SHOWCASE

/ ARTIST / 2025

BKKIF Artist  
ARTIST: Jean8lines
COUNTRY: Thailand
EMAIL: jean8lines.contact@gmail.com
CONTACT: https://www.instagram.com/jean8lines/
https://www.youtube.com/@jean8lines/
My name is Jinjutha Panich, or Jean(s), the artist behind Jean8lines. With a background in psychology and a love for storytelling, I create psychological horror illustrations that reflect the emotional struggles we often keep hidden. My work doesn’t aim to scare; it uses the uncanny to shift perspectives, spark introspection, and invite viewers to gently face their darkness. I aim to help others see beauty in the eerie and find meaning in the unknown, encouraging them to embrace the parts of themselves often left in shadow as part of healing. My dream is to share this message worldwide: that even your darkness, even your rawest self, is worthy of your love and kindness.

The Mazed Mansion

"The red maze lies, the mansion spins
What lights your way, may live within."

An opening chapter to the world I’m building, this piece marks the beginning of the "Endless Mansion" series, a visual prologue to the world I'm creating.

The Endless Mansion

This artwork is the second piece of my “Endless Mansion” series, which could be considered a continuation of my exploration of the human psyche and its complexity; an ever-expanding structure with hidden depths and layers. The mansion, stacked endlessly upon itself, reflects the complexity of the human mind. Each floor, each level, represents layers of thought, memory, and identity.

The mansion itself symbolizes the human mind: some rooms are well-lit and welcoming, some remain dark and forgotten, or even intentionally concealed. I want the verticality of the structure to represent how our minds are not straightforward, but more like an ever-growing, mysterious labyrinth of the unknown. As we live on with our lives, we continue building upon this mansion of ours, sometimes without even realizing it. What happened in those rooms we locked? Is there something we’ve lost in there, or something we refuse to face? Are there some rooms, or some parts of our house, we struggle to accept even exist?

I mentioned “the silence behind closed doors” in the caption, it actually represents the unknown, which is open to your interpretation, whether it’s the thoughts and feelings we suppress, the questions we hesitate to ask ourselves, or something else. But just because they are silent doesn’t mean they’re not there. I truly believe they still linger, shaping us in ways that we may not fully comprehend.

I want this artwork of mine to remind those who come across it that no matter how scary, confusing, or overwhelming this mansion may seem, it is still our home. Every room, every floor, every closed or open door belongs to us. Despite being dark, dusty, or forgotten, it doesn’t have to be perfect to be worthy of our love. So it’s okay to take a deep breath. Walk through your mansion, not with fear, but with kindness. Open each door, walk through each corridor at your own pace, and please always remember, even the darkest rooms or the scariest corridors hold a special place in our story. I want my work to keep reminding you that there’s no need to search for a house or belonging elsewhere, because it’s always within you.

The Eclipsed Mansion

“It rises above, a glowing guide, bringing the buried into sight.”

This artwork is the final piece of my “Endless Mansion” series. Once symbolizing the complexity of the human mind, it now becomes a depiction of internal complexity being viewed from a bigger picture. I want it to now represent a structure/mansion that stores memory, and change, especially in this context, emotional remains. The presence of the glowing moon reveals its deeper meaning, with the tearing expression, the tears depict the release of emotional tension once acknowledging neglected or forgotten parts of our past selves.

For this work, the moon takes the shape of a human face and glows through the stillness of the night above the mansions, weeping yet casting its light to brighten up the whole area, symbolizing the personification of the subconscious mind. As mentioned, the tears are not of sorrow and sadness alone, but more towards the light of ‘inner awareness’ upon the fragments of truths within ourselves that are long eclipsed.

Though the night is dark and scary, the glow still remains. I want this animated work of mine to remind you that even in the most shadowed moments of our lives, reflection can bring clarity, healing, and perhaps a path back to who we are.
This artwork is also a part of my “Endless Mansion” series. The mansion is a work that I reused from my earlier piece. Once symbolizing the complexity of the human mind, it now becomes a depiction of internal complexity being viewed from a bigger picture. I want it to now represent a structure/mansion that stores memory, and change, especially in this context, emotional remains. The presence of the glowing moon reveals its deeper meaning, with the tearing expression, the tears depict the release of emotional tension once acknowledging neglected or forgotten parts of our past selves.

