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FAULT LINE MEDITATION
text + photos JORGE PEREZCHICA
Follow @jevpic on Instagram stories and you’ll often see him skateboarding in downtown Palm Springs with his long hair blowing in the wind. He speaks carefree and animated as he waxes poetic on camera. Scroll through Jevpic’s image gallery and you’ll find posts ranging from street style, artwork, celebrities, and models set against mid-century scenes, palm trees, cerulean blue skies and retro cars. His images are captured in a vivid, hyper color palette — that’s signature Jevpic. But lately, the artist has been expanding his repertoire, exploring new creative avenues such as fine art painting, installation works and collaborating with local gallery spaces. In 2020, the artist took on his biggest commissioned project of his career: Fault Line Meditation. The installation awarded by the Palm Springs Public Arts Commission was first presented in a group show “30×30” at the Palm Springs Art Museum in May 2019.
Production started and was completed in the summer of 2020 under intense duress from a heat wave reaching 120 degree temperatures in the desert. And as COVID-19 was surging across the country, Jevpic’s mother contacted the virus and passed away. The Fault Line’s intension, says the artist, is to create a walking path in the shape of San Andreas Fault. Painted in a striking red hue, the path invites audiences on a metaphoric hike reducing tension and shifting focus from blame to reflection. There are two signs along the path that read: “Not Yours” and “Not Mine.” These are to help remind viewers that the fault’s are so much bigger than us. “We can’t own them and we definitely can’t let them define us, but we should allow them to guide us,” says Jevpic. The installation is both intimately personal but also resonates to people of all walks of life. In these polarizing times by politics, protests and pandemic — Jevpic wants to have a conversation about forgiveness and healing.
Hi Jevpic, how are you doing? You live in the heart of downtown Palm Springs and much of your art reflects a lifestyle, color and brightness of the city. Where did you grow up and what brought you to the area?
Thanks for having me; I feel blessed to be here. I grew up in a world so long ago, made of corn and cows devoid of culture and with very few people. I was considered one of the few “coloreds” in town and the IL, IN & KY tri-state area. It was less than desirable and my childhood was so bad. I was taken from my mother by the state. Thankfully, a vivid imagination saved me and years of guidance from St. Mary’s superfluity of nuns, The Baptist Children’s Home and several foster homes lead me to getting emancipated when I was 15. I knew I wasn’t meant to be on a farm in middle America; so I dreamt heading to a coast. New York seemed like it would be cold living in the subway and I pictured California being warm sleeping on a beach. Luckily, I didn’t have to do that but that’s what brought me here.
You studied trend analysis at FIDM, photography at Art Center of Design and work in various mediums. As a creative, what inspires you and keeps you motivated each day?
It’s sooooo hard to stay self-motivated. Now, I’m prepared for the next big traumatic moment. So when silence and stillness roll in, it can become unsettling. I didn’t want to accept this and I believe in reconditioning, so I starting researching and I read that, I’m suppose to focus on “the why” the reason or the purpose of what it is I’m doing or wanting to do. If I hold that in my heart that will motivate me to DO. So anytime I’m down I think of my “why” which becomes my motivation. I also believe in the idea of “Just Doing.” As in just start doing something, anything even just making your bed, or you will continue to lay in it. I have to stretch in bed, give cuddles to my dogs, jump into shoes and onto the skateboard. Instantly when i’m moving and have the sun on my face, my mind, spirit and productivity levels all elevate.
How did you adjust to the quarantine life in 2020?
For some peculiar reason the pandemic’s chaos, shame, loss, stress and pain feel reminiscent of what I’ve experienced my entire life. At first, I was jolted, I lost my job, my mom, my freedom to not wear a mask, lost my favorite restaurant, lost followers, and friends. It kept getting darker and yet I know the light is gonna shine BRIGHT. I’ve survived past “pandemics” and thrived by never giving up, being ridiculously positive, brutally resilient, and by practicing reconditioning exercises.
2020 has been one of the most unpredictable years of our times and shutdown many major events. What did you miss most?
I feel stupid saying this but, Coachella. I go every year, twice a year. I get a dose of culture, forecast trends, mingle with celebrities, dance with strangers, live music, public art, outrageous outfits and an insane amount of PDA on every level. At some point, I go sit on a hill to look at the stages packed with people dancing to different types of music, equally as passionately, trip out on giant monitors with psychedelic visuals and watch million dollar light shows, all while the earth vibrates from the car-sized speakers dotted along the polo field. It’s like you feel the music before you hear it. Then I sit in deep gratitude to witness so much love, good vibes and energy being pumped into the world to counter all the negative.
