After a burnout on the New York scene, Rogan Gregory found freedom sculpting in Malibu’s untamed landscape
Words by CHRISTINE LENNON
Photography by RAINER HOSCH
A plastic tarp, suspended over a white wooden frame, rustles in the wind to reveal patches of blue sky above it. A pair of towhees fly in, dodging a 10-foot-tall white sculpture, to land on a rough-hewn bird feeder, scattering seeds on the concrete floor. A fountain hidden in a tangled mass of potted plants gurgles softly. At the center of it all, Rogan Gregory gestures around the structure — an open-air artist studio inside an old greenhouse on a regenerative farm in Malibu — with his paint-stained hands.
“People talk about feeling a connection to nature, and I’m like, unless you actually feel it, you’re not really connected to it,” he says. “I like feeling cold in the morning and warm in the afternoon. I can feel the sun on my back right now. I like smelling the smells and dealing with the rain. My studio flooded this morning, but it’s part of the deal. I get it.” Gregory — an artist, a furniture maker, and a creative polymath — began his professional life as a fashion designer and consultant in Y2K-era New York. Anyone familiar with his career arc might not be surprised to find him here, tinkering away on this peaceful property near the Malibu home he shares with his wife, Be Mayer, and their two kids, letting his imagination run wild. He has a slightly more polished showroom in Santa Monica, where his more refined work is on display — primarily sculpture and functional pieces like seating, lighting, and wall hangings, fashioned in smooth forms from metal, plaster, wood, and clay. But this second space functions as an idea lab for experimental sculpture, rustic fired clay pieces, and found objects that look like they might have survived an apocalypse.
“I like things that look a little blown apart, just kind of torched. I like primitive animal and plant forms,” he says. “My parents are academics. My dad was a sociology professor who was a wacky weirdo who made sculptures as a hobby. He never thought of selling any of his art, but I learned to make things from him. My sister is a primatologist. So when we sit around and talk, it’s about science and anatomy and evolutionary biology.”
Gregory moved to New York from Ohio and worked for many years as an era-defining force in fashion, consulting for brands like Calvin Klein and Levi’s. He founded his line, Rogan, in 2001. Then came Loomstate, a trailblazing brand in the sustainable fashion and denim movement, in 2007. He was a Council of Fashion Designers of America/Vogue Fashion Fund award recipient and the creative director of Edun, the fashion brand founded by Bono and his wife, Ali Hewson. What he lacked in formal design or art training, he made up for with ingenuity. He was known for his cool confidence and deliberately undone aesthetic but not for business acumen or passion for managing the mundane aspects of a global brand.
“I just want to make one of something. In fashion, you have sell 10,000 to break even.”
“In the beginning, I was sitting down at a sewing machine, or drawing, and it was great for a while,” Gregory says. “Then I founded my own brand because that seemed like what should happen next. That’s what I was supposed to want.”
From the outside looking in, Gregory was at the top of his game. He and Mayer, a fellow fashion insider and boutique owner, had established communities in the city and in the surf scene in Montauk. Their daughter was born in 2010. He was an editorial favorite, a telegenic guy with endless ideas and a rock-star business partner. But the day-to-day pressures of running a brand in a notoriously fickle industry had taken their toll.
“I got to a point where I had endured 10 years of pain. I was miserable. I didn’t know about lawyers and taxes or how financing worked. I got to my late 30s and I thought, I’m in trouble,” he says. “I remember one winter in New York, I was commuting into the city from Long Island to an office where 30 employees would look at me asking, ‘What are we doing?’ I knew I had to do something that made me happy, no matter what it cost.”
Making things was what brought him joy. So in 2014, Gregory made the difficult pivot to creating art full time. Within two years, he staged his first solo exhibition at R & Company gallery in New York. By 2018, he’d developed a successful body of work and a growing clientele. In 2019, he persuaded Mayer to move west to Point Dume, realizing a long-held dream to live and work outside as much as possible.
“The city wasn’t good for me. It’s so vertical — all the concrete and hard surfaces are so abrasive.”
“Fast-forward, and I have an assistant or two. I have very little overhead,” he says. “My wife is my business partner, and she is super smart, and our skill sets are really complementary. It’s a great business model, like making a few bespoke suits a month. And it suits me so well because I just want to make one of something. In fashion, you have to make and sell 10,000 of anything to break even. I like to have an idea every day. I get to do this weird sculpture, and then try ceramics, and then work with wood for a while. I just play and experiment.”
If you look closely at Gregory’s work, the fashion influences are everywhere. There are sleek pieces upholstered in tactile sheepskin, pendant lights that dangle like earrings, inviting textures like woven rattan, sinuous curves, and metal surfaces that gleam like silk. On occasion, he’ll design larger installations, like a hammam and a sauna he’s building on a Hamptons property. For once, the only limits to his work are his clients’ budget and enthusiasm.
“In New York, I was really obsessed with flat black paint. The house, my car, everything was covered in it. It was a palate cleanser. It would calm me down,” he says. “But out here, I don’t feel the same urge to do that. The city wasn’t good for me. It’s so vertical — all the concrete and hard surfaces are so abrasive. I loved the energy when I was young, but today this is what I need. Even though it’s messy and rough in the studio, it makes me feel something that’s good. And I think that’s got to be the objective of art.”
Feature image: The entrance to Gregory’s studio is flanked by ancient-looking potted palms and carved wooden sculptures.
This story originally appeared in the Spring 2026 issue of C Magazine.
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