Some works mark a shift in an artist’s trajectory: demanding more than anything that came before — in time, in control, in the sheer refusal to resolve. Pupil is one of those works for Jono Dry. The drawing required over 600 hours across three concentrated stints, spread over the better part of two years. Every tonal shift had to be placed with accuracy, the surface allowed almost no room for correction, and the sheer size required a steadiness of hand that few graphite artists attempt. The result is a large‑scale, hyper‑detailed drawing of a human eye that carries the surrealist undercurrent running through all of his work: deep within the iris stands a tiny shadowy human figure, a silhouette that appears trapped within the void. It is an image that unsettles quietly, the realism and the surrealism holding each other in check.
When it was finally finished, the time‑lapse of its creation circulated widely online. The piece sold quickly. Print editions followed. Pupil marked a pivotal breakthrough in Dry’s practice — a demanding foundation he continues to build on as his work evolves.
The groundwork for Dry’s practice was laid in Hermanus, a seaside town about 1,400 kilometres from his birthplace in Pretoria. His mother, herself an artist, recognised his early interest in drawing and later introduced him to Anatomy for the Artist, a book that deepened his commitment to the craft. Self‑taught beyond his early schooling, he developed his skills through sustained practice, supported by a small group of friends who shared the same focus and pushed one another to improve.
His process is as methodical as the results suggest. Weeks of planning and sketching precede any mark‑making. He stages photo shoots with models and props, testing lighting until the references match the atmosphere he has in mind. Once the composition is resolved, it is mapped by hand onto Arches watercolour paper and developed in slow, deliberate layers. He works with both pencil and dissolved graphite, using the latter to achieve gradients that would be impossible through pressure alone. Erasing is as intentional as marking; every highlight is carved out rather than added.
Across this technical framework, Dry’s work has evolved in distinct but interconnected phases. Early pieces such as Rational Animals explored instinct and identity through hybrid forms blending human and animal elements. Blooming, developed between 2020 and 2023, shifted that tension into more sculptural territory, with figures whose heads open into horn‑and‑flower structures suggesting fragility and growth. From there, the imagery broadened again. In Bound and Horned, Dry introduced a more visceral sense of restraint and transformation, with fabric‑wrapped bodies sprouting horns that heighten the physical and psychological tension of the compositions. Held in Nature merged the figure with organic forms in ways that feel both protective and unsettling. On a Plinth brought a classical stillness to his compositions, treating the human form as an object of display. Finally, Anamorphic Mythos pushed his imagery into elongated, distorted shapes that challenge perception itself.
His standalone drawings have evolved alongside these series, with works such as Goliath (2023) showing the same commitment to physical tension and psychological intensity.
Running parallel to all of this is the Eyes series, a ritual he has maintained since his final year in high school. It is the one constant in a practice that is otherwise always moving.
The psychological terrain of the work — tension, uncertainty, the quiet pressure of thought — is handled with restraint. The images are often surreal, but they remain grounded in lived experience rather than fantasy for its own sake. Influences such as M.C. Escher, Magritte, Jeremy Geddes, and Miles Johnston are visible without ever taking over; the hand behind the work is immediately recognisable.
He is now one of the few contemporary artists working almost exclusively in graphite at a monumental scale. His originals can reach 164 by 114 centimetres and typically demand around 200 hours of concentrated labour. At this size, the medium becomes its own challenge. Graphite is unforgiving: press too hard and it scars; chase deep blacks and the surface turns reflective; misjudge pressure and the illusion collapses. Dry has mastered those constraints, with his surreal, hyperrealist drawings finding a wide international audience for their distinctiveness and craft. His work has been shown at Zeitz MOCAA in Cape Town, exhibited at Vienna Contemporary, and is represented by Galerie Kovacek & Zetter in Vienna.
In conversation with The Exclusivist, Dry reflects on the intuitive beginnings of his process, the subconscious pull of recurring symbols throughout his work, and the discipline that drives his practice.
Q&A With Jono Dry
Hyperrealism vs. Surrealism
Your work exists at the intersection of hyperrealism and surrealism. When you begin a new piece, how do you balance technical control with what you’re working to communicate?
The whole process is very intuitive for me, and I think it’s primarily about finding a balance between playful absurdism and grounded intentionality. When doing the photo shoots for my reference images, I might spend several days (or weeks) taking thousands of images in different poses, with different props, and exploring a range of different ideas. This sometimes chaotic time can feel like an outward manifestation of what’s happening in my internal world.
Then there is a period of sifting through, honing in, and compositing images together. I’ll tinker and adapt an idea until it just feels right, even if I wasn’t 100% sure what I was trying to communicate in the first place. Once the actual drawing process gets started, I move into an extremely meditative phase of layering down the graphite and manoeuvring it around the page to follow my reference image as closely as possible — but even during the drawing stage, I might choose to take some creative liberties in the moment and push certain tones or values beyond what I had original anticipated.
Personal Symbolism & Visual Mythology
Certain elements recur throughout your work. Sunbirds, for instance, emerged intuitively from subconscious feelings tied to a childhood dream you had about stillness. How consciously do other motifs like kudu horns enter your drawings?
