Meet Jana Opincariu

Today we’d like to introduce you to Jana Opincariu.

Alright, so thank you so much for sharing your story and insight with our readers. To kick things off, can you tell us a bit about how you got started?
A brief walkthrough of my story? Very rarely I feel is there anything ever brief about artists’ stories. If there is briefness, can the art speak for itself and therefore no story is needed? Or is the briefness out of naivety of the self or such an infancy in a career that all it can be – is brief? I can’t attest to either; my goal being the former. My story, like everyone’s, is little stories that may or may not be so little. The best stories leave things to the imagination. I am a transplant from Albuquerque that moved to San Pedro at the height of the pandemic having lost a lot and wanting more. Lost loves, new loves, broken hearts, broken bodies, transformed minds and souls led me to where I am now. The best and truest story I spoke was my artist’s talk- which was for the closing reception of my solo show “Meditations in Solidarity” in June of 2021. The spoken story was recorded and can be found on YouTube.

Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way. Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
It’s my opinion that smooth roads don’t make for good creation or a good story. We don’t want to hear stories about smooth roads. We are interested in whether the rough roads have a happily ever after for the artist. “Art” or not- it doesn’t matter. “Happily Ever Afters” don’t exist either, especially in the big city. Los Angeles is a city that newcomers learn quickly is a monster that actively tries to chew up, swallow and spit out. I moved because I started to feel like a big fish in a little pond in Albuquerque. Not because of my credentials but because of where I wanted to go. Santa Fe and Canyon Road is the end game and dream for most New Mexico artists. New Mexico will always be in my blood, but I wanted to circumvent an obvious dream and not pigeonhole myself into a “New Mexico Artist” title. What I have learned of myself and how I have learned to trust myself allowed me the courage to feel I could bypass and go stronger and deeper. This is an absolute necessity for good creation. Good creation requires the rough road, the hard decisions, and the courage to go into the deepest, nastiest trenches of the mind- to find our demons and say- “hey- I know you. You’re me. And I love you.” The struggle is taking the road not less traveled but least traveled, not trying to reinvent the wheel but to understand that the wheel being used is the one that you make for yourself. “Who are you willing to become?” was the tagline for my joint show DARK TOTEM with renowned artist Daniel Kathalynas. If you are willing to become and transform, “struggle” becomes abstract.

Appreciate you sharing that. What else should we know about what you do?
I am known for my Gold Series and Black Series. I was lucky enough to have a few breakout shows within a few years of each other. My first joint show with Daniel Kathalynas in September of 2019, TOTEM, put me on the map and earned me a coveted position of doing a solo show opening the year (of 2020) at the Press Club in Albuquerque. “Intro to Black and Gold- A Series in Conversation” was my first solo show. “Happy Birthday”, an 11×14 inch piece molting cicada and a birthday cake on a lavish gold textured background, had a full write-up in Albuquerque’s art newspaper- the Alibi. I had no knowledge of this until the article was physically shoved in my face by another artist friend of mine. “Do you realize what this means?” they said to me. I didn’t, but the article and the solo show propelled me into back-to-back solo shows in well-known restaurants and pubs. 2020 was looking to be an extremely promising year for me by March with venues contacting me left and right and being nicknamed “The Gold Girl” at a bar I frequented.

The pandemic was perhaps a blessing in disguise; without it I might not have moved to San Pedro as soon as I did, much less continuing with the Black Series and its subsets “Beautiful Grotesque” and “Aberrations in Black”. Both the Gold Series and the Black Series feature delicate singularities in space. Sometimes they are human, sometimes they are animal or objects. The background is acrylic, the subjects are oil. Whichever form the subjects take, they are a self-portrait. I am my paintings, and my paintings are me. “Meditations in Solidarity”, a show I did at Hellada Gallery in Long Beach, which featured the Black Series and its subset Beautiful Grotesque, landed me interviews with local papers and podcasts. The featured piece “Fuck Vegas”, a very emotional 30×60” body landscape, is now a multi-award-winning piece. I don’t gift myself with pride very often; I try not to because it’s so momentary and transient that I feel it’s ultimately meaningless. Pride does nothing as far as growth, but I am proud when I sign a piece and when I know it’s good. The pride isn’t pride so much as it is joy. I am joyful when I finish a good piece.

The question “what sets you apart from others” makes me sad, in a way. I do other want to be “apart”. My tagline “I got vulnerable with Jana” which I coined for “Meditations in Solidarity” (and seemed to be a hit when I sold it on merchandise), was meant to be a phrase of endearment and inspiration. Vulnerability is the most powerful thing when it’s understood and accepted. And my goal is not to set myself apart from my audience. Art fails without empathy. In my artist talk for “Meditations in Solidarity” I talked a lot about my dogmas and the soul. I do not want to be “apart”, so much as I want to be a guide and to teach people to themselves. If you are ready and willing to listen to a painting or any piece of art, not just mine, you might discover a little magic.

We’d love to hear about any fond memories you have from when you were growing up?
I feel this is an important question because it’s so heavily looked over by creatives. Artists, I feel, tend to alienate themselves from what their childhood was and make themselves so different and other than what they grew up with; “childhood” shouldn’t end when we lose our innocence or turn eighteen. Seeing what I’ve become today, all the memories I can remember are my favorite. Not necessarily that I had a happy childhood, but that I feel fortunate and lucky to have had experiences that I can tell stories and dream from. I was still very much a child when I was sixteen and I met my first mentor. I met him the summer of 2010 when I was sixteen. Spending my summers in Salida, Colorado with my father since I was ten, I had refused to get a job and spent my days outside by the Arkansas river reading Neil Gaiman novels and drawing. When I felt brave, I would wander into galleries, introduce myself shyly, and show my sketchbook to the artists if I was in the mood. Most of the time I was quiet and didn’t say very much. When I met John, I said nothing. His painting that I had stared at floored and dumbfounded me so much that all I said was “it’s really good”, and walked out holding back tears.

The following day was one of the best days of my life for this reason: When I rode my bike several miles into town the drive that I had was nothing that I had experienced in reality before. But I remembered it from my dreams: I hunted John and his gallery like I did the shadows and princes of my dream states, knowing that they would have the nonsense answers to my nonsense questions. These answers are of utmost importance to me. Paintings are dreams- they are one thing, but also another and infinitely others. Seeing his painting, I knew he had answers. I never forgot the physical and emotional drive and what it meant to take my dream state into reality. I asked him about his painting “Homage to the Next Available Deity” that day.

“What does it mean”?
“I don’t know yet.”

It made me angry at the time hearing that- I was after all, still very childish. Later I thanked him for it.

Two things he spoke to me that summer: “All is always well”, which I now try to live by every day no matter how bad a day can get, and secondly a small encouragement that I made my promise to him: “You can do this if you really want to, kiddo. You’ve got the stuff.”

John is a memory now too. He passed away on Good Friday last year. But I feel a lot of my career I owe to him because of how he inspired my power and effort. From the very beginning, he believed in me without blinking an eye. And yes, like the shadows and princes from dreams, he did give the nonsense and sometimes backward answers that only made the most sense much later.

Contact Info:

• Website: www.janaopincariuart.com
• Instagram: @janaopincariuart
• Facebook: @janaopincariu
• Youtube: Jana Opincariu