Daniel Dobarco’s body of work is an examination in terms of its design language, as human figures, natural elements, and large areas of bold colors artistically combine in very controlled layouts. The artist has remained focused on a fine balance between realism and stylization through his most recent works. At the same time, the paintings reflect the utmost dedication to harmonious interplay of colors, detailed finishing, and recurring use of certain visual elements that connect diverse pieces into a single narrative which is straightforward but also highly refined.
What differentiates Daniel Dobarco‘s art the most is probably the extremely vibrant and often unexpected color choices. The palette of his bright imagery includes mostly greenery and yellows, the energizing orange, and dark nocturnal tones. There are even works when the artist chooses to depict humanoid figures in bright green which does not only drastically changes the way these bodies are viewed but pushes them away from the realm of naturalism. These green figures, which are sometimes portrayed in a single frame while being very close to each other or holding one another as in a boxing-related painting. Mainly, Dobarco works with layers of paint and creates soft transitions, so that the figures appear as if they come out of the painted surface rather than being there all along.
words: yannis kostarias
Focusing on Dobarco’s practice, one can observe repetition as an important tool for him. The artist reuses similar elements over and over in his series: oval heads, uncomplicated limbs, and body structure which seems rather elongated or softened. Usually, the faces receive minimal or slightly caricatured details, achieving a rather neutral mood placed within the arrangement that does not change. The sense of softness has a significant output on his canvases enhancing the figure’s clarity in this painting method while the background is rendered partially visible.
Frequently, Dobarco compositionally employs the human figure quite centrally and yet within rather open areas of a tangible visual field. He tends to turn even the most detailed backgrounds into simple, colored planes that just give a setting to the main figure while not competing in any way. Besides that, in some pieces, the human motif gets framed by other forms inspired by nature e.g. vines/leafy branches/flowers, thus creating regularity and patterns on a picture. These elements provide the visual rhythm while the whole image stays clear at the same time.
Another element in his visual language is that there are works which are very much focusing on the human figure and at the same time, there are others which have quite different and hybrid or organic images. The butterfly-like forms, plant structures, and softly glowing organic shapes look as meticulously painted as the human figures. These features take the artist’s visual language beyond the realm of portraiture, yet keeping the same focus on surface texture and color harmony.
On a technical level, Dobarco’s artworks show a masterful blend of control and spontaneity in painting. The edges are in most cases blurred, the change of colors is progressive, and the surface still uncovers the process of layers. Instead of giving in to thick brushes or strong, defining lines, the painter develops shape by altering shade and opacity of color. It leads to a series of paintings where human forms, flora, and vaguely resembling figures come forth from the canvas by means of a harmonious use of color, motifs, and very well thought through composition.
How would you define your work in a few words (ideally in 3 words)?
Tragicomic Fantastic Postrealism.
Could you share with us some insights on your new work named ‘Gravity and Grace’ (2025)? Is there any particular story behind this new painting?
My angels are about the fall. Ultimately, all of them are fallen angels, but they do not fall out of evil; they fall out of love, out of love for another. Instead of following sacred love, which is a universal love, they choose to live love as we do: an individual, earthly love. That is where the tragicomedy resides.
Gravity, because gravity is the material, represents their physical fall, their humanization. Grace represents the divine (material love / divine love), and it is what is lost. Thus we encounter an act that is both joyful and sorrowful, suspended between loss and gain, an infinite tension.
The concepts of gravity and grace I draw from the book of the same name by Simone Weil. In the painting, I symbolize love (both physical and spiritual) by materializing it through flowers, which fall alongside the angel. As the angel falls in broad daylight, he too becomes material, losing his mystical aura and reminding us of any ordinary bird; becoming tangible, beautiful because you can see him, yet perishable like the flowers and like time itself, until the moment of impact.
You have paired saturated greens or oranges with softer backgrounds in your recent works. How do you think color works in your paintings going beyond just representation?
I don’t make sketches, except for a few quick notes. I like to paint directly onto the canvas and see what happens. I don’t do color studies, and my paintings usually end up very different from the original idea. You could say it’s like a dialogue, we tell each other things. I hope that doesn’t sound too pretentious. Conceptually, what interests me most are polyphonic things, those that don’t clearly affirm or deny, that seem to hold opposing meanings at once. I think my colors are like that: there is saturation and darkness. I like things that grate slightly, that subtly unsettle. A bit of discomfort makes you pay attention, and perhaps in some way that’s what I’m seeking.
