Acrylic Painting – Dayna J Collins

From Shed to Art Studio

It has been a whirlwind of activity since last fall, beginning with the selling of our house and the purchase of a new one all within days of each other (I wrote about this here.)

When we purchased our new home, we knew it didn’t have a space inside for a studio, but at that time, we were more focused on finding the right house and figuring out my studio space later. We used one extra bedroom in the house as my collage studio, but where a painting studio would be located was a problem to solve. We considered the garage, but we needed the garage for other things, so that wasn’t feasible. We discussed my finding a studio space in an off-site location, but monthly rent adds up quickly.

A view through the door with a reflection from the clear awning.

In our backyard on a pad of pavers, was a 10×10 Tuff Shed, which the previous owners used for storing garden materials. Howard came up with the idea of purchasing another 10×10 Tuff Shed and connecting the new shed with the old. We explored that option, but there were a lot of problems in making that work, which led us down the rabbit hole of having a stand alone shed built next to the existing shed. We worked with a Tuff Shed expert to design the new shed, choosing a 10×20 model (the largest possible without getting permits). I got to pick out the height of the walls and roof (8 foot walls with a pitched roof), what kind of door I wanted (a residential door with glass), and how many and where I wanted windows (one window on the south wall). My goal for one window and a single door was to maximize working wall space for hanging my art boards.

Once decisions were made, and the shed ordered (after being ordered, it was delivered the following week!), the ground needed to be excavated in order for the shed to be installed. Howard dug and dug and dug, piling the dirt next to the garage. Installation day arrived and two great guys showed up, unloaded the foundation, walls, window, and door. Like magic and by early afternoon, the shed was installed and ready to be converted to my studio.

Building the studio: Howard dug out a LOT of dirt to make room for the studio foundation.

Building the studio: The foundation needed to have 16 more inches dug out at the last minute.

Building the studio: Installing the foundation.

Building the studio: Installing the walls.

Building the studio: Putting up the walls.

Building the studio: the door and window installed.

Once the shed was in place, the finishing projects went like this:

Electrical

This was the only thing that took a long time to get scheduled – two weeks – it seemed like an eternity, but once the electrical was installed, Howard was ready to go. (Side note: the existing 10×10 shed had an electrical panel, so wiring the new studio was easy since the electricians could tap into the already installed panel.)

Insulation

Wall board, Mudding, and Sanding

This took a while because each layer of mud had to dry, and it was messy because of all of the sanding.

Priming and Painting

It took two coats of primer to get the new walls sealed, and then I had to choose what color to paint the walls. I knew I wanted white, but did I want a warm white or a cool white? I posed this question on my Facebook page and received dozens of suggestions and ideas for what white (and surprisingly, a lot of suggestions to use grey). I went to Benjamin Moore and Sherwin Williams and gathered a couple dozen whites – warm and cool. By a process of research about the whites, and relying on my Spidey senses, I chose Sherwin Williams White Flour, a warm white with creamy undertones. Thank you to everyone who took the time to write such thoughtful responses.

Flooring

I had originally thought to just paint the floor, and for a little while thought about throwing down cheap rugs, but then my Portland artist friend, Maude May, who also has a Tuff Shed converted to her studio, suggested peel and stick vinyl flooring. Hello! What a brilliant idea. Off to Lowe’s we went and found the perfect pattern for my studio. Howard cleaned the splotches of mud and paint from the flooring, applied two coats of special flooring primer, then over the course of three days, applied the peel and stick tiles rather willy nilly, creating the perfect, random pattern. I love it!

Building the studio: Playing with the layout of the vinyl peel and stick floor tiles.

Building the studio: Howard putting on the first layer of floor primer.

Building the studio: Preparing to install peel and stick vinyl tiles.

Building the studio: Installing peel and stick vinyl tiles.

Walls for Hanging Art

Building the studio: Howard installing the 120 screws for hanging and moving my cradled panels around.

Building the studio: 120 screws put into the walls for hanging my cradled panels. The rows are 16 inches apart and the columns are six inches apart,

Howard installed 60 screws on each of my two long walls, for a grand total of 120 screws. He had just finished painting the walls, so he still had his paint sprayer set up: he misted the two walls with paint so that the screws blended into the walls.

Moving In

Ahhhhh, beginning to put together the studio infrastructure.

Organizing my new rolling carts: A shelf for each color of oil paint.

I knew I wanted two work stations on opposite ends of the studio; the south work station is for my acrylic and water-based media and the north work station is for my oil and cold wax. I ordered an inexpensive funky chair online to have a contemplation chair, and brought in two of my vintage rolling work carts (I have four); I also purchased two tower rolling carts to store my oil paints divided by color.

