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Check Out Gene Jimenez’s Story

Today we’d like to introduce you to Gene Jimenez.

Hi Gene, so excited to have you with us today. What can you tell us about your story?
I was born and raised in Orange County. I grew up going to the beach, skateboarding—just doing all the cool stuff. In high school, I really gravitated toward the arts, especially comic strips and comic books.
I graduated with a BA in Art and Graphic Design in 1993 and went straight to work as a graphic designer. That same year, my brother and I opened our own studio. We focused on comic book production and were doing well—well enough that a streetwear company ended up buying us out.
For the next few years, things were great. After that, I worked for ‘dot-com’ and an action sports TV network. The whole time, I kept telling people I was a painter—which is what I really wanted to be coming out of college. But the truth was, eleven years had gone by and I hadn’t painted a single thing.
Then I met my wife, who immediately insisted I follow my dream of becoming an artist. I was a solid graphic designer, but there was this very real fear around painting. It felt vulnerable, revealing—I felt really insecure about it.
But if you knew her, you’d know none of that mattered. So I started painting. Within three months, I was showing work at a local gallery. Within a year, I was showing in galleries across the country.

We all face challenges, but looking back would you describe it as a relatively smooth road?
I think our society likes to shortcut what it really means to be challenged. I’ve gotten pretty used to people shifting their energy—from curious to dismissive—the moment I say I’m an artist.
I don’t think my path has been any more or less challenging than any other artist’s out there. It’s vulnerable to create something from nothing, put it up on a gallery wall, and then have people walk by and judge it, dismiss it, ignore it—or worse, critique it in ways that feel personal. I think I’ve been through every reaction or non-reaction you can imagine. And just when I think I’ve seen it all, someone surprises me with something new. You really do have to grow thick skin.
For a while, I had a studio and personal gallery space open to the public. People would walk in, look around, and ask if the artist showing—who was me, because it was my gallery—was dead. I guess they were hoping the work would gain value faster if I wasn’t around much longer. I’d just look them straight in the eye and say, “Nope, still alive.”
But I think the real challenge for me—and for a lot of artists I know—is just to keep creating. I don’t look at being an artist as a job. This is my life now. I wake up and create from nothing. That’s the biggest hurdle. And whatever I make, I’ve got to put it out into the world and face whatever comes back—or doesn’t.
Sometimes people see a part of themselves in what I’ve made, and they connect with it. They invest in it. Most of the time, they don’t. They see no value in it, and keep moving without a second thought. And then the next morning, you get up and create again.