Over the years, installation art has been gaining popularity at festivals and the launch of Desert X in 2017 has added more momentum to the field. At what point in your career did you start exploring installation art?
Hard to say because, I remember the magical drive to Mini Glacier National Park, the performance from the original cast of Cats, the architecture of Gaudi, Gehry & Calatrava, The Lincoln Memorial, a video about Andy Goldsworthy, the Rose Parade, dinosaurs at the Natural History Museum, the St. Louis Arch, Hearst Castle and the pyramids. I consider that all public art and I saw them before Levitating Mass, Cloud Gate, or Prada Marfa. All of it inspired me and making art for the people seemed like a natural evolution. But what made it seem possible was experiencing Coachella so many times and watching local and international artist display on a large scale made me realize, “I can do that too.”
Let’s talk about the “Fault-Line Meditation.” You presented a concept for the installation in May 2019 for the 30×30 show at the Palm Springs Art Museum. Can you share with us the origin story and meaning?
Faults had been a reoccurring theme in my life and I realized I’m not the only one and that most humans could relate. I also knew that the San Andreas Fault went through the Coachella Valley and it doesn’t take a Pulitzer recipient to recognize the play on words. I thought about fears around faults and how I’ve survived them through self-reflection, expression and all the sudden The Fault Line Meditation came to mind. A path in the shape of the San Andreas Fault.
I looked up the shape of the fault line and it showed the outline of it in bright red, which is associated with a variety of strong feelings, including passion, love, anger and fear. So I took that as a sign from the universe to paint the path red. I then added two signs “Not Yours” and “Not Mine” to remind everyone that it isn’t someone fault, it’s just a fault that will be there long after we’re gone; so learn a lesson and move on. The path also glows bright red, so it can literally illuminate the way in the darkness. Everyone gets it on some level because it’s simple and it plays to both fun-loving tourists and contemplative explorers.
Once you got the project approved, what was the logistics and creative process from idea to completion?
I got approved in February 2020, finished the paper work in April, and the pandemic hit hard May 1st with deaths surpassing 4,000. The city couldn’t help me with a crew or machinery because of COVID-19 restrictions. Never-the-less I put on a mask, went down to the site and started building it with my own two hands. By July the heat reached triple digits and was so relentless. I could only work when the sun went down till 2 or 3am in the morning, several weeks in a row. I would put on music, grab a shovel and live stream it to the fans and spontaneously friends would show up at all hours of the night, helping out by laying plaster, shoveling sand, and pushing hundred pound wheelbarrows. Simultaneously the nation is going stir crazy from months of the Stay-At-Home order, people are going broke, the most divisive-fear-driven election in history was avalanching through our collective conscious and the COVID-19 death toll was rising by the tens of thousands.
As so many were grieving, I felt guilty having gratitude for the opportunity to build art and have the largest commission of my career. I was able to do something when so many people couldn’t and that was because of all the people that helped me along the way. Everyday when I was playing in the dirt, I thought about people dying alone in ICUs, dads out of jobs sitting at home, children not getting the education they need, people not being able to pay their rent, about how all the independent business are out of business and how bad it sucks for kids like me to not be able to go to our mom’s funeral. The Fault Line Meditation just kept getting deeper with meaning as the days unfolded. It may be the only piece of public art made and started at the beginning of the pandemic, while it’s still being worked on today.
The Fault-Line Meditation has been on display since summer 2020. What conversation do you want to have with the viewers?
I want the viewers to practice critical thinking and to self-reflect on something they’re contracted around or can’t let go of. I want them to forgive, accept, learn and move on. l want them to have more empathy, realizing EVERYONE walks their own “fault line” and no matter where they fall on Richter Scale, their feelings are sometimes unshakable. The pain incomparable, yet something we all have in common. I want us all to have a conversation about forgiveness, healing and expansion.
If there’s a silver lining to 2020, what would it be?
Like I said earlier, I had a lot of loss this year due to COVID-19 and I don’t want to be a hypocrite; it fuc*ing sucked and now I’m choking on my tears. On the other hand I want to practice what I preach and learn from “the fault” and move on. Leanne Rimes said, “I will accept what I can not change,” none of us can change the past but we can all do something about the future. So the silver-lining would the world-wide forced self-reflection, the re-prioritization of what or who is of value and it gives us a peek into the minds of our neighbors and other people we interact with daily.
What’s next?
I’m writing a dark musical that will premiere locally before going to Broadway. I’m guiding tours of The Fault Line Meditation by appointment and I’m looking for new spots around California to make public art, like a maze out of dirty laundry or something.ϖ