I saved the best for last: Deciding what to hang on my inspiration board.

The walls are white . . . . but not the door.

A favorite corner, storage for water-based media.

Outside Finish Work

Building the studio: The first coat of paint has been applied.

The studio is finished. But is it ever really finished? I don’t think so.

We had a few good days of weather, so Howard and I jumped into action and painted the outside walls and trim (just the front facing walls – we still have the back and three sides to do – it wasn’t that nice for that long). I had pre painted some big metal letters, and Howard got those installed. We also realized we needed some kind of awning for the doorway so I wouldn’t get soaked unlocking the door, so we ordered a nice awning from Wayfair and Howard got that installed just in time for the next rain shower (we live in Oregon, the awning was essential).

Howard reading the directions for putting together the studio awning.

Howard installing the letters. Of course, when he got to this point, I told him I needed a photo.

Installing the mailbox. I don’t anticipate getting much mail. . . .

Pavers and Art Plaza

As the studio was being put together, we decided that it would be nice to have a clean, attractive space between the house and the studios. There were already existing pavers around the Art Annex (the original 10×10 Tuff Shed), so we decided to extend them to the edge of the new studio. In the middle of working on the inside of the studio, a crew of three guys arrived and spent three full days excavating and then installing pavers and a small rock wall. We call this our Art Plaza. (NOTE: We used our neighbor’s business to do the work, Curb Appeal, and they did beautiful work. They finished on a Friday afternoon just before the snow arrived, so I got to enjoy the Plaza for about an hour and then I didn’t get to see it again for a week, until the snow melted.)

Art Annex

The little Tuff Shed that came with the house had been set up for gardening supplies. It had built in shelves, electricity, and lights, making it a perfect place to store all of my blank art substrates as well as excess paper, art supplies, surplus rolling carts, and finished art. I plopped down a rug, turned on some heat, and created a perfect auxiliary studio.

The Annex: Art storage for boards and supplies (the painted floor mat covering the window was done by Sloy).

A Working Studio

I have two work stations: this one for oil and cold wax; at the other end of the studio is acrylics and water-based materials.

The Cost

In case you’re interested in what all of this cost, I know I was looking for this kind of information when we first set out on this adventure, I want to give you a rough estimate of what we spent to create this 10×20 studio in our backyard. We had out of pocket costs, but Howard did the majority of the work: he excavated the ground for the foundation (with some help from our strong son, Scott), cut down a tree limb, did the insulation, installed the wallboard, mudded, and sanded (with the help of our wonderful handyperson, Nancy), primed and painted the walls, installed the peel and stick tiles, painted the outside, and put up the awning over the door. All costs are rounded and approximate:

Tuff Shed $9,300; electrical $1,300 (a second bid we got was $3,300! so glad we got two bids); wallboard $400; help with wallboard installation $500; peel and stick vinyl flooring $400; paint and primer $300; insulation $600; awning $200. Howard loosely estimates his labor at $2,000. So the total project (NOT including the pavers since those didn’t have anything to do with the building of the studio): $15,000. We had anticipated it would cost around $14,000, so we were pleased to be within $1,000 of our estimate.

Lexicon of Collage: Daily Project for 2023

I love having a daily art project, something quick and easy and not too complicated. Having this type of project gets me into my studio, even on days when I only have a little bit of time or when I’m not feeling like painting or doing something big. Last year I kept a daily journal where I filled the pages with words, collages, and small paintings. One year I did a painting a day in a series of spiral bound journals. For this year, I am creating a collage each day and I have titled my project Lexicon of Collage. For my substrate, I am using matboard cut into 4×6 inch pieces (I ordered the matboard in a size of my choosing from Matboard and More, a company I have used for a lot of projects over the years).

For most of the collages I make, I use pieces of my hand painted papers, which I create using acrylic paint on various papers, i.e., drawing, deli, tissue, and paper bags. I divide these papers by color, making it easy to find just what I need.

When I’m ready to create a collage, I reach for my painted papers, text and typography, bits of ephemera, scraps from old books, and random pieces of collected papers. I audition the papers and when I have a composition I like, I start gluing using Golden semi-gloss soft gel medium.

Laying out a grid collage and preparing to glue.

Once I have glued down my collage material, I place a piece of wax paper over the collage and then a stack of heavy books on top (or a bag of rice), and let it dry for several hours (or overnight). Once the glue is set, I often have raggedy edges that I like to trim using an Xacto knife. Once the collages are trimmed, I apply a thin coat of Golden’s semi-gloss soft gel medium, the same medium I use for gluing the papers.

