Published July 18th, 2026

In the quiet moments before brush meets canvas, an intricate dialogue begins-a conversation between material, memory, and emotion. At Diane Doonan Arts, nestled in San Diego, this dialogue unfolds through original acrylic and mixed media paintings that navigate the delicate border between realism and abstraction. With a formal education grounded in drawing, painting, and art history, I approach each work as a layered story, where color and texture serve not merely as visual elements but as vessels of feeling and reflection. My paintings invite viewers beyond surface appearances, offering a space to reconnect with the familiar through an intimate, emotional lens. This exploration reveals the craftsmanship and narrative depth woven into every piece, setting the stage for an insider look into the creative process that shapes my art into a living, breathing experience.

Materials as Muse: The Tools That Inspire My Acrylic and Mixed Media Paintings

Before I decide what to paint, I often decide what to paint with. The materials sit on my table like characters waiting to enter the story, each with its own voice, rhythm, and temperament. Acrylics, collage papers, and mixed media elements shape not only how the surface looks, but how the narrative unfolds.

I turn to acrylic paint for its agility. It dries quickly enough to keep my thoughts moving, yet stays open just long enough for blending edges between realism and abstraction. Thin glazes let me veil earlier layers, like memories partially recalled. Thicker applications build passages of light and shadow that can feel almost sculpted, grounding the work in something tangible even when the subject drifts toward the intuitive.

Mixed media elements bring a different kind of energy. Graphite, pastel, and ink carve lines through wet and dry layers, interrupting the calm of a smooth brushstroke. A charcoal mark pressed into damp acrylic leaves a soft blur that reads like a fleeting thought. These interruptions matter; they keep the surface honest, revealing the painting's history instead of hiding it under a final polished skin.

Collage papers introduce texture and, often, quiet symbolism. I choose each fragment for its weight, pattern, and edge. Torn paper creates organic contours that feel like shoreline, foliage, or shifting architecture, even when abstracted. A strip of printed text, obscured by paint yet still faintly visible, suggests story without spelling it out. As layers accumulate, the surface begins to feel like a lived-in place-a record of decisions, revisions, and pauses.

The tactile qualities of these materials invite me to push, scrape, sand, and stain, responding to what the surface gives back. That physical dialogue shapes the textures you see: the ridges that catch light, the soft transitions that hold quiet emotion, the unexpected marks that carry a pulse of spontaneity. Understanding how each material behaves reveals how deliberate every scrape and translucent veil is, setting the stage for the specific techniques that bring each painting to life. 

Techniques That Weave Realism and Abstraction Into Visual Stories

Once the materials have found their place on the table, I begin to think in layers rather than single images. Realism often starts in the underpainting: loose shapes, simple value blocks, and hints of recognizable forms. I keep this stage open and suggestive, so the subject feels more like a memory surfacing than a photograph being copied. Edges stay soft, colors are slightly off from reality, and I allow drips or stains to remain as quiet reminders that the painting began as an exploration, not an illustration.

From there, I build transitions between the recognizable and the abstract. Thin glazes of acrylic glaze over more defined passages, softening details and nudging them toward atmosphere. I might paint a realistic object-a chair, a vase, a cluster of houses-then partially veil it with translucent color. The eye still senses the form underneath, but the story shifts from "what" to "how it felt." These veils often carry emotional weight: a warm glaze can suggest nostalgia, while a cooler one introduces distance or restraint.

Collage enters as both structure and disruption. I anchor areas of the composition with fragments that echo real-world textures-an edge that suggests a horizon, a patterned scrap that hints at fabric or foliage. Then I allow other pieces to resist clarity, breaking up predictable spaces with irregular shapes. By painting over and around these fragments, I invite the realism to coexist with abstraction, like a remembered scene that has been worn down by time and thought.

Texture building deepens that sense of lived experience. I use gels, thick paint, and sometimes dry media pressed into wet surfaces to create ridges and subtle valleys. In more representational areas, texture supports the illusion of light crossing a tabletop or bricks catching the sun. In abstract passages, it becomes almost musical-raised lines guide the eye across the canvas, while smoother fields offer rest. The physical surface starts to echo the inner landscape of a moment: rough where memory feels sharp, quiet where reflection has softened the edges.

To tie these elements together, I often finish with varnish layered to mimic an encaustic-like depth. Instead of working with wax, I build multiple clear coats, sometimes sanding gently between applications. This process traps fragments, brushmarks, and stains beneath a unified skin, as if the painting's many stages have settled into one shared breath. The result is a surface that holds both clarity and haze: certain marks sit close to the eye, while others seem to float below, like thoughts that fade yet never disappear. That interplay between what is crisp and what is obscured is where the storytelling in my work lives most strongly, allowing moods and memories to move fluidly across the boundary between realism and abstraction. 

