know on social media, and it may become nothing—but it’s all relative to the practice. My notes are so loose. Everything begins as a sketch, usually pulled from this collection of images. I’ll do a loose drawing with notes, then start compiling found images and photographs in Photoshop. Last screenshot was a Wayne Thiebaud painting and a photo a friend posted of him with some flowers.

Masks have become a current theme—do you see them as a way to conceal identity, reveal something hidden, or maybe both?

Masks are being used to express these anxieties or insecurities that I think we all deal with while navigating the present and reflecting on the past. Truth seems to be an illusion sometimes when faced with realities. I believe the mask is made to conceal—and I think a lot about the facade, the structure of what is and isn’t a mask. Right now everything is wearing a mask—Scooby-Doo style.

“I'm trying my best not to look down. But we all stumble.”

How do your paintings influence your sculptures, or vice versa?

I’m not a sculptor, although I'm trying my best to participate. I think it's just a part of the practice—to want to see things off the wall and onto the floor. I'm chasing something, and it may come out as a sculpture or a painting. Just trying to allow myself the space to make bad work.

I see three blank canvases and an upcoming show in Berlin. What’s the plan?

I’m in a group show in Berlin in May with a lot of friends, put together by Benno, Matthieu, and William at American Art Projects. The other canvases—I'm just prepping them to stay busy. No real plan for them yet. Just want to have surfaces ready for when I return.

“Masks are being used to express these anxieties or insecurities that I think we all deal with while navigating the present and reflecting on the past.”

Top 3 skate parks in L.A.?

Wherever the friends are.

aaronelvisjupin.com
@jupescoops