There are several benefits to having a daily project. As I mentioned above, this type of project gets me into my studio. But even more than propelling me to make art daily, it pushes me to experiment and play with a variety of compositions, unusual color combinations, and ways to create little pieces of art that hopefully take my breath away, that cause a gasp of delight, all the things that I want to happen in my bigger paintings. A bonus: I have already used some of my collages as inspirations for my paintings.

Another fun addition to this project is how I share my completed collages. About once a week, give or take, I share a grouping of collages I have created. I started inviting friends (and family) to be my guest collage flippers. I videotape my invited collage flipper and share the videos on Instagram. Here are some of my invited flippers.

Guest collage flipper: daughter Melissa.

Guest collage flipper: granddaughter Gabriella

Guest collage flipper: Stephanie Brockway

Guest collage flippers: son Scott and grandson Harrison.

For more regular updates on this project, follow on me on Instagram where I regularly post videos of my guest collage flippers and/or sign up for my monthly newsletter, where I do periodic updates about my Lexicon of Collage project.

My stack of collages as of the end of February.

The Evolution of a Scavenged Painting

About ten years ago I discovered this 25×49 inch framed painting on canvas at a local Goodwill; I think I might have paid $25. I didn’t buy it for the painting, but as an inexpensive canvas to repurpose for my own art. The canvas got tucked away in our shed, and I forgot about it. Last year I rediscovered it and took a closer look. It was signed on the back by M. Runyan and it had been painted in 1985. I asked my artist friend Bonnie Hull, who is familiar with many artists in Salem over the years, if she knew of the artist, but the name didn’t ring a bell. So I decided I would give the painting a makeover. And as it turns out, another makeover, and then another until I was finally satisfied. For now, anyway.

I opened a big bucket of gesso and began ~~covering~~ erasing the six starred bottles (I kind of cringed and then cried a bit).

And then I began applying paint.

Life got busy and once again I abandoned this canvas. The bottles were gone, gesso applied, and some bands of color slapped on. Not sure where I stored the canvas, probably in the upstairs hallway, but it got tucked away until last July when I pulled it out again. This time I started adding swaths of black, green, pink, and burgundy.

It was at a stopping point and I hid it away again for many months. Until two weeks ago when we packed it into our car and drove to Astoria. I thought maybe it would look nice in our House of Color since we were in need of a piece of art above our couch.

Nope. It didn’t look good at all and I didn’t even like the painting anymore, so instead of dragging it home, I took it upstairs to my studio and painted some swaths of wild color.

It was fine, kind of fun, definitely colorful, but it lacked any kind of KAPOW, so back upstairs it went. I pulled out more paint, began spreading, scraping, and marking.

It was finally what I had wanted all along (but didn’t know what that was until it appeared). Here is the final painting and some close ups of different areas.

“A Courageous Act of Flamboyance,” 25-1/2 x 49-1/2 inches, acrylic on canvas, sealed with cold wax, and a painted frame, by Dayna Collins.

But guess what? I needed a big painting for Fogue Gallery in Seattle, so this finally finished pop of color piece of art will be heading north on Thursday and be on display and for sale just in time for the Georgetown Art Attack on Saturday, April 7.

And the wall above our couch is once again empty and in need of art.

TRACES: Band of Artists Collective

Finally, our long overdue and postponed group show, Traces, is now on view at the Salem Art Association Annex Gallery. During the two-year wait for things to reopen and get our show rescheduled, we changed our name from the Salem Art group to the Band of Artists Collective, but we’re the same group of talented artists. We’ve been plotting and planning for this show over the past few months, and got together in February to make final preparations (and take a very serious group photo).

Band of Artists Collective, February, 2022.

The title of our show Traces, could be interpreted however we chose, but our group show statement explains it in more detail:

Like messages to the future and from the past, the traces of nine different paths converge here in the Annex Gallery this spring. As mark makers of varying sorts, these nine artists of the Band of Artists Collective use the indications of their existence as persons in their art work. An interest in superimposing experience, idea, image, and color onto canvas, paper, wood, and fabric is the shared language of any group of artists, this group included.

Artists understand the term palimpsest as way of reusing materials and ideas, of scraping an older work away while leaving a trace behind, a shadow, a nuance of an earlier idea. As women, as artists, as gardeners…as daughters and mothers and friends, we find the trace of others stamped on our minds just as we leave a shadow behind.

Although there is always a narrative somewhere buried in an artwork, it is less necessary to know each individual story than to sense the traces that appear in the work. Bring your own eyes to the work displayed here, perhaps finding a trace of communication.

