Humdrum Artist Series: Ethan Jones

*Images by Ethan Jones, portraits by Sierra Skinner.*

‘Humdrum’ is a series of profiles on twelve of Los Angeles’ finest up and coming multimedia artists, reflecting the roster of the group art show of the same name opening at des pair books in Echo Park on September 16th.

I don’t know if it needs to be said, but I’ll say it anyway: you should be at that opening. Not only because the art is good and worth finding parking, but because print is important, physical space is important, and supporting artists is important, and by attending, you knock out all three. Photographer Ethan Jones will be showing work that is absolutely and painfully stunning. His perspective is one that captures strain and collision as much as the empathy and reverence of a conflict, and incorporates natures elements in such a way that re-contextualizes the ways in which we think about urban versus rural life.

How did you get started as an artist & how has your practice evolved to where you are now?

I grew up in Salt Lake City’s skate and snowboard scene. I wasn’t the best on a board, so I ended up behind the camera instead. I liked capturing the energy around me, and I was hooked on documentaries—being right there in the middle of it, catching moments as they happened. Eventually, that led me into more video and editing work in the documentary world. Around the same time, I got really into climbing and mountaineering. Being in those places—surrounded by massive landscapes, unpredictable weather, and moments where you have to adapt on the fly—taught me a lot about patience and how to tell a story.

How does your creative process usually start? Does a vision or motive come first or do you find the meaning/end point as you work?

The work I’m most proud of usually comes from the spur of the moment—things you can’t plan but just have to be ready for. You learn to adapt fast and catch moments as they happen. I might start with a loose idea, but my favorite shots are almost always the ones I didn’t overthink.

Have there been any significant feelings, experiences, or themes that have influenced your work?

Nostalgia has always been a big influence—those fleeting moments that feel effortless and real. I’ve always tried to chase authenticity in my work.

Los Angeles is a particularly intense and often uncomfortable place to be operating in. Do you feel like this pressure of perception and competition has affected your work or identity as an artist?

LA is full of insanely talented artists, and it can feel competitive. It’s easy to get caught up in trying to “stand out,” but I’ve learned that sticking to my own vision matters way more than chasing trends. Likes and algorithms fade fast—authentic work lasts.

What do you feel is lacking in the modern art scene and why?

I think AI and social media have made it harder to be truly original. It’s amazing how easy it is to find inspiration now, but that also makes it just as easy to copy or get influenced without even realizing it. Trends move so quickly that a lot of artists end up chasing them instead of building their own voice. It’s a blessing and a curse—you’ve got all these tools and endless access, but the real challenge is tuning out the noise and making something that actually feels like yours.

What role does technology play in your practice and how might that change over time?

It’s huge—my cameras, my computer, my editing software—that’s all part of my process. But honestly, sometimes I envy artists who aren’t stuck staring at a screen for hours. I used to shoot only on film, but when I moved to LA I started using early ‘90s point-and-shoots for that lo-fi feel without the cost of film. I still love film, and I want to work with it more again.

Do you believe your work belongs to you or the viewer?

The work I connect to most is the stuff I make purely for myself, without worrying about how people will see it. Funny enough, I think that’s the work people relate to the most.

At what point do you believe a piece of work is ‘finished’?

Honestly, a piece could go on forever if you let it. It’s easy to overthink it, but for me, it’s done when I start getting excited about the next project.