Daniel Dugan

Intro: Unveiling Daniel Dugan: The Fusion of Talent, Heart, and Grace

In the vast panorama of artistry, certain names stand out, not just for the mastery of their craft but also for the essence of who they are. Daniel Dugan is undeniably one of those luminaries. Each stroke of his brush, each expression of his medium, speaks of exceptional skill and an unparalleled vision that have marked him as a notable figure in the artistic realm.

Yet, when one moves beyond the canvas and the accolades, they discover a heart as profound as the works Daniel creates. A genuinely beautiful soul, his persona radiates warmth, depth, and genuine connection, making him not just an artist of repute, but also a cherished human being.

We are both thrilled and honored to announce that on the 14th of October, Daniel Dugan will be gracing us as our esteemed guest. This offers a remarkable opportunity to delve deeper into the world, works, and wonder that is Daniel. Join us for a captivating journey with a man whose life and artistry are seamlessly interwoven.

You’ve been practicing your “one line” art since you were just 10 years old, which represents the flow of life, time, and unexpected events. Can you talk about a pivotal moment in your early life that influenced or reinforced this signature style? How has this evolved as you grew older?

The moment I realized that my life-long obsession with the line (I started it at the age of 10) had a meaning was in 2014.  I was on an island called Utila off the coast of Honduras, and I was snorkeling for the first time.  Underwater I observed a hundreds of these massive spheres that looked strikingly similar to my line.  I remember thinking, “How did my line get down here?”  I would quickly learn that I was observing brain coral, something I had never seen since I grew up in the mountains of Alabama. I started researching these beautiful creations, and learned there was a mathematical formula for how they grew, that this system was part of physics and nature.  This is when I realized my line actually meant something, that it wasn’t just my own creation, that I clearly was transmitting something that came from the universe, from nature.  

From growing up in Alabama, studying pre-med at The University of Alabama, and working in surgery during summer breaks, you made a significant transition to acting in New York and then fully diving into your art in Los Angeles. What fueled this transformation, and how do these varied experiences influence your artwork?

My leap from being a pre-medical student at The University of Alabama to becoming an actor in New York came as a surprise to me.  When it came time (when the time came) to go to medical school after university, something just didn’t feel right.  I met an acting teacher who inspired me to study the performing arts, something I had enjoyed as a child.  And this leap took me to study at a theater program in New York City.  After seven years working in theater, television, and film, I moved to Los Angeles to film my first leading role in a feature film.  

After several years in Los Angeles, something came over me, and I decided to keep exploring this line I’d been drawing since I was 10.  I started having “Art Days” with a friend of mine.  He would watercolor for fun, and I would explore my line, finally using other materials than ink.  It was around 2014 when I started experimenting with acrylic, oil, watercolor, and carving the line.  I made so many pieces, that it became clear I would need a separate space from my house to create.  So I rented a small studio space in Hollywood, and then I was hooked.  I would go every day and create, go home to sleep, then go back.  After a couple years, I would start to show people what I was doing.  Friends would come by the studio and ask what I was doing.  And I realized I couldn’t stop.  So by 2017, it became my full-time practice.  Someone came over and wanted to buy a piece, and I had no idea what it was worth.  But from that sale, more came, and I started to believe in the value of my work. 

I realized it was my own private meditation, validated by my learning about brain coral, and encouraged simply by my own curiosity.  Each work was a test of my patience and precision.  With the ink drawings, there is no room for error, and I really enjoyed this pressure to relax as I let the line wander, and trust that I would make the best decision with each move.  I remember what my Cuban Aunt Maggie would say when I would come to her for advice, “Oh Panda (she calls me Panda), whatever decision you make will be the right one.”

The resemblance of your work to the growth patterns of coral reefs is fascinating. How has your collaboration with scientists and coral foundations influenced your artistry? What challenges and rewards have you encountered while creating underwater sculptures to aid in regrowing coral reefs?

When I realized the connection my line had with coral in 2014, it took some years for me to then meet scientists and foundations who were dedicating their lives to coral restoration.  It was then that I realized I could make underwater sculptures in the form of brain coral in order to help them regenerate.  This is a process that is still underway as I meet more foundations dedicated to coral.  I learned that coral are the lungs of the ocean, so am excited to see what place my work can have in helping this cause.

Your commitment to using art for societal impact, as seen with your collaborations with UTA Fine Arts, Ms. Tina Lawson Knowles, and the Bali Children Foundation, is truly commendable. What drives this commitment, and how do you choose the communities and causes you want to support?

The first time I brought my work to a community was when I was visiting Cuba in 2018.  And it just happened naturally.  I was there on a mission to find my mom’s childhood home, to see if it still existed, and be able to come back to Alabama and tell my mom all about it.  

While I was there, I painted my first room with my line at a private gallery space, and I remember asking someone if they knew any schools or organizations where I would (could) paint with the children.  My mom was an ESL (English as a Second Language) teacher in Alabama for the Hispanic children in our community, so I had grown up watching her teach children and be part of their lives.  This must have inspired me to do the same. 

