His art provides hope for a better life
Daniel McClenon is living on the streets because of addictions and mental illness
Daniel McClenon's art stops people in their tracks.
As he sits on the sidewalk in downtown San Francisco, hunched over his latest drawing, passersby pause to marvel at the skill he uses to capture heartbreakingly beautiful moments. Under his hand, a black and white drawing of Michelangelo's famous Pieta — a sculpture of a lifeless Jesus in the lap of his grieving mother — takes shape in such realistic detail that it's hard to believe it's not a photograph. His portrait of an elderly homeless man captures eyes that shine with a tragic glimmer of hope as they look to the sky.
This spring, McClenon got his first big break when his work was featured in a solo exhibition sponsored by a local nonprofit. His drawings become even more poignant when you know how some of them were created. His regular mediums are cheap ballpoint pens and whiteout, paid for with the change people toss him. His canvases are pieces of cardboard that, come nightfall, double as bedding when he sleeps on the sidewalk outside a Walgreens.
McClenon, who grew up in San Jose, has been homeless for years — living on the streets in his hometown and in San Francisco. The 39-year-old struggles with mental illness and addiction, and with the shortfalls of a society that can't seem to figure out how to help and house people like him. He's not sick enough to qualify for supportive housing programs that prioritize society's most vulnerable people. Nor is he well enough to get back on his feet without intensive help, thanks to a seizure disorder and PTSD that can make it hard for him to complete simple tasks like filling out applications. As a result, he's one of the many people left behind by a Bay Area homeless service system plagued with a shortage of beds and resources.
The latest homeless census counted more than 10,000 unhoused people living in Santa Clara County alone. As of March, the county had just over 2,000 year-round shelter and transitional housing beds, and another roughly 5,500 permanent housing placements. San Francisco counted about 7,750 unhoused residents this year. As of last year, the city had 5,080 shelter and transitional housing beds.
For McClenon, art has been his salvation — albeit a tenuous one.
“Art is kind of a way I communicate with people,” he said. “I always feel better when I start drawing and people respond to the work.”
Being unhoused has pushed McClenon into terrifying situations, which end up influencing his work. After he was slashed with an ax in what he says was an unprovoked attack, he temporarily lost the use of his left hand, which he normally uses to draw. So he switched to his right hand. Now that he's healed, he sometimes draws with both at once.
McClenon showcased seven of his pieces this April in an exhibit sponsored by the San Francisco-based
Hospitality House — a nonprofit that provides free studio space, art supplies and support to homeless and struggling artists. McClenon's father and sister flew in from out of town for the show's opening night.
McClenon is one of Hospitality House's most skilled artists, and the nonprofit hopes to set him up to teach classes there, said Janet Williams, who manages the Community Arts Program.
“The technical ability is incredible. The conditions under which it's made are incredible,” Williams said of his work. “And then just his story of perseverance and survival and commitment to his art.”
McClenon wakes up around 6 a.m. each morning, rolls up his sleeping bag and heads to a nearby methadone clinic to slurp his daily medicine, mixed with pink juice, from a Dixie cup. The methadone helps with his migralepsy — debilitating migraines that sometimes trigger seizures — and curbs the need for heroin as he works to stay clean. Then, he catches a Muni bus downtown, sets up his canvas and tip jar outside the Westfield mall, and starts drawing.
On a good day, he might make $30 or $40. Other days, someone steals his tip jar.
Drawing in front of an audience leaves him feeling vulnerable — “like being naked outside,” McClenon said. But it's also therapeutic. Life on the streets is lonely, and his main source of human connection comes from the people who stop to watch him and chat.
Sometimes he uses those connections to tell people what it's like being homeless. His Instagram account (@danielmcclenon) also documents his day-to-day life in unflinching detail. Sometimes, fans drop donations into his GoFundMe page.
McClenon has been struggling with homelessness and heroin and fentanyl use for years. He said self-medication for his migraines and depression following a breakup exacerbated his addiction. But he's received an associate's degree in engineering from ITT Technical Institute, where he also taught classes, and held down other jobs. His situation took a turn for the worse when he was arrested in 2017, charged with possession of a destructive or explosive device, and spent a year in jail.
McClenon said the arrest was a misunderstanding — police were called to Home Depot because they thought he had a gun, but in reality, he was just trying to buy parts to fix his broken, unloaded BB gun. Police then searched his house, where Daniel said he had explosive materials because he was building a laser and working on other engineering projects. He's always loved experimenting with engineering projects, and recently burned a portrait of Jimi Hendrix into a piece of wood using a laser he built himself.
In 2020, McClenon was living in a tent in San Jose when a heroin relapse sent him to the hospital with infected abscesses on both arms. After he was discharged, the county set him up in a motel for a month so he could recover.
The county assessed McClenon for housing, but found he wasn't eligible to be referred into a program, said spokeswoman Quan Vu.
Because it doesn't have enough housing placements for everyone, Santa Clara County prioritizes people who are disabled, sick or elderly. Families with children also receive special consideration. A separate pool of resources goes to newly homeless households who need minimal help, such as cash for a security deposit.
McClenon falls into none of those buckets.
During the pandemic, McClenon relocated to San Francisco, where he said he's been turned away from shelters and sanctioned encampments because they were full or he didn't qualify. People who have been homeless within the city the longest are prioritized for housing — another factor working against McClenon, said Jennifer Friedenbach, executive director of the Coalition on Homelessness.
“For someone like him, there's really nothing for him,” she said.
Recently, McClenon got a $1,810 check for selling his artwork at the Hospitality House exhibition. It's not enough to get housing. But he hopes it will help with smaller goals, such as getting a dog, furthering his art and helping other homeless people. His younger sister, Julia, hopes the exhibit will mark the beginning of a better chapter in his life. She cries when explaining how awful it's been to watch him struggle, while at the same time being terrified that giving him cash or a place to stay would enable his drug use.
“Humans are capable of growth and change in miraculous ways,” she said, “and I believe that is just as much true for Danny as it is for anybody.”
Daniel hopes someday to have his own studio and open a school that combines art and engineering. He's building another, larger laser, and is in talks with a San Jose restaurant owner about using it to singe a mural on the restaurant's wall. But whether or not his life improves after his exhibit, the show allowed him to leave a mark on the world.
“There's been several times since I've been homeless that I've been very close to death, and it makes you very aware of your own mortality when that happens,” he said at his show's opening night. “This is a modest attempt at holding up my fist to death. And in the event that I do die out there, I at least have some work to be remembered by.”