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'Barney Fife' turned photography teacher urges students to stretch their talents • 'Now, get out there and find me that big, hairy, fat guy' he tells one By
Ruth Turner
There he sits, in an old burnt-orange recliner, gently rocking back and forth, as a dozen students gather around him, waiting to hear what he has to say. The chair seems to be his throne, and he seems to be the king of this classroom. "Next!" yells Mark Dungan, trying to be heard over NPR playing in the background. A girl in a red feather coat steps a little closer, and Dungan grins and warns, "This better not be dumb." The girl looks sheepishly away, smiles, finally looks back, and starts in with her idea. See, she's a belly dancer. And she was thinking of maybe doing a series of photos on belly dancing. But she's not sure exactly what. Dungan gives her a blank stare and says, "I dig that coat, but you're not giving me anything to work with. You need an underlying thread in all of the pictures." A girl standing next to her suggests a specific background, a guy behind her suggests belly dancing on a car, and a guy across the room recommends having a hairy, fat guy in the picture. "I like it," says Dungan. "Now, get out there and find me that big, hairy, fat guy." Mark Dungan is one of the teachers for ART 2800, a beginning photography class at Utah State University. But he's also a teacher for the same class at Salt Lake Community College. And he's also a student himself Dungan is studying to get his master of fine arts, the "terminal degree," in his program, and will finish in May. But he's been a teacher at USU as long as he's been a student -- since the fall of 1998. "That's why I came here," says Dungan. "I turned down my first choice (Southern Illinois University) and went with my last choice (USU) because they said I could start teaching right away." "The quality of his portfolio was excellent, but his inquisitiveness is what made us hire him," says Craig Law, Dungan's boss. But Dungan isn't your usual 26- or 27-year-old graduate student. He turned 42, which means he's had 20 years more work experience. Twenty years of experience that had nothing to do with photography, until about five years ago. "I never took a serious interest in it because I never thought I could make any money at it," says Dungan. "But it's always been the constant thread in my life." Born in Galesburg, Ill., but raised in Auburn, Wash., Dungan went to Washington State University and graduated with a degree in criminal justice. After graduation, he began applying for jobs in small towns, but soon realized it was all a formality. A familiar name in the town was always chosen over him. "I always wanted to be like Barney Fife," says Dungan, rocking in that burnt orange chair that matches the hair on his head and face. Before long, student loans became due, and Dungan joined up with a friend mowing lawns. After 10 years, he decided to get his teaching certificate. Primary teaching was a breeze, but his "secondary experience was a nightmare," and he ended up not getting it. "But I'm looking into getting it again. It makes me much more employable," says Dungan, with a smile. Dungan didn't want to go back to mowing lawns, so this time he went to work in the salvage yard at Seattle City Light, the local utility company. However, this only lasted for a couple years, before he was laid off. It was the last straw for Dungan. "I said, 'That's it, I'm out of here,'" says Dungan. "And people laughed and said, 'Yeah, right, where?' And I told 'em. Maine." And off to Maine he went, because it "was as far from Washington as you could get." Off he went, in his 1988 white Ford Mercury Tracer, driving the perimeter of the United States. He drove from town to town, taking all of the back roads and old highways, and never taking the main highway. "Sometimes I'd drive 100 miles, other days I'd only drive 10 miles," says Dungan. Dungan's life has had a main thread. Photography. For four-and-a-half months, he lived out of his car. His unemployment checks were automatically deposited, he had a tent to sleep in at nights, and unlimited time to take pictures. To photograph anything and everything he saw. "You've got to have that underlying thread," Dungan repeats, turning to another student. "Narrow your ideas. Narrow, narrow, narrow!" Because he has such an "excellent repoir" with his students, he can talk to them like this. After all, they dish it right back. And five months after leaving Washington, after taking hundreds of pictures of landscapes along the way, Dungan reached Maine, now knowing he wanted a career in photography. "I told myself, I've tried doing all of these other things that I don't like," says Dungan. "And I told myself, 'I'm going to make this work.'" He enrolled in a work-study program his first summer, and then applied to the Maine Photographic Workshop. The director wanted to see a portfolio, so he drove back to Washington in four days, printed up all the rolls of film he had saved from his trip, and sent it to the director. He was in. This "photo boot camp," as Dungan likes to call it was an intensive, two-quarter residency, with only 25-30 in the class. And even though it was demanding, it was enjoyable. "Everyone was really into it," he says. "We were all excited about it, and worked our butts off." Since then, Dungan has made a move back West, and has been teaching for almost three years. Teaching students the basics of what he knows, "what he's learned from others." "Everything I've learned, I want to share," says Dungan. "I like passing on what I've learned." His boss and co-workers have noticed this quality as well. "He has this infectious enthusiasm that he conveys to his students," says Law. It's this enthusiasm for photography, for wanting to teach the unknown, that shapes Dungan's teaching style. He doesn't strictly grade on quality, but bases it primarily on effort. If a student is putting the time and effort in, he's going to get a decent grade, says Dungan. "My favorite part of teaching is to see someone struggling and then suddenly 'get it,'" says Dungan. But that doesn't mean he floods his students' work with compliments. "When Mark says that your image is 'OK,' that means that it's good," says Martin Wiser, a junior majoring in photography. And on top of teaching classes at two colleges every week, Dungan has his own graduate work to concentrate on, currently his thesis project, photogravure. The simplest way to describe it, says Dungan, is transferring a evenly toned negative onto a copper plate, then running it through a press. "It's mechanical, not chemical," says Dungan. "And it's time consuming." Although his work and teaching keep him more than busy, don't think this guy is all work and no play. Sports have been the second underlying thread in Dungan's life, which is evident by the ruddy face, and the well-worn running shoes. For 26 years, he coached or refereed softball and football, anywhere from 12-year-old girls, to NCAA women. "I got pretty high on the pecking list," says Dungan. But while he still loves football, he's ready to give up on softball. Games have changed, he says. They're just not as much fun anymore. The fans used to yell at you, but there was still some appreciation. Not anymore. "I'm just ready to go in a new direction," he says. "I'm tired of being yelled at for minimum wage." Besides, summertime is prime time for photo workshops, he says. He's been invited to workshops in previous summers, and is sure to be invited again. After all, he can make more money and actually be thanked for doing it. But won't he miss it? "Nope," he says. "I'll just be busy doing something else." And what about his degree, this new direction in his life? Is he excited for that, too? "I suppose it'll be pretty satisfying," says college, so it'll be nice to share my knowledge with those that don't know anything." But the nicest part, he says, will be doing what he likes. Being able to make pictures and not have to worry about selling them. "I can just be happy doing it," he says with a grin. He can't relax until May, though. In the meantime, he has job applications to get in, a student exhibition upcoming, and a thesis to finish in time for his own personal show March 23. With the last of his students walking away, Dungan eases himself out of his burnt-orange throne, tucks his blue T-shirt back in, and heads for his darkroom. Sometimes he wishes he had a teacher to help him, a teacher to give him suggestions when he wasn't quite sure. At least someone else to listen to, besides NPR in the background.
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