On my last day in Havana, I was able to do it.  A teacher from a local school brought over a group of children to have an “Art Day”, and we painted a large white piece of paper.  I encouraged them to draw whatever they like on the paper using color, and then I would overlay my line in black on top.  What emerged was something so beautiful, so different from my other work.  So we were all learning from each other, and I found that very satisfying.  I called the work “It Takes All Kinds” because for some reason as I was drawing my line in front of the kids, I felt compelled to tell them in Spanish that it takes all kinds of people to make up this world.  We’re all unique and different, and that is a good thing…because it takes all kinds.

I took the painting back to Los Angeles, and realized I would find a collector to buy the piece, and then donate the money somehow to the kids.  UTA Fine Arts learned of this project and asked me to do an “Art Day” with WACO Theater, a foundation that fosters creativity for inner city youth of Los Angeles.  That day I found myself being introduced to Beyonce’s mom, Ms. Tina Knowles, who is the founder.  I told her I’d like to make a piece together with the kids, then sell it to a collector, and raise money for the foundation. It was a very special day connecting with the children, and seeing what we made together.  It was very different from the one in Cuba, and equally as beautiful. 

When I found myself in Bali two years later, I did the same thing.  I asked around if anyone knew a school or foundation, and someone introduced me to Bali Children Foundation.  I went to a rural school, and had an “Art Day” where we painted 5 canvases as well as a 15-foot mural at the school. 

It became clear that this would be a global project, and that one day I would have an exhibition showing all of the works made with kids from around the world.  It looks like the next stop will be Kenya.

Over the years, you’ve transitioned from ink to a plethora of other mediums – acrylic, oil, watercolor, and even unconventional materials like moss, LEDs, and more. What prompts these shifts in medium, and how do you decide which material best fits a particular project or idea?

Since I didn’t go to art school, I didn’t really know about the different mediums.  This was exciting for me because I just got to learn about them on my own.  I would go to the art store and buying things I didn’t know what to do with.  So my curiosity just led me to the next medium.  After many years, I have built a body of work with lots of different mediums, and it looks like it will never end.  I’m constantly finding new materials around the world, such as bark paper in Mexico, antique ceramics in Bali, and silk ropes in Thailand.  This exploration (will) clearly continue for the rest of my life, and it’s what excites me the most: to see the line (in) all different shapes and forms inspired by all parts of the world I get to visit.  

Given the diverse range of your works and collaborations, can you give us a sneak peek into any future projects or explorations you’re currently passionate about?

I just got commissioned in Zurich to make my first bronze sculpture.  So I visited a foundry in Germany to discuss how I would make it.  This is quite thrilling for me as I’ll be working with a new material and seeing the line in (on) a grander scale.

I’m also talking with a foundation in Kenya who has dedicated their efforts to save the elephants.  Potentially I can go there next year for a month and make new work inspired by what I see, who I meet, and new materials I find.  

Your quote, “Relaxing in the not knowing is the most beautiful thing because then we get to see the miracles that await us,” speaks volumes about your perspective on life. How do you maintain this mindset in moments of doubt or challenge, and what advice would you give to budding artists trying to find their own voice?

After I made the connection of my line with brain coral in 2014, I also realized the parallel my line had with labyrinths from centuries ago. I began to study the history of labyrinths and learn their significance.  A unicursal path with no intersection, a labyrinth is a meditative journey to foster contemplation and allow the mind to relax.  (This is in contrast to a maze, which is polycursal, and you can easily get lost and even give up if you want). Walking a labyrinth, one knows that they will reach the end. The goal is simply to observe your thoughts as you wander forward.  So I found this analogous to life in that we have no idea what is going to happen next.  And we can choose to simply observe our lives, the people in it, the things that happen that we like (and especially the things we don’t like) as valuable parts of the beautiful, complex lives we get to live.  The reminder that we even get to live is something I think about a lot. 

In moments of doubt or challenge, which happen a lot, I often have to remind myself of this perspective.  Usually I’m struggling or wondering how I’m going solve a situation, and I have to remind myself that this is all a part of the whole, and that this situation will lead to something beautiful.  We all wonder “why is this happening to me”, and I try to remember that I don’t need to know why right now.  I’ll understand why later when the next series of events and emotions happen.  And I try to find comfort in that moment of “suffering” that it’s all happening for me.  This is a tenet of my work, of my line, that life is not happening to you, it’s happening for you.  And sure, it’s easy to say this now, but it takes practice in the real moments of struggle to believe that.  It’s not easy; it’s just a practice that can get stronger and stronger as we move forward through life.

My advice to a budding artist trying to find their own voice would be to get a separate space to work.  I imagine lots of us start painting at home.  But once I have a separate space to work on lots of things at once, I became more creative, more prolific.  I also have the attitude that whatever I make, no one else can make it exactly like that in the moment in time that I made it – that each exploration of a piece is our own transmission from brain to page.  There’s something so beautiful about seeing it that way.  This way, you can never really be wrong.  Even in the pieces we make that maybe we don’t like or understand, we can just stand back and say, “Ok, it happened that way, and that’s that.”  This is basically my outlook on life.