Long before picking up a brush, Dairo Vargas was drawn to the paintings inside a church in his native Colombia — images he, as a child, had no framework to understand but could not look away from. Drawing came naturally to him from an early age — a quiet way of observing the world and making sense of it. By fifteen he had sold his first painting; by sixteen he was painting murals for local clients.
He went on to study graphic design at Unitec University in Bogotá. Alongside his studies, Vargas pursued private painting lessons and exhibited in small group shows. After several years working in advertising at J. Walter Thompson and BBDO, in 2005 he relocated to London where he studied Fine Art at Kensington & Chelsea College and later Sculpture at Central Saint Martins, a period that brought new clarity to his practice and marked a turning point in how he approached painting.
Vargas’s work demands time. Large in scale and dense in surface, his canvases are built up and scraped back, with oil forming the foundation while spray paint and crayon shift the texture and weight of the image. Earlier layers bleed through the final surface, leaving a record of decisions made and revised. The process is rooted in personal necessity. Painting first came to him as a way through a difficult period in his twenties, a return to the instinct he had as a child of making things in order to understand them. The work never fully settles, and this ongoing tension is central to his process.
His engagement with classical painting deepened during the pandemic, when long periods of study led him into Renaissance and Baroque composition, and particularly to the work of Peter Paul Rubens. What struck Vargas was the vitality within those paintings: the movement, the theatrical drama, the physical tension of bodies in motion. That sense of energy and psychological intensity resonated strongly with what he had already been exploring in his own work. A series of large-scale reinterpretations of works such as The Fall of Phaeton, Tiger Hunt, and St George and the Dragon emerged from this study, in which the structural power of the originals is filtered through Vargas’s own emotional and psychological language.
Beyond the canvas, Vargas has long been interested in what art can offer people at difficult moments in their lives. In 2018 he led a collaborative painting process at the Global Ministerial Mental Health Summit in London, where Catherine, Princess of Wales, and Prince William were among the participants. The following year he founded TheArtListens.org, an initiative that uses art as a tool for opening conversations around mental health. His projects have since taken him to Expo 2020 in Dubai and to Churchill’s Wartime HQ in London, where he painted a mural.
His work is held in the collections of the Alfardan Group, the World Health Organisation, and the Wish Foundation in Qatar, as well as private collections across Europe and Latin America. Among the galleries representing his work, Maddox Gallery staged his most recent solo exhibition, Coexistent Narratives, in London in 2025, presenting large-scale layered compositions that explore memory, identity, and the subtle influence of space.
In conversation with The Exclusivist, Vargas reflects on the role of silence in his studio, his ongoing dialogue with Rubens, and the evolving balance between figuration, abstraction, and memory in his work.
Q&A With Dairo Vargas
Origins
You studied graphic design in Bogotá and later fine art in London — but where did painting actually begin for you? Did you draw or paint as a child, or did it come later? And was there a particular artist, image, or moment that committed you to it?
I grew up drawing constantly. It felt very natural to me as a child, a quiet way of observing the world and creating my own space. One of my earliest memories of art was in a church in my hometown in Colombia. I remember looking up at the paintings there, their classical style, strong colours, and compositions. I didn’t know anything about art history at the time, but those images fascinated me and stayed in my memory. There was also a small but powerful moment at school that I still remember. I was twelve, and we were asked to make a painting in class. A few of us were chosen to present our work in front of everyone. Standing there, I remember thinking quietly to myself: maybe I can do this. After my father passed away when I was five, drawing also became a kind of refuge. It helped me process emotions that I didn’t yet have the language to express. Later I studied graphic design in Bogotá and worked for several years in advertising, which gave me valuable experience and a strong understanding of visual communication. But painting truly opened up when I moved to London. That was when I realised painting could hold something deeper, memory, emotion, and history within the same surface. Over time I understood that painting was a language that could accompany me for the rest of my life.