As you know, we’re big fans of you and your work. For our readers who might not be as familiar what can you tell them about what you do?
I like to think there’s a certain depth to my work. Like a lot of artists, I’ve explored multiple mediums over the years. Every day feels like a creative exploration, you could say. But in the past couple of years, I’ve really honed it down to three main mediums. That’s not to say I won’t still do fine art nude photography, graphic design, or visual brand development when asked, but painting, comic books, and sound therapy have become my main focus for now.
In my painting, I try to express the human spirit at play. There’s a kind of humanity I’m reaching for—something we may have forgotten, or maybe something we were never really exposed to in the past few generations. I try to keep my work simple and visually appealing, but if you allow yourself to connect with it, there’s an energy and a quiet depth that I believe lives inside each of us—and connects all of us.
I like using primary and basic colors, and yeah, at first glance, my paintings might come across as crude. But if you sit with them just a little longer, there’s something deeper—an expression that reminds us life doesn’t always need to be so complicated. I primarily paint nude feminine figures because I feel the feminine spirit is the most complex and layered part of our species. Honestly, I’m in awe of how women continue to show up in this world—especially given how we as a society treat each other. There’s something deeply resilient and mysterious there that keeps drawing me in.
In my comic book work, I’ve gone deep into my ancestral roots and woven them into modern-day expression. I grew up skateboarding and admiring street artists and pop culture. I worked as a colorist—basically coloring comic books—for about 30 years, off and on. Eventually, I realized I had my own stories to tell, so I started my own publishing company.
I write and plot my own comics, and I collaborate with artists I love working with. I also help publish and produce other people’s work. A lot of the themes in our books are rooted in ancient cultures and indigenous wisdom—how to engage with that wisdom in a world that often feels unethical, disconnected, and, frankly, destructive to the soul. We still keep it very “comic book”—visually exciting, with high production value—but the heart of it is deeper.
One of the things I love about comics is the pace. It slows you down. You have to sit and read. It’s not like watching TV, where everything moves fast and blurs together. With comics, you’re actively processing the visuals and the story. It’s like standing in front of a painting—you pause, take it in, feel it. In a society where our attention span is basically four seconds, I don’t think that kind of slowness is just helpful—it’s necessary.
The third medium that’s become really meaningful for me is sound therapy. And honestly, if you told my younger self this is what I’d be doing, I probably would’ve laughed. I grew up in a world that made fun of holistic practitioners and sound healing folks banging Tibetan bowls and meditating. Now, I’m one of them—and I couldn’t be happier.
I’m self-taught in 14 indigenous instruments and lead sound baths regularly. What really pulled me in, beyond the experience itself, was the science. There’s now over 20 years of research from top medical and academic institutions around the world showing that sound frequencies aren’t just relaxing—they’re truly beneficial to the body in ways we’re still uncovering.
This creative medium has allowed me to give back in a way I never expected. It’s a form of creation that’s not just for expression—but for healing. I recently posted that if the meaning of life is ‘service to others’, then sound is my ‘service to others’. It really is the worlds oldest and most effective medicine for the body and soul.

Is there any advice you’d like to share with our readers who might just be starting out?
It’s funny you mention that, because I actually taught at the university level for 10 years—and I even wrote and taught a class called ‘Being an Artist’. It was based entirely on everything I wish I had known before diving into becoming the artist I am today.
I think the biggest thing is the choice to commit yourself to being an artist. Once you make that choice, your real challenge—for the rest of your life—is staying committed to it. Being an artist isn’t a job, it’s a lifestyle, a true vocation if you will. So when you commit to that life vocation, you’ve got to be okay with living that life. Regardless of success, regardless of failure, stay committed to your creative path.
If you treat it like a job, you might be making ‘things’ —but you may not be being an artist. And that’s totally okay—just know there’s a difference. Doing something on the condition of payment is a job. It might still be creative, but it’s not creating from nothing. Creating from nothing doesn’t rely on just your technical skills—it asks you to imagine something that doesn’t yet exist, and then figure out how to bring it into the world. Imagination has nothing to do with ‘how-to’. I’ve come to realize that imagination is human beings ‘super-power’. We bring our imaginations to life.
Getting a job as an artist usually means someone is hiring you for what you already know how to do. It’s based on your skillset. But creating from nothing as an artist means you start with an idea, a feeling, or a vision, and you work your way toward making that real—sometimes without a clear roadmap. That’s a very different process, whereas you may have the initial skills to create it, creating something original does require you to invent a part of yourself along the way.
My point is: be clear on what you’re setting out to be, and be okay with it. If you’re an artist for hire, and you thrive going from project to project, that’s great. Do that. If you’re an artist who creates from nothing and puts your vision into the world, that’s great too. Just don’t confuse one for the other, or try to make one fit into the mold of the other.
I think a lot of great artists learn how to balance both sides—they make a living doing commissioned work, and still find ways to make personal work. That’s where I eventually landed. When I started out, I was frustrated—torn between wanting to make my own art and needing to do other people’s projects. I still take on ‘work-for-hire’ projects because they support the life I want to live—one where I create from nothing. But the beautiful thing now is, sometimes I get to choose when I want to take that kind of work on.
And when you reach that point, it’s humbling. You start to see the path behind you—all the years of work that got you from being just a hired hand to someone who’s sought after for their vision. That journey might be long, or it might be short, but either way, it’s the reason for your choice to be creative.
So whatever path you’re on, be clear about it. Own it. Commit to it—good, bad, and everything in between. And most importantly, honor your choice.

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