Interview
J EVOL I
J Evol I studied Fine Art and Animation at The Art Institute of Fort Lauderdale. His philosophy shines through his work that the world is both monstrous and beautiful, depending on how you choose to see it. He believes that both positive and negative experiences fuel one another to provide meaning to what can easily bring about feelings of nihilism. J Evol I owns “Underlab Studios” which has produced many short films and documentaries and “Underlab Media Productions” which provides digital media services.
What is your background and how did you start your journey in the art world?
“I like to say I was born with a pencil in one hand and a VHS tape of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in the other. I grew up in South Florida, bouncing between graffiti-covered alleyways, flea market VHS bootlegs, late-night anime reruns, and the kind of corner-store comic books that smelled like dust and bubblegum. My earliest canvases were my school textbooks then upon turning 15 — let’s be honest—whatever walls I could get away with tagging before security showed up. Art wasn’t a hobby—it was my way of decoding the chaos around me. I was raised in an environment where you had to create your own identity or risk being swallowed by someone else’s. Graffiti taught me rebellion. Comic books taught me storytelling. Surrealism taught me to dream loudly. Those worlds fused into my visual language: pop-urban-surrealism—equal parts street hustle, mythic symbolism, and nostalgic punchlines. I eventually took the ‘proper’ route and studied Fine Art and Animation at The Art Institute of Fort Lauderdale, thinking I’d end up working for Marvel or Pixar. Instead, I realized I didn’t want to just tell their stories—I wanted to build my own. That’s when I created my identity as J EVOL I— a multi entendre name which is part ‘evil eye’ (because a mishap from a toxic relationship left me blind in one eye), also spelled I LOVE J in reverse. Blended together—my philosophy that the world is both monstrous and beautiful, depending on how you choose to see it. That both positive and negative experiences fuel one another to provide meaning to what can easily bring about feelings of nihilism. From there, I built Underlab Studios to which I’ve produced many short films and documentaries, Underlab Media Productions which I use to provide digital media services, and EVol I Art my online art persona to which I sell art and merch and provide a community for other artists like me a place to promote each other. This is my own ecosystem where I could be artist, designer, marketer, and myth-maker all at once. I’ve been doing this ever since. No plan B. No backup career. Just one relentless mission: To wake people up with art that hits like a memory, a prophecy, and a punchline all at once.”
What inspires you?
“I don’t wait for inspiration—I chase it down like it owes me money. My muse isn’t some delicate goddess floating through flower fields. Mine is a shape-shifting creature stitched together from graffiti walls, 90s cartoons, punk flyers, conspiracy documentaries, late-night philosophy spirals, and random strangers I overhear at gas stations. I’m inspired by contrast. Beauty next to decay. Humor sitting next to heartbreak. A kid tagging his name on a dumpster like it’s the Sistine Chapel. I love when elegance and grime hold hands—that’s where truth lives.
Pop culture is my playground. From Michael Jackson’s Thriller to Grumpy Cat. I like to treat history, mythology, and meme culture as if they’re all part of the same timeline—because honestly, they are. Human beings have always been ridiculous and profound at the same time. I’m also deeply inspired by human resilience. People think I’m painting cats, skulls, or surreal dreamscapes—but really, I’m painting survival. I’m painting that moment when someone gets knocked down by life and stands up laughing instead of crying. That’s why my work is loud. Bold. Sometimes funny. Sometimes painfully honest. I want my art to feel like a punch and a hug at the same time.
Music is fuel. One day I’m painting Wu-Tang and something with Rage Against the Machine lyrics on it, every song becomes a color in my head. Ultimately, I’m inspired by the idea that reality is negotiable. Art lets me remix it. Rewrite it. Mock it. Worship it. I create as if I’m bending dimensions—not to escape reality, but to expose it. If the world refuses to make sense, I’ll paint it until it does.”
What themes do you pursue? Is there an underlying message in your work?
“Common themes are based on my personal encounters with love, romance, and eroticism; then there is my social commentary on the environment, corporate greed, techno-fascism, the duality of man and for no good reason - CATS. However, the main theme running through my work is duality—the beautiful and the grotesque, the sacred and the stupid, the serious and the absurd. I’ve always believed that the human condition is hilarious and tragic at the same time, so my art leans into that tension instead of choosing sides. I paint laughing skulls, rebellious cats, mythological figures in streetwear, dreamscapes full of satire—because life is all of those things at once. Another recurring theme is rebellion through self-awareness. I don’t paint rebellion just for the aesthetic of it—I paint it as a reminder that freedom starts in your mind. That’s why even my most outrageous or surreal works carry a deeper subtext: Question everything. Don’t believe the label. Don’t accept the default setting. Rewrite your myth. I use animals—especially cats, lions, and other iconically defiant creatures—as stand-ins for human personalities. A lion cub with blood on its mouth but big innocent eyes. A grumpy cat who speaks in memes. These aren’t just cute concepts—they’re reflections of how society treats power, ego, humor, and vulnerability. Pop culture and nostalgia are constant ingredients in my work, but I don’t use them for simple tribute pieces. A common theme is the use of Anti-Heros or Villans as subjects (Alex from Clockwork Orange, Dr. Frank N Furter from Rocky Horror Picture Show, or Satanico Pandemonium from Dusk Til Dawn) I use familiar imagery as Trojan horses to deliver unexpected emotions. You think you’re looking at a funny meme cat—and then it suddenly makes you reflect on internet culture, loneliness, or how humor is our favorite coping mechanism.”