Whilst most of the recurring motifs that enter my drawings (hummingbirds, horns, stones, etc.) originate from a sense of appreciation that I have for them in the real world, the decision of when and how to include them in my works definitely happens on a somewhat unconscious level. Each of the symbols means something to me personally, and I think that when I choose to include them in a composition, there’s a subconscious working‑through of whatever is going on in my head at the time.
Studio Rituals & Focus
What does a typical day in the studio look like? Are there particular rituals, habits, or strategies that help you maintain focus and stay engaged?
Structure and routine are definitely things that I struggle with, and I feel like I’m on a lifelong journey of trying to find the best way to allocate my time that allows creativity to flow whilst still meeting deadlines. What I’ve found is that, particularly as my artistic practice grew into a fully fledged business, having people around me who are naturally structured and organised really helped me stay on track with admin and project deadlines. But at the end of the day, the responsibility falls on me to find a rhythm that allows me to get the project done.
Sometimes that might look like a period of two weeks straight where I am drawing every day for eight hours a day, and sometimes it might look like stepping away from the easel for hours on end to create a new drawing tool in the workshop. I usually try to break up my day with some exercise and a wholesome meal, and when I’m drawing, you can almost always find me with headphones on listening to a fantasy audiobook.
Perfectionism, Limits & Focus
Precision and attention to detail are central to your work, but they can easily slip into perfectionism. How do you recognise when the drive for perfection begins to move beyond craftsmanship into obsession or overreach, and what helps you navigate those moments?
When it comes to my drawings, I think I struggled with this more in my earlier years than I do now — I’ve overworked enough pieces to know when to stop and consider a work “complete”. But over the past few years especially, I’ve struggled with a more general sense of overreach and burnout. I have a constant stream of ideas and creative avenues that I want to explore, and only a limited amount of time and energy.
Whilst taking the time to explore new ideas can definitely help me sustain creativity in the long run, I’ve also found that it can lead to creative burnout, which then requires more deliberate periods of rest and recalibration before I can start creating authentically again. Trying to identify when to push forward and when to step back in the moment is tough for me — but I find that setting aside time (ideally daily) to meditate, journal, and participate in the more mundane tasks of daily life really helps me not get swept up in the excitement of a new idea or venture.
Future Directions
As your practice evolves, what new approaches, imagery, or techniques are you drawn to explore — whether deepening your current style or venturing beyond it?
There are definitely themes and motifs that I’m sure I’ll continue to circle back to as my practice evolves — especially those that relate to my experience navigating my own mental health and the fragile relationship between humans and nature. Over the last few years, I’ve been particularly drawn to exploring sculptural works, and have been experimenting with a more abstract style as well. But right now I’m standing on the precipice of a new chapter of my career, and I’m excited to see what I feel called to explore.
Collectors, Audiences & Legacy
Your online engagement brings your work to a broad audience. In a market where some galleries and institutions sometimes drive attention and prices through manufactured excitement rather than technical execution or conceptual depth, how do you see collectors and direct audiences playing a role in championing artwork based on genuine merit? Has this more immediate, public‑facing visibility altered the influence of traditional gatekeepers or changed what ultimately endures?
This is a really interesting question, which I think can easily tie into a more general investigation into today’s society. We live in an age of instant gratification, shortened attention spans, and the cult of convenience, and artists (and galleries) today need to constantly balance the allure of going “viral” to reach broader audiences with the reality that high‑end collectors value authenticity over social clout — at least, that has been my experience.
Today, an image generator can create a hyperrealistic “drawing” in a matter of seconds, but for a collector to choose to hang an artwork in their most exclusive and intimate spaces, it seems that an acknowledgement of technical mastery, creative exploration, countless hours spent honing a skill, exceptional curation, and a genuine emotional connection between the artist, their creation, and the collector continue to be the ultimate key ingredients to success in this industry.
Treasured Possessions
Do you collect anything yourself — art, objects, or other items? What is your most prized possession?
I’ve just gone through a process of clearing out my studio space, so I can definitely say that I’m a collector of many random objects. I found props from reference image shoots that I did three years ago, old drawings that I did in high school, and about 30 extension cables (why so many? Who knows).
In my own living space, I have a collection of works created by close friends and people that I’ve worked with over the years who are just starting out in their careers, as well as several artworks created by my mum, who has been a lifelong artist. I think my most prized possession is space to create — I bought and renovated a house extensively with the intention for it to be a sanctuary for my creative process, focusing on peace, tranquillity, and expansive views; I share a workshop with a couple of great friends where we can indulge in woodworking passion projects with a collection of power tools; and then I have my studio: an ever‑evolving playground where my ideas can come to life.
Final Thoughts
Dry’s artwork operates on two levels: the immediate impact of the image and an awareness of what it demands — hundreds of hours in an unforgiving medium requiring absolute control. Craftsmanship is not an aesthetic choice in his practice; it is the structure that holds everything in place. His drawings unite scale, psychological tension, and a surrealist edge that never overwhelms the realism beneath it — the kind of balance that only comes from mastery of the medium, and one seldom seen in graphite.
Photo credits (right-hand side, top to bottom): Goliath,2023;Weight of Mist, 2025; Be Still, 2024; Roots and Fingers Study, 2025; © Jono Dry
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