Ryan OC Studio
The
ARTIST
Ryan Mark O’Connor • NZ European, 1986 – Present
Country
New Zealand
Years ago I survived something most people never imagine: I was beaten by a gang, kidnapped, and forced to pay my own ransom.
↓ Continue reading below
More recently, I endured relentless days and nights of pounding bass from neighbours — the same type of music that played in the gang house where I was held. That repetitive droning became a form of torture, stealing my sleep, my nervous system, and my sense of peace.
When I found myself at the edge of giving up on life, a promise came back to me — one I’d made to a school art teacher, the only person who truly saw me that year:
“Ryan, promise me you will never stop painting.”
Pain tried to close my world in.
Art is how I opened it back up.
I paint from a place beyond recovery — a space of reclamation.
My style is imaginary realism: mechanical, sensuous, story-filled scenes which don’t exist, but now do on a canvas.
They are places illuminated with light, which knows how to return — even after long absence.
Every piece is an act of rebuilding, often through my pain.
A defiance of thoughtlessness and harm.
Each brushstroke says:
“This still matters. Beauty is still possible.”
If you’ve ever felt overwhelmed, in pain, or pushed to the edge —
My work is for you. Let’s manifest beauty together.
-
The Enchanted Realm Left Behind by Time
Before stone was stacked or terraces climbed the sky, this spring welled up from the earth — pure, hidden, eternal. It is said this was the original source: the spring that fed the entire Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Long after kings crumbled and names were lost to wind and ruin, the water still flows — cool and deliberate — feeding roots that have outlived every empire. This place is not a ruin, but a remembrance: the garden continues, even if the world forgets.
-
The Boys
This painting doesn’t just depict a working-class gathering — it mirrors Ryan’s inner world before the trauma. Back then he was loud, alive, and fun — like the men in the painting. Even the chaos felt real, even the noise meant connection. His world had colour, laughter, friction, and meaning. But after the trauma, everything changed. He became quieter, often standing alone in dark corners to escape from crowds. Disconnected. It was as if he’d stepped out of the painting, watching from the outside, unable to return to that raw, messy, beautiful aliveness. The dissociation appeared as a longing to…
-
The Prodigy
She moves through the city like a signal searching for resonance—eyes sharp, senses open, absorbing everything. There’s no fear in her—only focus. In a world of distraction and noise, she listens for what others have forgotten how to hear. She isn’t lost. She’s looking. And whatever it is, she’ll find it—not because it wants to be found, but because she was born seeing through the veil.
-
The Christian
“I want to be like her,” my friend said softly when she first saw this painting — even before it was finished. It wasn’t only the girl’s innocent beauty that moved her. It was something quieter: the way she stands just at the edge of sunlight, her presence modest, her gaze unreadable — as if she’s holding firmly a truth she doesn’t need to explain. There’s trust in her posture. Hope in her stillness. A belief in something good that doesn’t waver, even in and out of shadow. Over time, this figure became more than just a subject in paint.…
-
In the villa Ephrussi de Rothschild
She does not merely walk through beauty — she absorbs it. I first painted Anna after watching how the gardens, galleries, and silent courtyards she wandered seemed to pour their light into her. As if the gardens themselves found their voice through her presence. Here, Anna gathers the deep reds of a private garden — their warmth moving through her dress, resting above her heart, and finally softening her face with the same quiet peace that lives in the petals. This is not a beauty of decoration, but of transference: what surrounds her becomes part of her. I composed this…
-
Enshrouded in Life
She does not seek the gaze of others — yet the world turns softly toward her. Modest in a culture of provocation, she is more than the body she was born with. Her dress, flowing like rain-washed silk, was not imagined for attention, but to root her in something ancient and true. It doesn’t need to be tailored for her curves, instead its mere adornment speaks volumes of her maturity – that she holds wisdom beyond her years, and she is growing into it. The garden does not bloom around her — it recognises her. Life curls toward her in…
-
Multiverse Traveller
She might be a figment of my imagination, but she’s beautiful. She’s from an unreachable time, an untouchable dimension. She transcends the spacetime continuum. She’s a multiverse traveller. Even when the world nears an end, beauty doesn’t. It will carry on. As a person ages, their beauty simply shifts further inside them – into the spiritual. And the spiritual lasts forever.
-
Steampunk Terrorist
He’s not a monster out of place. He belongs exactly where he is — steady, collected, and built for control. You can see it in the design: everything calibrated, every bolt and pipe where it should be. He’s not here to lash out wildly. He’s here to follow through. His lamp doesn’t illuminate the scenario for you as it plays out – it barely reveals the fear on your face. Steampunk Terrorist is a portrait of the kind of man who lives an orderly life — the one with a wife, kids, a routine. But when he crosses paths with…
-
The Drone Collector
This was one of my first real explorations into mechanical science fiction — a painting I made during a time when I was excited by the possibilities of where my art could go. The Drone Collector isn’t just about a guy salvaging machines. It’s about someone walking headfirst into the unknown, lit by the warmth of a flickering lantern but weighed down by the past on his back. At the time, I was newly obsessed with painting mechanical forms: gears, tubes, rust, and clock parts. I didn’t fully understand why, but now I think I was drawn to the feeling…
-
The Balloon Incident
I painted this when I was so overwhelmed living in my own home in Nelson that I packed up and left. I moved to the next town — Blenheim — and stayed with a friend on a vineyard. I needed space to breathe. To soften. To figure out if I was still okay. I mowed the vineyard lawn every week, five hours at a time – repetitive rows with no other responsibilities; quite the opposite of my day-to-day in Nelson. I could only carry a small canvas and a few paints with me, but somehow, this painting emerged. A balloon…
-
Sunny Nelson
At the end of 2020, my partner and I left Auckland in search of peace. We moved to Nelson — the sunniest place in New Zealand — hoping that its warmth and quiet would help us heal from the noise and strain of city life. But when I picked up my brush, the golden light I expected to paint didn’t come through. Instead, Sunny Nelson emerged in greys and silvers — figures walking through rain, faces half-hidden by masks, a city softened into quiet reflections. At first, I thought I’d failed to capture the spirit of this place, and had…