Threads & Inside
2024 & 2025
Over the past few months, I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on the art I’ve made and the art I once imagined I would create when I was younger. There’s never been any regret or second-guessing about the work I've done in the past; every step in my career as a painter has taught me something valuable and brought me closer to a lifelong goal. I feel fortunate to have maintained a true interest in the things I create throughout the path I've taken, and I’m deeply grateful for that. In 2017, I sensed it was time to shift the direction of my work. It took a lot of energy to begin that change, and it’s something that continues to evolve today. Lately, I find myself reconnecting with certain feelings—some from when I was a young boy, others from when I first stepped into adulthood—and they’ve grown stronger. I’m paying closer attention to them now, letting them guide new ideas and allowing them to take root and flourish. An idea that’s been lingering for some time is the image of an object’s exterior being torn away to reveal what’s inside. Lately, it feels like the right moment to finally bring those ideas to life. Not everything I’m working on centers around that theme, though—some pieces explore the idea of using thread as a way to connect and tie different thoughts together. What follows are those thoughts.
Paper Horse, 16x12 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2025 | Available in Shop | Prints
This piece follows the thread of revealing what lies beneath the surface. I often think in a dimensional way, and for this work, I imagined a box made of thick, worn paper, printed with the fading image of a horse. Though old and tattered, it still suggests something that once held life. Tearing it open exposes the same idea — the remains of something once full of energy and spirit. The interior reminds me of an old museum diorama, a reference point I’ve been exploring for future ideas.
Doily, 10x10 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2025 | Acquired | Prints
Who likes doilies? Mostly grandmas. I like them too—an intricate little piece of fabric to absorb the Budweiser stains. Most people would go crazy painting hundreds of tiny threads, but it helps keep me from going crazy.
Vessel, 12x12 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2025 | Acquired | Prints
Vessel reflects the body as both a form and a conduit, where veins and the spaces between represent the flow of life. The stitched surface suggests fragility and repair, while the hollowed form speaks to the traces of what was once held inside. It reflects on transformation — not as loss, but as a quiet continuation of presence through change.
Torn Birds, 10x10 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2025 | Acquired | Prints
This painting speaks to the fragility of life and the lingering presence of someone who is now gone. Though the colors are faded, there is a side that still has life left in it. The large tear serves as a metaphor for how someone's absence continues to echo through the spaces they once filled.
Squirrels, 14x11 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2025 | Acquired | Prints
This one captures the curious meeting of two worlds — where life and death stand just a breath apart. There is a playful exchange between two squirrels suggesting a moment of discovery, as if there’s an invisible field between them, offering a chance to connect beyond the ordinary.
Exist, 12x6 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2025 | Acquired
This piece reflects a simple idea: though a presence may be gone, it still exists in some way, continuing to interact with what remains.
Pray, 10x10 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2025 | Acquired | Prints
I had Albrecht Dürer’s Praying Hands in mind. When I was young, my grandmother had a framed print of it on her wall, and I remember how, during overnight stays, it sometimes scared me. In the dim light, the hands took on a ghostly shape. With this painting, I wanted to tap into that memory and add a little more to what might lie beneath the surface.
Kiwi, 12x9 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2025 | Acquired | Prints
Though the “fabric” side of this painting is made up of hundreds of tiny squares, it was a lot of fun to paint. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of life existing in everything, even though when I look at this piece, I know only the egg holds life. That quiet contrast is what makes it meaningful to me.
Still Bleeding, 11x14 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2025 | Acquired | Prints
A recurring theme in my recent work is the idea of wrapping objects in fabric or tapestry — as if shielding them with layers of meaning. With this piece, I wanted to express a simple but powerful message: to stay strong and keep moving forward, no matter what tries to tear you apart.
Oblivious, 12x12 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2025 | Acquired | Prints
With Oblivious, I was thinking about how being too careful can cause us to miss the small, meaningful moments in life. While the skeleton motions a warning for safety — a reminder that danger is always near — the piece also suggests that it’s okay to move forward without fear.
Fading Feline, 12x12 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2024 | Acquired | Prints
At first glance, this painting might seem focused on death, but it’s really about time. We’re all here for only a short while. Fading Feline is a reminder to make the most of the life you have — to do, to experience, and to live fully while you can.
Remember, 10x10 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2024 | Acquired | Prints
A simple thought on this one: these two birds want to remind you to remember to live and never forget those that are gone.
Nocturnal, 12x16 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2024 | Acquired | Prints
In Nocturnal, I imagined an old quilt — a symbol of the mind’s activity while we sleep, as the world quietly continues to create in the darkness. As I reflect on this piece, I realize it carries an underlying message for myself: to keep moving forward with my thoughts, to expand my own universe, and to notice and appreciate everything the world provides.
Be, 8x10 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2024 | Acquired | Prints
I once watched a gharial snap the tail off a koi fish at the zoo. Even without its tail, the fish kept moving the best it could — persistent, acting as if nothing had changed, at least for the time I watched. Gharials (a type of crocodile) aren’t usually seen as fierce or dangerous, but in that moment, it seemed powerful to me. I'm not an aggressive person by nature, though I often wish I were a little more so. I took that animal as a symbol for myself — a reminder to be stronger, to push forward, and to get more out of life.
Trust, 14x11 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2024 inches | Acquired | Prints
How can a rabbit and a snake possibly trust each other? It doesn’t seem natural — yet as I look around, I see that people can be much the same: some aggressive like snakes, others timid like rabbits. And somehow, despite our differences, trust can still grow between us.
Dreams Never End, 14x11 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2024 | Acquired
This painting was inspired by a song from New Order of the same name. To me, the song feels like it's about saying goodbye to something old to make room for something new. I’ve heard people say you only get one shot at a dream, but that never made sense to me — if you keep reaching for it, you always have another chance. With this piece, I wanted to pack in as much detail as I could, and it's a feeling I hope to carry into more of my work as I move forward.
Every Breath, 12x12 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2024 | Acquired | Prints
Everything around you changes and gets replaced. But as long as you're breathing, you have life to live. Enjoy it.
Forever, 14x11 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2024 | Acquired | Prints
Lately, I’ve been drawn to the look of old needlework and embroidery, where so many pieces seem to carry a message of hope. Inspired by traditional cross-stitch designs, I embedded a peaceful dove into the fabric as a simple, lasting symbol of love.
Soul Searching, 12x16 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2024 | Acquired | Prints
This painting blends elements of my older work with my newer exploration of wrapping objects in fabric designs. The title reflects where I’ve been — searching for a direction closer to feelings that have been hidden beneath layers of time. I intentionally pulled those layers back to get closer to the heart of what I’m feeling.
Still Alive, 10x10 inches, Acrylic on Panel, 2024 | Acquired | Prints
For me, having a marker of change is important — a moment to reflect on how I felt at the time. While my art may continue to evolve, this piece serves as a reminder to keep moving forward. It’s a reminder that I’m still here, still growing, and still learning.
During a time of change and growth, I made a conscious choice to step aside and let things unfold without resistance. I found myself drawn to the idea of exploring “the insides of something,” and, aside from my usual medium of acrylics, I decided to approach painting with oils in a different way. To give this shift its own space, I created a pseudonym—Jinn Olasmo (an anagram of my name). You can see that work, along with other ongoing explorations, HERE.
If you’ve been here before and are reading this, I just want to say how much I appreciate you. Your support has helped me get to this point and continues to inspire me to keep creating.