Earlier this week, art work was dropped off. The day I dropped off my work, Kay was dropping off her pieces and Robin was busily hanging Katy’s work, while Kathy was trying to keep track of all of the final details.

Fast forward to Thursday. I was out for my weekly walk with Joni, and we decided to swing by the Art Annex to see the show. It was so nice to walk into the space and have it to ourselves. It’s a stunning show.

The work for each of the nine artists:

Salem Art Association prepared a beautiful color brochure, which includes a photo of everyone’s work along with individual artist statements.

Here is what I wrote for my Artist Statement – even before I had created my body of work.

Mixed media is often a wild goose chase down a twisted rabbit hole. It involves a series of what if questions and actions. What if I glued this down, drew a line over the top, added some paint, glued something else down, and then took a sander to it to reveal the first layer of collage, added more paint, then glued something else down, wrote with a wax crayon, then started over?

It is all a grand experimental mystery, which somehow all comes together one way or another. This project fits perfectly with my 2022 word of the year: RISK. I am taking a risk working in a new way, one I have been intrigued with for several years but somehow fear held me back: How can I cover a beautiful collage with paint? And yet covering it, excavating, concealing, and revealing is what I love doing and something I do in paint all the time.

Creating my mixed media pieces is a messy affair, a wild cacophony of cutting, tearing, drawing, gluing, painting, writing, scraping, sanding, layering, revealing, and varnishing. My pieces reflect my curiosity, playfulness, irreverence, and my love of texture, history, and a touch of surprise.

The opening reception was held tonight, it was a marvelous gathering of artists, art lovers, friends, family, and supporters.

With Kathleen Dinges, the curator of our show.

The show runs from March 4 – April 23, 2022.

TRACES: My Personal Work

The marriage of paint and collage was much tougher than I imagined. I have been a painter for years, I have been a collagist for even longer, but putting the two together has been a painful labor of love . . . . and finally came together.

I had been moving toward combining paint and collage over the past couple of years, trying to figure out a way of adding paint over collage, and collage over paint, discovering the right balance of revealing and concealing. Adding collage to a board is easy for me, but I never wanted to cover it up with paint. Or I would create a collage, feel brave, add paint, but before I knew it, every bit of the collage was covered up.

My art group, the Band of Artists Collective, has a show opening tonight and I was determined to have my mixed media pieces reflect the successful pairing of collage and paint. I experimented in a small journal, doing quick collages on a series of pages. But I liked the collages and didn’t want to mess them up with paint. Reminding myself that my word for this year is RISK, I spread some paint over a collage. I liked the painting, but the collage was gone. What the hell.

It came time to submit images for our upcoming show. I didn’t have any completed pieces and what if I never found my way to adding paint to collage (or collage to paint). So I submitted photos of two 12×12 inch paintings that were somewhat in the style I hoped to complete, although the work did not have one bit of collage in them.

“An Underwater Dream,” 12×12 inches, acrylic with cold wax, by Dayna Collins.

“A Still Pond on a Humid Day,” 12×12 inches, acrylic with cold wax, by Dayna Collins.

But the challenge was mine, no one else knew I was attempting to pull off this arduous (to me) task. The fear grew, and I became paralyzed. Until I decided to push through. The opportunity came in the form of spending two weeks in Palm Springs in late January. We had rented a modern condo with a large dining room table (that was my main criteria in choosing our rental). I loaded up 12 12×12 inch flat birch panels, three working journals, two big bags of acrylic paint, a gigantic bag of collage materials, and a satchel of art supplies. I claimed the table (and the kitchen bar, and the kitchen prep counter, and sometimes the floor) as my work space. We were in Palm Springs to celebrate Howard’s birthday and his retirement, so he was there to golf. I was there to paint and collage. It was a beautiful win/win situation.

Daily, I worked in my journals.

I glued down collage onto the 12 boards.

Then I sidetracked myself to create a fresh batch of painted collage papers (that process is worthy of an entire blog post!).

And then I did what I had been hesitant to do. I started combining paint and collage in any way I could think to do it. If I did too much painting, I just added more collage. Sometimes I painted too much on purpose and glued collage on top. Sometimes I painted over the collage, revealing tiny bits of the collage beneath the surface. I sanded, I scraped, I reapplied paint, and added more collage.

I started to find my rhythm and I was having fun.

A body of work came together. I had started with the idea of creating six pieces for the show, and then it grew to nine. At the end of our two weeks in Palm Springs, I had twelve boards with potential. After we got home, I fine tuned a few of the panels and I had 12 that were show worthy – a beautiful grid.

Here are the 12 that are in the show.

“When Possibilities Seem Endless,” 12×12 inches, acrylic and collage on flat birch board, mounted on a block, by Dayna Collins.