Ritual & Studio Rhythm
Do you have rituals before or during painting — music, silence, a preferred time of day? And when you start a new piece, where does it actually begin — with a sketch, a reference, or something more instinctive?
The studio is usually quiet. Sometimes I play classical music, especially Chopin, but most of the time I prefer silence. Personally, I feel that painting requires a kind of listening, and silence helps me stay present with the work. When I begin a painting, it rarely starts with a fixed plan. Sometimes there are sketches or references, but often it begins with a gesture, a colour, or a movement on the canvas that opens something up. From there the painting gradually reveals itself. I like leaving space for intuition. The work grows through a dialogue between control and discovery.
On Peter Paul Rubens
What draws you to Rubens specifically? Is it the composition and movement, the colour, or something harder to define — the emotional charge, the drama?
Rubens fascinates me because of the vitality in his work. His compositions feel alive, full of movement, rhythm, and an incredible sense of energy flowing through the figures. Beyond the technical mastery, what draws me most is the emotional intensity. His paintings carry drama and humanity at the same time. They remind me that painting can be both intellectual and visceral. Studying Rubens helped me think more deeply about how movement and structure can coexist on the canvas.
Lockdown & Study
You mentioned that lockdown gave you uninterrupted time to study historical painting. What did that period actually change — your handling of paint, your sense of structure, or the way you build a composition?
Lockdown created an unusual kind of silence. During that time I also discovered more about myself and how to express my ideas more clearly through painting. It almost felt like entering a different realm, where I could reflect and develop ideas more freely. That period allowed me to spend long hours studying historical painting, particularly its structure. What changed most was my awareness of composition and how a painting holds itself together. I became more attentive to how forms guide the eye and how rhythm moves across the surface. It was about understanding the underlying architecture of painting. That knowledge continues to influence how I approach the canvas today.
Beyond the Old Masters
Much of your recent work — including pieces from Coexistent Narratives — moves into gestural abstraction, memory, and interior space. What draws you to that territory, and how does your approach to the canvas change when you’re working outside the dialogue with historical painting?
In recent work I’ve been increasingly interested in memory and interior space — the places where personal experience and imagination meet. Gestural abstraction allows me to explore emotion in a more direct way. The canvas becomes less about depicting something specific and more about capturing a state of mind or a sensation. Even when the work moves further into abstraction, the influence of historical painting remains present. Structure, movement, and balance still sit underneath the surface.
Looking Ahead
Are there new ideas, themes, or directions you’re looking to explore in your practice?
Right now I’m interested in pushing the relationship between figuration and abstraction further, allowing the two to coexist in the same space. I’m exploring classical colour palettes and imagery that invite viewers into their own memories, especially those that may have been hidden for a long time. I’m also interested in how painting can function as a space for reflection, both for the viewer and within the collaborative projects I develop with communities. For me, painting is not only about the finished object. It’s also about creating a space where something inward can surface.
The Collector’s Eye
Do you collect anything? And what’s the one non-sentimental object you already own that you’d never part with?
I’m drawn to small old sculptures, especially those that have been softened by time and taken on a slightly abstract quality. Objects like that often feel charged with presence. I wouldn’t say I’m a collector in the traditional sense, but I’m very drawn to things that hold a quiet history. One object I would never part with is a sketchbook from earlier in my practice. It contains fragments of drawings, ideas, and thoughts that later shaped many of my paintings. It reminds me that every finished work begins with something small and uncertain.
Endnote
Vargas describes his process as a dialogue between control and discovery — and that tension is visible in the work itself. The influence of historical painting never fully disappears; structure and balance underpin even the most gestural surfaces. The result is work that unfolds over time, offering new discoveries with each encounter.
Dairo Vargas’ Official Website | Instagram
Photo credits (right-hand side, top to bottom): The fall of Phaeton after Rubens, Fragment Reality, The Observer, The collective voice, Sanctuary © Dairo Vargas.