But I don’t want to be misunderstood. I’m not looking for shallow or superficial attention. I want viewers to pause for a moment and interpret things for themselves, beyond whether they simply like what they see or not. I’m drawn to the palettes of religious imagery, which have that effect on me. I’m not trying to present myself as a mystic, I’m not hahaha. I simply long for that power to reach the soul, to break the heart so that only the moment matters, in a way that goes beyond hedonism. To confront discomfort as an achievement.
Several of the artworks depict myth-like figures or monsters, but they don’t come across as literal scenes. Do you consider your characters as symbolic, narrative or perhaps something else?
I draw my characters from popular culture, specifically from literature, religion, and video games. It’s my way of creating a world where they all coexist, in order to speak a little about ourselves — about how I interpret reality and the things that interest me.
The origin of this approach goes back to the time when I was working on my PhD (which I eventually abandoned), whose subject was the carnivalesque. I’m interested in the phenomena that emerge during carnival: the inversion of values and the way opposites interact — such as high/low, sacred/profane, and so on. In some way, by bringing together the sacred and contemporary fantasy, I bring angels down to earth while elevating orcs and other fantastical creatures.
In fact, simply by painting creatures from contemporary popular fantasy — like orcs — in classical poses and in a classical manner, I am committing a carnivalesque act. The medium of painting, and oil painting in particular, has traditionally been considered a medium of high culture, historically associated, for example, with religious painting.
These creatures function as archetypes in my own way. Each one has its own idiosyncrasy, its joys and its sorrows. Almost all of the narrative I keep to myself; it is lost in the very nature of the static image, where only a single instant remains and everything else disappears.
I don’t really mind. In fact, I think it’s better that way. The power of symbolic images is much richer before one knows what they conceal. For me, that is where the grace of all faith resides.
Your paintings’ surfaces seem so real and almost touchable with the visible brushstrokes and incorporation of different colors. What role do you think technique and touch are able to shape your paintings’ visual language?
For me, every gesture or style is the music of a work. Nowadays, painters who love our craft are still the guardians of that secret, hahaha, I know it sounds pretentious, but I’d like to explain. I think today much of the ability to truly observe a painting has been lost. People often focus only on the image itself, forgetting how to read the gesture or the color. That love has too often been confined to those who practice it, just as a musician might say the same about music.
In my case, I try to avoid being either too academic or too naive. It’s been a long journey to reach this point, passing through different styles, learning to use a lot of technique while also learning to detach from it. I think this is something I haven’t fully achieved yet; I still don’t feel I’m giving the best of myself.
All I can say is that I paint each canvas in its own way. Some paintings are more refined, others more direct; some ethereal, others very heavy. Honestly, it’s something I don’t control — it just comes out, and I let myself be carried by it. There are days when I finish a painting feeling happy, and others when I feel desperate. I like it, I dislike it, but I like to think that the work is not entirely mine. It’s like a child leaving home to find their way in the world — you cry a little, and then you go on vacation.
There are a few works where the division between the figure and the background is blurred. Is this an intentional tactic to break down the hierarchy in the image, or does it come more naturally?
I think I already touched on this in the previous answer. Sometimes, during the process, a work naturally tends to become more ethereal, and other times heavier. I would say it’s intentional, but in a natural way, the work itself, in a sense, demands it from me, driven by the narrative that unfolds as I paint.
What about the place where you work? What’s your studio space look like?
My studio is a small, cramped space that I share with three other artists: Gema Quiles, Alex Gambín, and Luís de la Fuente. It’s a battle studio — ugly, dirty, and small — perfect for painting without being disturbed, but terrible for taking photos or showcasing the work. That’s why I usually photograph my paintings outside, which makes it a constant struggle to get quality archival material.
Which are your plans for the near future?
Being realistic, it’s about managing to survive in order to keep painting, making sure work doesn’t take up too many hours so I can go to the studio and create my pieces, to focus on what gives me life’s spark, which is painting.If we’re being mythical, it would be to make a living solely from painting, create a series of large-scale works, and build a sculptural installation of colossal proportions, a place where everything converges and people feel as if they’ve stepped into another dimension, another astral plane.
all images courtesy of the artist