“This Big Life,” 12×12 inches, acrylic and collage on flat birch board, mounted on a block, by Dayna Collins.

“Secret Confessions,” 12×12 inches, acrylic and collage on flat birch board, mounted on a block, by Dayna Collins.

“Robust Vulnerability,” 12×12 inches, acrylic and collage on flat birch board, mounted on a block, by Dayna Collins.

“Nervous Curiosity,” 12×12 inches, acrylic and collage on flat birch board, mounted on a block, by Dayna Collins.

“Luminous Vulnerability,” 12×12 inches, acrylic and collage on flat birch board, mounted on a block, by Dayna Collins.

“In the Presence of Mystery,” 12×12 inches, acrylic and collage on flat birch board, mounted on a block, by Dayna Collins.

“Dance of Distraction,” 12×12 inches, acrylic and collage on flat birch board, mounted on a block, by Dayna Collins.

“Blurred Boundaries,” 12×12 inches, acrylic and collage on flat birch board, mounted on a block, by Dayna Collins.

“A Lending Library of Wonders,” 12×12 inches, acrylic and collage on flat birch board, mounted on a block, by Dayna Collins.

“A Deeper Sense of Belonging,” 12×12 inches, acrylic and collage on flat birch board, mounted on a block, by Dayna Collins.

“A Chorus of Memory,” 12×12 inches, acrylic and collage on flat birch board, mounted on a block, by Dayna Collins.

Traces opens tonight . . . . next up, my blog about the show.

New Year, New Journal

I have too many flippin’ journals all going at once, so what am I thinking starting another one. I am a sucker for journals. At the current time I am actively working in several. Follow me . . . .

Color Journal: A place to keep track of colors I like, the brands of colors because not all colors are the same, what happens when certain colors are mixed together, formulas of colors I like, and the Pantone color of the year (this year it is Very Peri).
A small painting journal where I have combined paintings with art quotes on the opposite page. This has been in process for the past couple of years.
A vintage book where I wipe off excess paint from my palette, clean off my brushes on the pages, glue in leftover tidbits, and experiment with quick ideas that pop into my head.
Visual Journal: This 9×12 inch journal is my hard-working jack of all trades journal. I take notes in it when I take a class, record ideas for a painting or a show, sketch out ideas, and take notes at art meetings. This is my official visual journal and has been a key part of my art practice for many years. The journals are lined up in my studio with little tags indicating the dates covered in each journal.
Collage Journal: An old composition book where a student kept notes and did engineering types of drawing, and also glued in tests and notes. I use this journal to create collage compositions right over the writing and drawings. The glued in papers I have torn out, but gluey residue peeks through on many of the pages.
Junk Journal: I created this big chunky book out of hundreds of pieces of old papers, collage materials, and ephemera, and created three signatures (or was it four? the journal is thick). The junk part was my use of junky papers, but then I have gone back in and embellished the pages, fleshing out more complete collage compositions. I have been working on this one for months!
Covid Journal: When Covid hit in full force in early 2020, I took one of the junk journals I had made and recorded milestones and statistics for the first full year of our lockdown. Every once in a while I will go back in make a note or update the statistics. Sadly, I am entering the third year of entries.
Travel Journal: Anytime we take a biggish trip, I maintain a travel journal. My most recent travel journal was done in September when we spent a couple of weeks in New York. I used a handmade artist journal and cut and glued paper and ephemera from our daily excursions.

Which brings me to January, 2022, and the decision to what I plan to do regarding a journal in the new year. In 2019 I committed to painting a painting a day in a 9×9 inch journal and somehow I pulled it off. Sometimes I was playing catch up, but for the most part keeping that painting journal got me into my studio. Every. Single.Day. (And it took seven journals to get through the year.)

A few of my favorite paintings from my 2019 journals:

In deciding what kind of journal would be most enjoyable, I flashed back to 2012 when I used “The Open Daybook,” a perpetual calendar book, edited by David P. Earle. I remember buying this big book of a journal at Monograph Bookwerks (fine art books, objects, + ephemera), located in NE Portland, and I was so excited to use it to record what I did every day for a year. Each page has original art by 365 artists (actually 371 as some worked in groups), so the imagery and graphics were always a treat.

A few of my pages from 2012. My entries were short and sweet, but really captured in detail how I spent my days.

That year of record keeping got me to thinking about what kind of journal I would keep now, ten years later. I keep a lot of visual journals (obviously, from the list above), and I have a calendar on my desk. But what if I kept my own sort of Daybook, a cross between what I did today, but coupled with a sprinkling of collage, dabs of paint, imagery, ideas, quotes, and what is on my mind (now there’s a scary thought). I liked the sound of this combination and I just happened to have the right journal for the job (cue the dramatic music), a chunky beast of a journal, built by Leather Village craftspeople.

