John Paul Jakub

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Growing up a sick kid, in and out of SickKids in Toronto, opened something up in me early. Heart surgeries at seven and again at fourteen left me floating somewhere between life and death more than once, and I was drawing through all of it: mostly scary things, the kind of drawings that worried my parents. I didn't see it that way. Drawing was how I made sense of where I was. I've come to call it my tether to the nether. I spent most of that time just trying to be normal: never disclosing the medical issues, never using them as a crutch. That's not how I want to live. We all have something.

I don't carry those surgeries around like a tragedy. I carry them like proof I'm supposed to be here, making what I make.

Art is my therapy. Instead of submitting to the darkness, I turned to art and comedy. A lot of what I make still involves skulls, creatures and strange faces, but it's never meant to be grim: it's my way of looking straight at the hardest things and finding something beautiful in them. I believe there's dark inside the light and light inside the dark, and most of what I make is really just me choosing, piece by piece, which way to sway.

I grew up between Mississauga and Oakville, Ontario, and never stopped making things: music, writing, comedy, pictures. During the 2020 lockdowns, painting took over. These days I paint from a quieter studio in Northern Ontario, about two hours north of the city. I've sold more than 60 original paintings directly to collectors, shown my work in restaurants, bars and galleries, and taught paint classes at Canvas Art Bar for three years. People regularly find symbols and stories in the work that I never consciously placed there. I've stopped being surprised by it.

Almost everything I make comes from nothing: no sketch, no reference, no photo pulled up on my phone for guidance. I paint fast, most pieces are finished in a single sitting, and my best work happens when I'm moving faster than I can second-guess myself. Some pieces happen live, in front of people, at shows, start to finish, no do-overs. Exhibited at Art in My Garden, Oakville, 2022–2023.

No gallery, no ads, just the work finding its people. That part still means the most to me. But I'm ready for it to reach further, which is part of why I'm opening up more of the collection now.

Painting is where I live, but not the only room in the house. You'll also find my photography, a fashion project (stupidexpensive.com), electronic music, and writing here, including a book I wrote and illustrated, SUPERMANtras to Postpone the Apocalypse. All of it feeds the painting. Humour matters to me too: my work can go dark, but it never stays heavy for long. The paintings themselves carry my full name — Jakubowski — as their signature.