The Creative Journey: From Inspiration to Finished Painting

The beginning of a painting rarely looks like a beginning. It usually starts with a flicker: the way late afternoon light grazes a tabletop, the tilt of a shadow across a sidewalk, a phrase from a conversation that refuses to leave my thoughts. I hold on to these fragments until one of them feels charged enough to follow. That charge is my cue that there is emotional authenticity to explore, not just an image to render.

From there, I move into quick studies. Often it is a pencil line on scrap paper, a loose thumbnail that captures rhythm more than detail. I test where the weight of the composition will fall, where quiet needs to live, and where movement will push against it. At this point, the painting exists as questions: How close should the viewer feel? Which edges stay crisp, and which dissolve into atmosphere?

Once I shift to the canvas, I sketch lightly, sometimes with diluted paint instead of graphite. I block in primary shapes and values, leaving gaps where I sense the abstract passages will breathe. The drawing is not a contract; it is a suggestion. I expect it to change as color, texture, and collage begin to interact.

The first layers of acrylic address structure and mood at the same time. Broad strokes establish direction, while muted or saturated color sets the emotional temperature. I respond quickly, adjusting angles, softening a contour, or allowing an accidental drip to redirect the composition. This is where intuitive decisions take the lead, and narrative depth in painting starts to emerge through contrast: solidity beside blur, luminous passages beside hushed neutrals.

As the layers build, I toggle between stepping close and standing back. Up close, I push paint into crevices, drag dry brushes across texture, or carve lines with charcoal or ink into still-tacky surfaces. From a distance, I see whether the story reads clearly enough without becoming literal. If an area feels too descriptive, I glaze or obscure it, shifting focus back to feeling rather than fact.

Collage and mixed media arrive mid-process, rarely at the start or the end. I tuck fragments into areas that need history: a torn edge to suggest a boundary, a patterned scrap to echo a remembered fabric, a scumbled pastel mark to introduce tension. Each addition must earn its place in the emotional logic of the piece. When a fragment competes with the heart of the painting, I sand it back or bury it under translucent paint, letting only a ghost remain.

Final stages are slow and deliberate. I refine focal points with small brushes, sharpen a few essential edges, and clarify the path the eye will travel. Highlights might be added with a single stroke; shadows are deepened by cooling a color rather than simply darkening it. I listen for when the surface stops asking for correction and begins to feel like a complete thought. The finished painting holds traces of every earlier decision-visible or concealed-so that the emotional connection in art is not imposed at the end but woven through every stage of its making. 

Emotional Connection and Storytelling in Each Brushstroke

Emotion enters my work long before a figure, chair, or skyline becomes recognizable. It often begins with a color that will carry the weight of the story. A muted blue-green leans toward quiet distance; a rusted orange holds warmth edged with unease. I choose not just what hue appears, but how much space it occupies and how it rubs against its neighbors. When two colors sit side by side, their friction becomes a kind of conversation, echoing tension, tenderness, or uncertainty.

Texture gives those colors a voice. A smooth, poured glaze feels like a held breath, while a scraped, ridged passage suggests something unresolved beneath the surface. When I drag paint across dried texture, it skips over the high points and clings to the recesses, much like memory: some details stand out sharply, others sink into shadow. These physical differences on the canvas allow a scene to suggest more than what is literally shown, inviting the eye to sense mood before it identifies subject.

Composition shapes the narrative arc. I think about where weight gathers and where the eye finds rest. A strong diagonal can carry the feeling of movement or departure; a cluster of forms near the edge introduces slight unease, as if something important might slip from view. Negative space is crucial. Those quieter fields of color let the emotional core breathe and give context to the more active areas, much like pauses between words in a story.

In pieces that hover between realism and abstraction, I often let one small, grounded detail serve as an anchor-a rim of a cup, the edge of a window frame, the curve of a shoulder. Around it, shapes loosen, colors bleed, and marks wander. That contrast turns an ordinary subject into an evocative visual story: the recognizable element keeps the viewer oriented, while the surrounding abstraction mirrors the complexity of felt experience rather than a single frozen moment.

Even the direction of a brushstroke carries meaning. Vertical strokes suggest steadiness or introspection; horizontal ones feel like a long exhale. Short, broken marks introduce restlessness, while long, continuous sweeps bring calm. Over time, these choices form a kind of visual handwriting. Each layer, each decision about color, texture, and placement becomes a sentence in an unspoken narrative, so that the painting does not simply depict a scene but holds the emotional weather that once passed through it.

Every painting I create is a dialogue between realism and abstraction, a layering of materials and memories that invites quiet reflection. Through acrylics, collage, and textured surfaces, I aim to capture not just what is seen but how it feels-transforming everyday moments into visual stories that resonate on a deeply personal level. This interplay of color, texture, and narrative invites viewers to experience familiar scenes anew, where each brushstroke and fragment carries emotional weight. Exploring my collections offers a chance to bring warmth and thoughtful presence into your own spaces, whether at home or work. I welcome you to engage with these artworks, discover the stories they hold, and consider how original paintings can enrich your environment with meaning and connection. To learn more about my work or discuss commissioned pieces, I invite you to get in touch and join me on this creative journey.