I wrote a private preamble on New Year’s Eve, then jumped in on January 1st.

I am off and running.

On My Journey Home

We laugh and we laugh and there is nothing else like it in the world.

A beautiful opportunity presented itself last June and after giving it some deep thought, I accepted a commission to create a painting in honor of a loved one who had passed. My collector (and friend) knew she wanted the piece to include collage and paint, but was open to how I would incorporate the two. We met at my house a couple of times to look through photos, passports, music, and ephemera, which all represented an interesting and rich life. I got a better idea of what she was thinking and proposed that I include words throughout the process, along with an initial layer of collage. It was agreed that the words and collage would imbue the piece with the spirit of this person, but the next layers would be an abstract landscape to reflect the color and vibrancy of a life lost too soon.

After I had a chance to go through the stacks of materials, we met again to make a few more decisions, giving me clarity of which original documents I would use to energize the painting. I decided I would create two paintings alongside each other so my collector would have a choice between which piece resonated with her the most. I chose to work on cradled panels: 24×36 inches and 30×40 inches.

Over several months, the two boards were painted, writing added, a second layer of paint, bigger and bolder words added, and then a complete layer of collage, with just snippets of the underlying words peeking through.

The process of alternating layers of acrylic paint with words continued, and eventually I began to focus on the composition, moving toward an abstracted landscape. I was pleased, but not satisfied, so in a fit of knowing I wasn’t finished, I took both boards to the back yard and using an electric sander, sanded the surface of both paintings, revealing the various layers as I sanded. Snippets of words, paint, and even some of the earlier layers of collage were revealed.

All sanded and ready for oil and cold wax to be applied.

Collage, acrylic paint, and words sanded back to reveal earlier layers.

Collage, acrylic paint, and writing, sanded back to reveal earlier layers.

Layers, layers, layers. Sanded back reveal some of those layers.

It was around this time I decided I would switch mediums and move to applying layers of oil paint mixed with cold wax. The vibrancy of oil and cold wax and the rich luminosity of the materials seemed like the right choice. I took the smaller of the two boards with me to Sitka Center for Art and Ecology in early September, where I was teaching a four-day workshop in oil and cold wax. I taught during the day, and then when the students went home for the night, I went into the studio and worked on the 24×36 inch piece, building layers of oil and cold wax.

“Trying So Hard to Listen,” after converting to oil and cold wax while at Sitka Center for Art and Ecology.

Working on “Trying So Hard to Listen” while at Sitka Center for Art and Ecology on the Oregon Coast.

“Trying So Hard to Listen,” after converting to oil and cold wax.

When I got home, I continued to work on “Trying So Hard to Listen,” with more layers of oil and cold wax.

“Trying So Hard to Listen” in process after converting to oil and cold wax.

I completed the 24×36 inch piece on October 4, 2021, and titled it “Trying So Hard to Listen.”

“Trying So Hard to Listen,” 24×36 inches, mixed media (acrylic, collage, oil, and cold wax).

I had also started to add layers of oil and cold wax to the larger piece, “On My Journey Home.”

Early layers of oil and cold wax, “On My Journey Home.”

The larger piece, 30×40 inches, was completed on my birthday, October 14, and I titled it “On My Journey Home.”

My wonderful friend and collector decided she wanted both of the paintings and in mid December, the paintings were delivered and hung. It was such an honor to see them hanging, knowing that they each had multiple layers of images, words, and paint and reflected emotional energy, love, and memories of a life well lived.

“On My Journey Home,” in its place of honor above the fireplace.

“Trying So Hard to Listen,” in its bright, beautiful space.

A journey of discovering that I love people, I love myself, I love my secrets.

Guest Article: Abstract Art and How I Got There

I am pleased to offer an article written by guest Howard Collins. Howard is my spouse of 49 years and for the past year, the business manager for my art practice. Howard is my number one fan and his taste in art has evolved through the years, which prompted him to write this article for my blog.

Howard is an active participant in Dayna’s art practice, doing everything from administrative to schlepping.

“Ugh.” “I don’t get it.” “That’s weird.” “What’s the point?”

These words have admittedly come from me about abstract art.

My gradual transformation into appreciating and loving abstract works has taken time. Unlike the acquired taste for kombucha, which took real effort and perseverance, coming to love abstract art was more evolutionary than effort.

Howard checking out Dayna’s January, 2021 show, “Emotional Alignments” at RiverSea Gallery in Astoria, Oregon.

