In the liminal space where light bends and shadows whisper, Jeff Robb crafts worlds that defy the eye and stir the soul. His art is a dance of perception—a delicate alchemy of technology and raw human essence, where the body becomes both canvas and cosmos, and the viewer is invited to lose themselves in the interplay of depth and mystery. Like a hologram glimpsed in childhood, his work sparkles with the magic of the unknown, pulling us into a realm where questions linger longer than answers. Robb is not merely an artist; he is a cartographer of the unseen, mapping the contours of emotion and wonder with every lens, every line, every fleeting beam of light. Let us begin the interview with this artist.
Your work is a blend of technology and emotion. But before we get to that, who is Jeff Robb when no one’s watching?
When no one’s watching, I’m a curious observer. I walk a lot; I listen more than I speak. I disappear into books, films, or just silence. I’m always thinking about how we see things — not just with our eyes, but with our minds. I’m probably sketching an idea that doesn’t make sense yet, or dismantling something just to see how it works.
You’ve spent decades exploring depth, not just visual, but psychological. What’s the earliest memory that made you obsessed with perception?
Seeing a hologram when I was very young. They seemed like magic. And they still do.
When creating a lenticular piece, how much of it is a calculated process, and how much is surrendering to the unknown?
It’s a mixture of control and gut feeling. Technically, lenticular work is highly precise — measurements, lenses, alignment, all of it must be exact. But the emotion, the story, the moment that clicks? That’s instinct. That’s about knowing when to stop calculating and just let the image make itself.
Many of your works focus on the human body. What is it about the body that keeps you coming back, even after all these years?
The body is the ultimate paradox — it’s familiar, yet always mysterious. It carries memory, emotion, desire. It can be sculptural, abstract, symbolic. No matter how much technology evolves, the human form remains our first interface with the world. I think I keep returning to it because it keeps changing — not just in shape, but in meaning.
When someone stands in front of your art, what kind of feeling or reaction do you hope they walk away with?
Ideally, a sense of intrigue or disorientation — that they’ve seen something that doesn’t quite resolve immediately. I want the work to stay with them, to unfold slowly in their memory, the way a dream lingers after waking. I want them to question what they saw, what they felt. If a piece lingers in their mind, or if they catch themselves moving around it without realizing.
You’ve worked with light, sound, and even motion. Is there a sense or medium you haven’t explored yet, but secretly crave?
The exploration of light could fill a thousand lifetimes.
What’s something in the art world today that excites you, and something that deeply concerns you?
I’m excited by how artists are breaking boundaries — merging science, AI, performance, architecture. The old definitions are crumbling. But I’m concerned about the pace of it all. The pressure to be constantly visible, to produce endlessly. That’s not how deep work happens.
If you could create a large-scale installation anywhere in the world, with no budget limits, where would it be and what would it look like?
I’d love to cut a hole through a mountain that aligns with the sun. I’ve found the perfect spot in Turkey. I just need permission and a boring machine, like the one that dug the channel tunnel. I know it would look spellbinding.
Has any of your work ever revealed something to you after it was finished — something you didn’t realize while making it?
Often. Sometimes I’ll revisit a piece and realize it was about something I wasn’t ready to admit at the time — a loss, a longing, a question I hadn’t answered. Usually about someone, not something. The work speaks back eventually, if you’re willing to listen.
Finally, is there anything you’d like to say to young artists, to your future self, or even just into the void?
Don’t give up. Depth takes time. Let confusion and failure and rejection be part of your process and be uncomfortable— it means you’re pushing somewhere new. And never forget that art isn’t about what someone else likes.
Connect with Jeff Robb:
Website: Jeff Robb
Instagram: jeff_robb_art
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