For this work, the moon takes the shape of a human face and glows through the stillness of the night above the mansions, weeping yet casting its light to brighten up the whole area, symbolizing the personification of the subconscious mind. As mentioned, the tears are not of sorrow and sadness alone, but more towards the light of ‘inner awareness’ upon the fragments of truths within ourselves that are long eclipsed.

Though the night is dark and scary, the glow still remains. I want this animated work of mine to remind you that even in the most shadowed moments of our lives, reflection can bring clarity, healing, and perhaps a path back to who we are.

The Machine v. 2.8

In this work, unlike the familiar vending machine filled with snacks or drinks, this one offers emotional reinforcements, things we often long for when life becomes too heavy for us to carry as we are. But to make a selection, you must trade in a part of you, your memories, your identity fragments, your hope, your dreams, or your sense of self.

Each item presented in The Machine reflects a different desire. The masks represent the many versions of ourselves we present or perform in different situations, the identities curated for approval, acceptance, safety, or survival. The heart stands for the desire to be emotionally regulated, to dull overwhelming feelings just enough to function, not to feel too much, too deeply, too often. The brain, in contrast, symbolizes the wish for a better coping brain with higher resilience, a higher tolerance to stress, pressure, and unpredictability. And the house (or the home) offers the promise of comfort and safety, a personal and portable sanctuary emotionally.

This work isn’t meant to criticize or moralize. It’s a reflection on how easy it is to believe that we need to “fix” ourselves to be lovable. It’s the silent decisions we make every day to become more manageable in the eyes of others, or even in our own. To be more efficient. More acceptable. Less complicated.

We often forget that resilience doesn’t mean feeling nothing, vulnerability doesn’t mean weakness, and healing isn’t about replacing your heart, mind, or identity; it’s about holding space for them.

Not every imperfection needs correcting. You are allowed to not be okay, to break down, to feel too much or nothing at all. You are not a product to be perfected. You’re already whole, even in your messiest moments.

I want this work to remind you that while it’s tempting to exchange parts of ourselves for something more acceptable or less “inconvenient,” the real courage lies in embracing our vulnerability and our rawness. You’re just a human, and being human isn’t a flaw; it’s the reason you’re beautiful, in all your complexity.

The Elevator

The elevator with lights flickering. And inside it.. is another elevator, like a confusing mental maze. In the center, a woman lies face-down between the door of the elevator, as if her mind finally gave out somewhere in the in-between, or the weight of everything finally made her collapse.

The elevator here symbolizes a mental state. The enclosing walls, the glitching lights, it’s a reflection of an overwhelmed nervous system, and the repetitive structure mirrors how burnout can feel like being trapped in the same cycle, again and again, repetitively.

You try to ascend, but the floors keep multiplying. You try to pause, but the space doesn’t let you breathe. It’s a breakdown that looks like stillness. One moment filled with guilt for not doing enough, the next completely drained and exhausted, unable to move. It’s a state where you’re constantly fluctuating, rising with anxiety, falling into exhaustion, and looping endlessly, silently. That’s why I added the infinity symbol on the elevator to show how burnout can trap you in a cycle of overthinking, inner criticism, and emotional depletion.

She’s not gone, she’s just paused, yet she’s still here, and maybe you are too.

Burnout isn’t simply just about doing too much. Sometimes, it’s about carrying too much alone, for too long, until your mind and body disconnect. Until even standing feels like too much. In time, we’ll find the way out, or at least learn how to rest inside the elevator without shame.

I want this work to remind you that you‘re not behind. You’re on your own timeline, and that’s enough, you’re enough.

The next step doesn’t need to be big. It just needs to be kind.

The Artificial Identity

A man sits in front of multiple PC monitors, his back plugged into the system. The cables symbolize something more than just a connection, but dependence, or even submission, as if he surrendered himself to it. On the central monitor above him, the AI begins generating his “new” version as requested, a cleaner, more curated, and desirable identity. The kind of self that is easier to present and understand than the usual messy, confused, and contradictory one we all live with internally.