My early years of art appreciation was not as a result of education. It was more akin to “Me like, pretty,” when I saw something that caught my eye. But art has always been important to me regardless of my ignorance. My eye was attracted to precision, to realism, to clarity, and realistic portraits. In walking through museums, I was attracted to and spent as much time as I could looking at the details by various master artists. I always gave a short glance at modern, contemporary, and abstract art, but never much time and clearly little thought.

However, I subtly found myself spending more time looking at impressionist art and less realistic works. Monet blew me away. Here was realism without precision and detail, but beautiful nonetheless. This was a style of art without precision, but collectively, the strokes created beautiful compositions. My eyes began to look at the art of other impressionists and marvel at their beauty. Without warning I began to spend even more time looking at non representational art. My world of art appreciation exploded.

“Turns of the Kaleidoscope,” 30×40 inches, plaster, oil, and cold wax. One of Howard’s favorite pieces.

Dayna’s taste in art has always differed from mine. I began to look closer at pieces and artists to whom she was attracted. It stretched me to look at works that I previously would only glance at and rarely see. Vertical and horizontal colorful lines, unusual compositions, and figures in ways that had usually left me cold, now drew me in.

Howard spending time with six 12×12 pieces in Dayna’s “Turns of the Kaleidoscope” show at Salem on the Edge, May, 2021.

Modern art, cubism, angles, distorted figures all called me to view them in a way I had not felt before. I found Pollock, Kandinski and de Kooning, and a renewed interest in Picasso.

And therein lies the difference for me. I felt the art. An emotional response rather than mere appreciation of the art. Feeling what the piece was sharing with me, allowing the piece to talk to me. This was a moving experience and was totally unlike viewing realistic works. As strange as it sounds, listening as a piece talks to you is quite normal. Explaining how this works for me is difficult, but it is real. For me works of art talk to me through their composition, arrangement, color and form, which cause an emotional response in me.

My eye views abstract art and its perceived disorganization in different ways. At times I seek to make sense of the abstract lines, shadows and colors by seeing what I can see. At times I take in the whole of the abstract and free myself from my realism tendency; and then at other times, I pick a small portion to see what I can see and hear from the art. If I bring an attitude of openness, it allows the painting to express itself and for my eyes, brain, and emotions to react.

One of Howard’s favorites: “It Smelled Like the End of Summer,” 30×40 inches, plaster, oil, and cold wax, now hanging at The Independence Hotel.

I have to interject a side story here. We recently talked to the maintenance engineer at The Dundee Hotel. I told him Dayna was the artist of many of the works hanging there and his eyes lit up. “Did you do the pieces in the conference room?” he asked Dayna. “Yes,” was her reply and he said: “I have questions for you. I’ve studied them.” We walked to the three painting and he wanted to know if the images he saw in them were intentional. He saw birds, a cow, and other animals throughout her works. Dayna laughed and said “Don’t show me, I’ll never be able to not see them.”

Jim points out what he sees in three of Dayna’s abstract paintings, now hanging in the Board Room of the Dundee Hotel.

He was astounded to hear that Dayna had not intentionally included farm animals in her abstracts. He was trying to make sense of the abstract work though his interpretation of what he saw. By the way, he loved the works and his appreciation came from their composition and his interpretation, and not by the intention of the artist.

In my wasted youth, I thought Picasso was odd, irrelevant, and not really worth looking at. Even today not all of his pieces move me, but many do in a way I would never have thought possible. His humor is outstanding. I stood before a Picasso series created during the last months of WWII and I was laughing. They were optimistic, playful, joyful and irreverent. Yes, I was the only one laughing, but that’s me. They were simply magnificent.

Then there is the power of abstract. There is power in the stroke, texture, form, composition, and message. With or without a representational image, abstract work speaks and conveys a message. In part, the power comes from eliminating a common scene or picture for our minds to see. We are engaged to interact with the artists’ work. Just as letting our children play in a dusty pile of dirt, they create games, form roads, and valleys in their minds, which they translate into the dirt pile; just as we get to create from abstract art.

One of Howard’s favorites: “Fleeting Amazement,” 24×36 inches, acrylic on canvas, hanging at The Dundee Hotel.

Amazingly, the power of abstract art endures beyond a single viewing but continues over time and changes as we see different elements as we change. A piece of Dayna’s work, Singed by Fire and Light, hung in my office for three years until I moved my office home. Every day this piece spoke to me, every day it gave me something. Sometimes it spoke to me as a whole, drawing me deep inside; sometimes from a small section, sometimes from hints of color revealed from the sunlight pouring in the window. I miss this piece terribly. It now hangs beautifully at The Dundee Hotel, where I am writing this piece and I’ve literally hugged it.