How would you describe your work?
“Beneath all the visual chaos, the underlying message is simple: Life is ridiculous. Life is painful. Life is beautiful. You can either be crushed by that reality—or laugh, fight, and evolve with it. Every piece I create is an invitation to wake up, look closer, and not take existence at face value. My canvas is my sermon. My punchline. My protest. I describe my art as Pop-Urban-Surrealism — a fusion of street-level grit, nostalgic pop culture, and dream logic wrapped in bold color and unapologetic attitude. Imagine if Salvador Dalí grew up watching Toonami, tagging walls behind a 7-Eleven, and scrolling meme pages at 3 a.m.—that’s the energy. My work lives in the space between humor and philosophy. On the surface, you might see a grumpy cat, a zombie Michael Jackson, or a lion cub with the blood of fresh kill still on his lips. But look closer and there’s always a narrative underneath — something about ego, mortality, rebellion, or resilience. I love hiding existential messages inside punchlines. Like cartoons with a Ph.D. A lot of my pieces look like if dreams and satire had a baby on a Miami sidewalk. Neon colors. Vintage textures. Mythological symbolism. Hip-hop swagger. Manga intensity. I like to treat every canvas like a cultural mashup that shouldn’t make sense—but does. I also describe my work as visual therapy for people who think too much and feel too hard. It’s for anyone who’s ever felt out of place, misunderstood, or too awake in a world that prefers sleepwalkers. My paintings say, ‘Yeah, life is insane—but isn’t it kind of awesome that we get to witness it?’
Stylistically, I bounce between digital, acrylic, mixed media, and occasionally resin or 3D textures. I treat mediums like instruments—each one gives the message a different voice. Some pieces scream. Some whisper sarcastically. At the end of the day, my art is my rebellion against boredom, conformity, and emotional numbness. I want my work to slap people awake—make them laugh, feel, reflect, or at least say, ‘What the hell did I just look at… and why can’t I stop looking?’ Because if art doesn’t make you react, then what’s the point?”
Which artists influence you most?
“My influences live across decades, genres, and even realities. I pull from fine art legends, street renegades, musicians, filmmakers, and even internet trolls. To me, art isn’t just paintings—it’s attitude, philosophy, rhythm, and rebellion. Visually, my holy trinity is Salvador Dalí, Basquiat, and Banksy. Dalí taught me that reality is stretchable. Basquiat taught me that chaos can be poetry. Banksy taught me that simplicity can be nuclear if the message cuts deep enough. Add in H.R. Giger’s biomechanical nightmares, and you’ve got the range I love swinging between. From the graffiti world, I was shaped by Seen, Saber, Cope2, and the Miami street legends whose names didn’t make it to museums, like Chrome,YNOT (RIP), Reefa (RIP), DEMZ (RIP) but made it on every railcar and abandoned wall in the city. They were my early professors in typography, rebellion, and hustle. From comic books and animation, I owe everything to Todd McFarlane, Jim Lee and my Professor at the Art Institute Jonathan Hunt who taught me everything I know about layout, composition and story-telling. They taught me how to make still images feel like movement. But influences don’t stop at visuals. Music is just as crucial. Michael Jackson for theatrical storytelling. Wu-Tang Clan for raw lyric alchemy, Rage Against The Machine for political awakening, Smashing Pumpkins for beautiful angst. Kanye (when he’s sane), Eminem, MosDef, MF DOOM, Daft Punk—they all inform my rhythm, palette, and pacing. At the end of the day, I don’t follow influences—I remix them. I treat the art world like a buffet: I take what nourishes me, flip it with my flavor, and serve it back with a wink and a war cry.”
“My art plays with elegance—it admires it, teases it and sometimes turns it upside down.”
What is your creative process like?
