Invisible To Most: The Drawings of James Lipnickas
A shining door. A stairway, from nowhere to somewhere impossible. A figure, far off and shrouded in darkness, as if they are from the darkness, as if they were spawned from the structure itself. The structure created a person to walk it—to give it purpose. Illustrator James Lipnickas says, “I have always been fascinated by mystery.”
His works pulse with mystery. The mystery of impossible architecture. Of doors occluded by light. Is the light on the other side truly so bright—so aggressively radiant—that we cannot see through? Or does that offer an indication of just how dark it is in the places that house these structures. With halls that cannot be reached, and walls that contort such that they could never stand in our reality.
Lipnickas has used horror tropes for a long time. But his works were once much more linear. That used to mean monsters, aliens, and isolated landscapes that had something haunted about them. A giant worm pouring its effluence into a cabin. A force within exploding the cabin.
The horror has changed.
The haunting aspect is less about what might creep out of the dark. It’s about the darkness itself. Aloneness. Not lonesome longing or the yearning of loneliness, but simply being alone. Stranded. Unmoored, and unlikely to find port ever again. His figures used to be in mortal danger. Maybe even beyond that, sometimes we could find them in the middle of being devoured by a gnarly fanged beast, their fate sealed. Now, the figures drift on unstable ledges. Their hope lost because they’re alienated from any context where hope is relevant or worthwhile. There is only the stairs; only the doorway. Everything else is dark.
An art of acquiescence. Of questioning: How much hope can you hold onto?
He reflects, “I suppose as you get older, you start to question things, and you begin to realize that there are no answers to most of a certain kind of question. What does the future hold? What is beyond that door that is out of reach? Where do we go when it is all said and done?
I USE GRAPHITE AND PROBABLY ALWAYS WILL.”
The lights and the doors serve the purpose of exploring the unknown. Entering a new realm of existence, being willing to accept a challenge, or to overcome a great obstacle. I am more attracted to the architecture and the atmosphere that surrounds the structure. I imagine myself climbing daunting stairs, reaching the top, and realizing there is an obstacle that prohibits me from moving forward. The size of the structure that looms tall over the character could be intimidating and challenging. Many feelings run through my head of fear, hope, loss, redemption, and what I would be willing to risk in persevering. It all begins with the scale of the structure and how it fills the paper, everything else works around that.”
Lipnickas’s use of graphite informs these themes, this overall mood.
Graphite has been central to his practice since the beginning. The early illustrations are very sketch like. But they hold a quality reminiscent of documentary evidence. The sincere believer capturing their obsession in the moment. The monster they have been chasing, the UFO they were certain to one day encounter. They appear almost-finished. Still a little rough.
The newer works show Lipnickas to be a master of graphite. The backgrounds are a crackling heather. The darks inky and unknowable. The lines crisp.
The scenes are hallucinatory. The graphite, further, gives them a delicateness, a fragility. They appear out of smoke. A vision imprinted in your eyes from staring too long into a fire. Blink a few times and you wonder if you saw a vision from beyond, a roaring inverted afterimage, or anything at all.
And knowing it is graphite, could you imagine handling these images? The slightest touch would smudge, nay ruin! They have an innate temporality which deepens and colors the work.
I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN DRAWN TO BLACK AND WHITE. I FIND IT LENDS ITSELF TO MYSTERY AND IS TIMELESS. IT CUTS OUT ALL THE NOISE, NARRATIVE, AND BECOMES MINIMALIST.”
“I use graphite and probably always will. It has taught me so much about patience, resilience, focus, and allows me to be totally immersed in the work,” says Lipnickas. “Working with graphite demands my attention and I like that. In a world with so many distractions it gives me time to think. There are many changes from the original drafts to the final sketch, and the final drawing. I like that my ideas can change from architectural perspective, character, and mood. During the rendering process, it gives me a lot of space to reconsider my original view.”
Graphite is the defining feature of Lipnickas’s work. It is not just the quality it leaves on the page—its smoothness and its depth. It’s the brutalist fantasy he uses it to create.
Look closely at an unrefined piece of graphite and you see something cliffed. You see ledges and ridges. Highlights and deep darknesses. You see staircases and caverns. Lipnickas’s current work accesses and incorporates the actual physical nature of graphite for his images.
WORKING WITH GRAPHITE DEMANDS MY ATTENTION AND I LIKE THAT. IN A WORLD WITH SO MANY DISTRACTIONS IT GIVES ME TIME TO THINK.”
There are, of course, options for tinted and colored graphite. But with grayscale, Lipnickas continues to gravitate toward the natural, original state of his chosen medium.
“I have always been drawn to black and white. I find it lends itself to mystery and is timeless. It cuts out all the noise, narrative, and becomes minimalist. I focus more on shape, light, shadow, and pattern. When there is a lot of color or action, I get lost. It’s part of my mental process and makes sense to me,” he says.
Lipnickas’s structural narratives show us how to incorporate the medium into the work in a way that makes an artwork feel immediate, necessary, and unavoidable. His scenes bring us to the edge of madness, to find hope. They are simplified horrors that pull tension from a void, and ask us to project ourselves into the structures that rise from the abyss. And yet, there are shining lights. There is a way out. If only for those who can solve how to get there.*
This article appears in Hi-Fructose issue 71, as our special insert, printed on toothy sketchbook paper. You can get a copy of it in print here, while supporting what we do.
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