“Can you generate me a new identity?” isn’t just a prompt, but a desperate plea. A symptom of a deeper discomfort with one’s self. A craving for clarity, certainty, external confirmation, and reassurance. But in doing so the man risks losing all sense of his original sense of self. By letting the AI “define” him, he begins to forget who he is before the prompt is sent.

We all hope that the answers will help us fill in the gap left by the world that’s too uncertain, too fast, and too judgmental. These days, it’s not uncommon to see people ask AI for things far beyond data, something more..personal aspect? What’s wrong with me? What does my aura say? Could I be something more, something cosmic or rare? Or even What I am meant to be? To me, it’s kind of fascinating... and somehow unsettling in a way. What it gives back might feel comforting, but it’s often a reflection of what we fed them, not a revelation.

As I said earlier, this work is not meant to be anti-tech or anti-AI, since I’m also a tech geek, and it can be useful in many ways but I want to reflect on how easy it is to project our confusion and longing outward, hoping that something objective can tell us who we are or who we should be.

I want this work to remind you that your identity is not something to be generated. It’s something to be grown into, sometimes slowly, sometimes uncomfortably, but always through self-reflection, experience, and time.

The Girl with a Broken Mirror

The broken mirror symbolizes the fragility of self-perception and the concept of self in general, how the identities we carefully construct can be shattered, revealing the parts we often try to conceal deep within. Beneath the surface, beyond the skin we wear to be seen and accepted, lies the part we fear might be unlovable in the eyes of others.

The blood tears symbolize sadness and suffering masked by a forced smile, a silent plea for love beyond the surface, beyond the material, a lingering question of whether we are truly worthy when there is no veil covering our ugly parts.
“Through breaking glass, through flesh and sin, will you love me from deep within?” a plea not to be loved for the illusion, but for the self beneath it all. But can we still embrace what we see in the reflection, even when it’s broken?

The Red Friends

We are more than just individuals, we are social beings shaped by the groups we belong to.
This piece is inspired by Tajfel & Turner’s Social Identity Theory (1979), which suggests that a major part of our identity comes from the collectives we’re part of, our culture, community, and even online circles.

But what happens when the line between “me” and “us” begins to blur?

In this work, I explored how group identity can both elevate and erase us. The shared faces in my characters represent conformity, the kind that creeps in when we change parts of ourselves just to belong. The red hue symbolizes the psychological weight of normative social influence, when we follow the group to avoid rejection, even at the cost of authenticity.

Sometimes, the scariest thing isn’t standing alone. It’s forgetting who you were before you became a part of something else.

The Societally Expected Production

Despite the ongoing debate on nature vs. nurture, beneath the glass tubes, existence is manufactured. Societal molds press against the glass, shaping our identities before they can even take form on their own.

The experiment tubes symbolize the structures we are placed into, whether consensual or not, we are born as part of this ongoing social experiment. The expectation to succeed, conform, think, and behave within the system inevitably raises questions: Is the system designed for mass production rather than individuality? And who truly profits from the production of our existence?

The Bunk Bed

A four-level bunk bed, randomly decorated with curtains and different kinds of fabric, represents the structure of our society, where individuals coexist with diverse levels of awareness. Each character depicts a different state of human perception, reflecting different levels of awareness.

On the first floor, the couple is depicted as being lost in each other’s gaze, oblivious to the world beyond their connection. On the second level, a girl faces the viewer, visibly irritated and fully engaged with her surroundings. The third level features a man who has turned his back, entirely disengaged from his environment. Meanwhile, at the very top, a girl has one eye open, embodying a state of partial awareness, neither fully disengaged nor entirely conscious.

The multi-level structure of the bed symbolizes how, in any society, people exist at different levels of awareness in different situations, responding to their surroundings in distinct and unique ways.

While discussions and debates on the topic of awareness often intersect with societal hierarchies, I intentionally decided to avoid making any psychological inferences or judgments about social status. Instead, I want to highlight that human awareness is fluid, and each and every one of us is capable of experiencing different states of perception and awareness, regardless of social status or standing.