“My creative process is part ritual, part chaos magic. It usually starts with a spark—something random I overhear at a gas station, a meme that’s too profound for its own good, a lyric that punches me in the chest, or a visual mashup that appears in my head like a glitch in the Matrix. I’ll jot it down in one of my 47 half-organized sketchbooks—or in a text message to myself at 3 a.m. because my brain refuses to respect business hours. I call it an Art Attack. From there, the idea evolves like a creature. I’ll start building a concept digitally—sketching, compositing, layering textures, sampling colors from unlikely sources like candy packaging or rusted street signs. My digital mockups act as blueprints, but once I hit the physical canvas, all bets are off. Paint never behaves the way you expect—and that’s the fun part. I love mixing mediums. Acrylic, spray paint, markers, airbrush, sometimes resin or collage. I don’t follow rules—I wrestle with the piece until it stops talking back. Some paintings come alive in a day. Others make me suffer for weeks like I owe them rent.
Music is non-negotiable. My studio soundtrack jumps from Wu-Tang to Drum N Bass from AK1200 to synthwave to angry YouTube motivational speeches. Each song dictates the brushstrokes. You could probably hear my playlist and guess what painting I was working on. Before finishing, I let each piece sit and stare at me for a few days. If it doesn’t say something—make me laugh, feel, or question reality—I keep going. I don’t stop at “finished”—I stop at alive. My process isn’t about perfection. It’s about impact. I’m not trying to paint what something looks like—I want to paint what it feels like. If I can make you feel nostalgia, rebellion, or sudden existential clarity from a grumpy cat—Mission accomplished.”
What is an artist’s role in society and how do you see that evolving?
“An artist’s role is part mirror, part megaphone, part troublemaker. We’re historians without permission slips. We document the times not the way they are, but the way they feel. Politicians write laws. Corporations write ads. Artists write truth — not in paragraphs, but in moments that stick to people’s ribs long after logic fades. I believe artists serve three major functions: to reveal, to disrupt, and to heal.
● Reveal — We expose what people overlook or suppress. We turn quiet pain into bright color. We turn whispered thoughts into loud statements.
● Disrupt — We challenge comfort zones. We poke holes in fake narratives. We make people laugh at things they’re scared to talk about. Satire and surrealism are just truth with eyeliner.
● Heal — Even the most rebellious art offers catharsis. When someone sees their struggles reflected in a painting — even if that painting is a sarcastic cat with a death stare — they realize they’re not alone.
As society evolves, the role of the artist becomes even more crucial — because in the age of algorithms, authentic humanity becomes the ultimate rebellion. AI can remix styles, automate aesthetics, even fake emotion — but it can’t live through something and bleed it onto a canvas. That’s our territory. I also think artists are evolving from lone wolves into cultural engineers. We’re no longer just painters or musicians — we’re brand builders, storytellers, movement makers. An artist today isn’t just someone who creates visuals — it’s someone who creates worlds. The future of art isn’t about galleries or institutions deciding what’s valid. It’s about artists taking control of their ecosystems — building their own platforms, communities, and empires. The revolution won’t be televised. It’ll be screen-printed, livestreamed, spray-painted, and sold in limited drops.”
Have you had any noteworthy exhibitions you'd like to share?
“Every exhibition I’ve been part of has felt like a mini rebellion — each one a chance to infiltrate a different world with my twisted brand of pop-urban-surrealism. But a few absolutely stand out. One of my most memorable shows was at Green Room in downtown Fort Lauderdale (now known as Stache) — a legendary nightlife venue that doubled as a creative battleground. It wasn’t your typical ‘quiet gallery opening with wine and whispers.’ It was lasers, bass, spray paint fumes, and a crowd that looked like they’d been summoned by a mixtape from another dimension. That’s where my ‘Thriller’ tribute piece to Michael Jackson first caused a scene — people weren’t just viewing it, they were dancing with it. That’s when I realized my art wasn’t meant to hang politely — it was meant to participate. Another highlight was being part of a Tarantino-themed group show, where I debuted my ‘Satanico Pandemonium’ painting — inspired by Salma Hayek’s character from From Dusk Till Dawn. Also another favorite from that show is a portrait of ‘Alabama’ from True Romance. Watching people’s jaws drop as they recognized her — half goddess, half serpent, fully untouchable — was priceless. The piece became a conversation grenade, igniting debates about femininity, danger, seduction, and myth. Exactly as intended. Most recently, I spent October 2024 to February 2025 as a resident artist at Thrive Art District in Fort Lauderdale, and that experience reshaped my perspective entirely. I had my gallery wall wide open to the public to visit during their monthly Art Walks. People would wander in expecting to browse quietly — then end up debating mythology, meme culture, and metaphysics with me for an hour. I’ve also hosted my own EVol I Art pop-up exhibitions — part gallery, part street market, part social experiment. No velvet ropes. No gatekeepers. Just raw energy, live painting, merch drops, and people actually talking instead of pretending. That format made me see the future of exhibitions: hybrid experiences where people don’t just view art — they interact with it, wear it, drink coffee with it, and take selfies inside it. Every show taught me the same thing: Art doesn’t need a silent room. It needs a heartbeat.”