Howard hugs “Singed by Fire and Light,” now hanging in The Dundee Hotel.

I still appreciate and enjoy realism and impressionism. But abstract art, with a big thank you to my wife, attracts me, speaks to me and fills me.

Artists Dayna admires:

Joan Mitchell, Helen Frankenthaler, Lee Krasner, Elaine deKooning, Cy Twombly, Robert Motherwell, Robert Diebenkorn

One of Dayna’s favorite artists: Helen Frankenthaler

Artists I admire:

Mark Rothko, Willem deKooning , Jackson Pollock, Picasso, Kandinski, Dayna Collins

Dayna and Howard at the opening of Dayna’s show at Salem on the Edge in May, 2021, “Turns of the Kaleidoscope.”

Abstract Investigations with Zoe Cohen

Last week I was finally back at Sitka in the beautiful Boyden studio, not teaching, but taking a class from Eugene artist Zoe Cohen. The class was titled Abstract Investigations: Color and Composition. What a great class in my one of my favorite locations — on the Oregon coast at Cascade Head.

Zoe’s description of the class:

This four-day workshop is designed specifically for abstract painters to help clarify visual language and bring intentionality to their painting practice. We will make a deep inquiry into what inspires our art through examining contemporary abstract art, informal writing exercises and instructor demos. We will traverse the full range of the spectrum from intuition to deliberate action, from right brain to left brain and from spontaneity to decision, and we will learn to travel back and forth between these polarities.

The class had all the elements that are important and that I love. The first day we focused on value and color mixing, always a good place to start.

The second day we focused on tools and techniques, and we were all off to the races after a couple of demos by Zoe. The day for me was dedicated to initial layers and playing around with leftover paint.

Day 3 was more layers and exploration of abstraction, intuitive versus deliberate actions. We began to look for the composition in our paintings and move our pieces forward. I worked on 10×10-inch pieces of Stonehenge printmaking paper, 12×12-inch wood panels, and 14×14-inch cradled birch panels. I liked jumping between these three substrates.

On the final day, we primarily focused on painting and completing a few pieces. It was a whirlwind of a day, especially since we had to stop a little early to pack up and have a show and tell before class concluded.

These are the pieces that I moved forward to various stages of completion; a few of them I have declared finished and the others, I’ve just stopped at interesting places.

Post script . . . . .

Each morning before heading to class, I read a section from jung pueblo’s Clarity and Connection.When I read something that resonated with me, I jotted the words down in my visual journal–the journal I took to class and where I took notes. On our final day, this was the passage I wrote in my journal:

one of the bravest things

you can do

is boldly embrace the unknown,

accept your fear,

and continue to move forward

a clear mission

does not always have a clear path

jung pueblo

Artist in Residence At Home

I declared the past eight days an Artist in Residency, self proclaimed because my husband hopped on a jet for the east coast to visit his nieces and I had eight days to myself. I often hem and haw, do a little of this, a little of that, throw in a load of laundry, check out Instagram, read emails . . . . before heading to my studio. Last week I still did some of those things, but I made it a priority to get into my studio. It was a little easier last week not because Howard was gone, well, that was part of it, but because of the oppressive heat. My painting studio is upstairs in our 1926 house so the old furnace ducting doesn’t allow the air conditioned air to reach the second floor, making the upstairs pretty unbearable by noon.

So I made it my mission to get up there every morning and do something, anything. I had a productive week, getting a few things out of the way that I needed to do, but more than that, I painted. I painted just for the joy of painting and spreading paint.

On the first morning, I did a warm up using scraps of brown paper bags from my recent #100dayproject. It felt good to revisit being playful and loose while painting on unimportant little bits of paper.

Then I got to work. One of my projects was to simply gesso a stack of boards for a class I’m taking in July.

I spent a little time most days painting with acrylic on a repurposed canvas and recording my progress.

I prepped panels with plaster, which required multiple steps: acrylic, plaster, sanding, sealing . . . .

I wove these steps into my mornings, allowing things to dry overnight, ready to tackle the next day. One morning I did a reset in my studio, moving things around on my collection of rolling carts, causing a traffic jam at one point.

I was finally ready to pull out the oil and cold wax and start painting. Home again. . . . the smell of the wax, the feel of the materials as I mixed and spread the buttery concoction . . . .

Many layers of oil and cold wax were applied. It was a time of experimentation, to play, to try out different ideas. I finished a few, several are still in process. Some are on boards, some are on Arches oil paper.

I recommend an Artist in Residence . . . at home.