Daniel Ochoa found refuge in art. Majoring in engineering, he was just beginning his sophomore year at Gonzaga University when he got the devastating news – his only brother had committed suicide. “We were just starting to build a relationship as adults,” he says quietly. “After he died, I don’t know, I think I got selfish. I needed to find what made me happy.” And he needed an emotional outlet. He found it in the art department. “Art teachers are more open to an emotional connection than say algebra teachers,” he says. “I think that’s why I gravitated to art. I identified with art students and art instructors. It was an emotional shift for me.” He switched from engineering to art, a journey prompted by tragedy and fueled by Ochoa’s intense desire to connect emotionally to his art and the people he cares about.

Walking into his small San Francisco studio it’s impossible to miss the haunting portrait of Ochoa’s brother, Matt. It’s a large piece, 60”x48”, full of abstraction and color, but it’s the eyes that draw you in. The pain is palpable. Getting to the essence of a person is exactly what Ochoa hopes to achieve every time he puts a brush to canvas. The large abstract figurative work is relatively new for Ochoa, who spent most of his educational life painting traditional still life, landscapes, and portraits. He was a representational artist, and a good one, but for him a key component was missing. “Representational painting is very methodical,” he explains. “You start with step A, move on to step B and C, and you get to a good painting.  If you follow the steps you can get to a good result each time, but that was too logical to me. There wasn’t a strong emotional quality for me.”

He decided to move into more abstract painting, but it wasn’t easy. As much as he wanted to, it was hard to let go. He says the breakthrough came when he started combining the two techniques. His secret is tape. Before he starts painting he stretches pieces of tape across the canvas in random fashion. Then he starts to apply paint, thin transparent layers at first, followed by thicker layers. When he feels the time is right, he rips off the tape. “Half (the painting) would look representational and half would look messed up, and that would set up a randomness, a series of mistakes that need to be corrected. Eventually I end up with all these layers – a complexity – that, for me, follows how you would describe a person. A person isn’t just about what they look like or how they dress. There is a history that I’m trying to create. I’m trying to build an emotional personality and history within a painting.”

Ochoa is young and “emerging” as the art world likes to call it, and he is clearly taking a chance in changing his style so dramatically. Even at school he faced pressure to stick with representational painting, but with encouragement of a couple of instructors he followed his heart and now says there is no turning back.  “I’m committed to my direction,” he insists. “There is more aesthetic than just beautiful or grotesque. There are things in the middle, and my work is an example of that. A messed up face is not beautiful or grotesque. It just represents emotion. There is an in between, and I think people respond to that. They aren’t just looking for cupcakes or rainbows.”

Ochoa is a thoughtful, soft-spoken young man with an easy smile and dark eyes and skin that speak to his mixed ethnicity. His father is a first generation immigrant from Mexico – a no nonsense guy who worked hard at achieving the American dream. His mom grew up in L.A., and after getting married, moved north to Sonoma County where she embraced a more rural lifestyle.  “Early on my sisters were into 4-H. They had a couple of goats running around and they would breed. That was what 4-H was about. Well, my mom got really into it. Now there are 300 goats,” Ochoa laughs. “At my last show downtown my mom brought fresh goat cheese. I didn’t know if any of my friends would actually come until I told them my mom’s bringing goat cheese.”

His parents are no longer together but are supportive of his career choice. Although, he admits, they still sometimes ask when he plans on getting a real job. He laughs and says, “Never.” At 28, he has just finished his graduate work at the Art Academy and already has a gallery in San Francisco. “It’s scary to think about making a living as an artist because you have to sell your work, and when you do, you end up wanting to make another painting like the one you sold. It can be detrimental because you do the same thing over and over again. Taking chances is good. I like the discovery part. I’m not expecting to be a millionaire. I just want to paint.”

And he is looking forward to getting back into the studio. The business side of things has taken up a lot of his time lately, and he sounds tired just talking about it. “I just feel better when I paint,” he says. It is clearly the thing that grounds him the most. He shares studio space with his girlfriend, who is also an artist, he has lots of friends and he has been known to tip back a few gin and tonics on Friday night – always happy hour and always Seagram’s because both are cheap. But painting is where he puts most of his passion. He paints portraits, mostly of people he knows, because it’s his way of staying connected. “Part of the meditative quality is to spend time thinking about the person. It’s kind of like hanging out with your friends. I would rather spend time with people I know.” So even when he is alone in his studio, he is surrounded by people he loves – his brother, mother, father, friends – and in the process he has found his artistic direction and perhaps just as important, a way to find peace within himself. “Yeah, it’s about me, too – figuring out who I am. It may be therapeutic.”

Written by: Erin Clark

Artworks Magazine: Spring 2009