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Ruben Dario paints like he lives—without apology, without permission. Every stroke is testimony, every canvas a dare. Dario has built a life out of risk, resilience, and devotion to art. From his Venezuelan roots to his leap into Los Angeles, his story is written in love, sacrifice, and the fearless pursuit of authenticity.
International author and painter Ruben Dario strolls onto the back patio of Bolt Coffee in East Hollywood—like a soft breeze, all grace and fire—balancing a cup of black coffee softened with almond milk. Every move feels intentional. “It’s a tool life gave me, along with a paintbrush,” he says with a confident smile.
He settles into his seat and offers a wink—not flirtatious, but knowing. A quiet signal that beneath the fitted plaid Ralph Lauren button-down lies a man who’s mastered more than image. School was in session. And just like he once painted his way through pain, Ruben Dario was about to teach me something about faith—and the courage to fall.
Dario is a self-taught artist from Venezuela who once taught English as a second language. Now, he’s preparing for his second art show in Italy. His work is refuge and revelation, more than imagery—it’s something you feel. He’s been described as raw, layered, and deeply connected.
“Some people protest, others scream,” he says, lowering his coffee cup. “But for me, creating art is how I communicate and connect with the world. All of my artwork has a message.”
“It took me a while to get where I am now, to find my voice,” Ruben admits. “I started by observing people and the world around me. I wanted to leave a message.”
Picasso lit the first spark—his grandmother gave him books on the artist when he was a child. From there, Ruben’s style began to morph. “I studied Rothko, Albers, and Kandinsky to express myself. Then it shifted into one style with a Cuban twist, and eventually I began blending in today’s culture,” he explains. “Now that I’ve found my voice, I want to communicate ideas. I want to leave something for future generations.”
When asked what that looks like, Ruben points to history. “Edgar Degas painted ballerinas, and back then they were subjected to wealthy men who made them uncomfortable—his art told their story.” Following that lineage of testimony, Ruben created a series called Shantay Will Stay, a response to the ongoing attacks against the transgender community. “In that work, I wanted to capture not just beauty, but resistance—and to show what it means to live authentically, even when the world pushes back.”
‘70s classic R&B mingles with birdsong as Ruben leans back, eyes bright as he breathes it all in. Los Angeles is still new—he and his husband recently relocated from New York. “Life is all about taking chances, right? I started to see that when I met my partner about two and a half years ago,” he says.
Love, he explains, gave him the courage to bet on himself. In March 2023, he was living in New York when he met his partner in Canada. By June, they were already planning to live together for a month “to see if we could function together as a couple,” he says with a grin.
“It worked. We couldn’t be apart from each other,” he says. “The problem was, neither of us wanted to live in New York or Canada. We both had dreams of being in Los Angeles.”
The move marked a seismic shift. Ruben was learning to trust his instincts, find his voice, and switch gears professionally. “I wanted to pursue art full-time. My husband was my biggest support. He told me life was too short, and if I wanted to do it—then fuck it, do it.”
So he did. His first real step into the art world came through the New York City Art Expo. “I applied and got accepted. They were so excited to have me—I couldn’t believe it,” he says, blushing.
For Dario, it was more than an acceptance letter—it was the second time in his life he trusted his gut, a feeling that still felt new. Until then, life had been cut and dry: work, provide for family, repeat. Anything beyond survival didn’t matter. But now, life was cracking the door open, daring him to step through.
“I took this chance to show people what I was really made of. I built each piece from the ground up.”
The response was overwhelming. A gallery owner from Italy approached him, leading to his first international show—and nine pieces sold. “I was floored. My work was now in a gallery in France that featured artists like Keith Haring.” A dream he once thought was over was just beginning.
His canvases don’t whisper, they demand. Thick layers of paint scraped and clawed, colors colliding like arguments at midnight. Faces emerge and dissolve, caught between beauty and chaos. His art feels less like an object and more like a confession.
With every step, the universe seemed to meet him halfway—something that stunned Dario. He was used to grinding for every need, every want, with nothing ever handed over easy. But this felt different. The momentum not only surprised him, it made him feel safe, as if the universe had finally stopped pushing back and started carrying him. And when he tried to conform to the rules of society, abandoning his dreams for what was expected, that sense of safety warped into guilt—guilt born from knowing he was betraying himself.
“I’ve always been the kind of guy sitting around waiting for things to happen to me,” he says, his expression sharpening. He takes a sip of coffee before continuing, “I’m a person of color—this world wasn’t designed for me. Because of that, I’ve always had to go for what I want.”
A mentality that’s served him well—and one he learned early. Born into a hardworking family that had little, Ruben’s mother instilled perseverance. His grandmother fed his creativity, gifting him Picasso books and, later, his first paint set. “When I was five, she said, ‘Let’s see what you can do with this.’ And I painted Tutankhamun’s face. At that time, all I did was watch the Discovery Channel.”
He grins, then softens. “I think grandmothers always know. She would always say I was special—and when she said special, I think she meant gay. She pushed me creatively.”
Even with that support, Ruben still wrestled with how to belong. “I wasn’t like other kids—they were out playing soccer, and I never felt the need to do that. I was either painting or at the library. I felt like Matilda!” he laughs. “I always felt like I had to conform just to fit in.”
It was as if his spirit refused to release art and redirected him each time. Sitting back in his chair, he remembers painting while his mother worried about him never going outside. “I recall her telling a friend she wasn’t sure if I’d grow up to be a priest,” he laughs. “A priest? Because I like to paint? That’s crazy.”
Ruben admits he almost missed the calling. “I grew up very, very poor. Art school was too expensive, so I worked and studied hard, and went into languages instead.” Following his mother’s mantra—be the best at whatever you do—he graduated with honors and taught at the same university. From ages 23 to 27, he taught English while studying the language himself. “I fell in love with the country accent,” he says with a chuckle. “Forrest Gump is one of my favorite movies. The accent is so sweet, with that slow twang and rhythm.”
At 27, Ruben moved to the United States, first working construction, then accounting. During this time, he made sacrifices that cut against his spirit but lifted his family. “That sacrifice took me out of myself spiritually, but it helped move my family out of a horrible situation,” he explains. Afterward, he knew it was time to focus on himself, finally.
“Life is today—what am I waiting for?” he says. Art was the one thing that spoke to his heart, so he leapt. “The universe has been carrying me.”
Since then, Ruben’s career has blossomed. A client with a collection dating back to the 1600s recently bought his work, and he even delivered a piece to one of his favorite artists, Fergie. He is even working on a new series.
There were years when he thought the world had no place for him, years when he nearly buried the dream. Now, every brushstroke is proof he refused.
When asked if little Ruben would be proud, he smiles. “It’s like Westworld—you go around in circles trying to be someone else, but in the end, you just learn that you can be yourself.”
And in that sense, Ruben has finally returned home—to himself. Every brushstroke now is both memory and message, an offering to the future. He isn’t just painting for himself, but for anyone who’s ever felt out of place, anyone told to conform, anyone waiting for proof that daring to leap is worth it.
“I want my art to say, you’re not alone,” he says. His voice lands like a closing line, steady and unflinching. The kind of line you don’t forget after the credits roll.
✨🎨🖌️