Art – Danielle Byington

Below is a selection of my artwork as a light portfolio.

A full collection of my work can be seen on Instagram: @sight.into.insight

Originals are listed in my Etsy store: Sight into Insight Etsy

Prints are often available through my Fine Art America/Pixels account; if you don’t see what you’re looking for, contact me at daniellebyingtonATgmail.com and I can create a link: Danielle Byington Art

Artist Statement, 2025:

I’m stepping into my office with so many messages to answer, getting out the canvas, exhaling color and form in reply, into meaning, into wherever we are now, blowing out candles on a birthday cake, the extinguished flames now gossamer runes. Consciousness asks if this blot is famous, or if I’m related to that line smudged by the heel of my palm as I answer the phone. It’s hard to hear. The connection is cutting out the picture I had in mind, the mind’s eye, some neuropeptide suddenly reminding me about that time I fell in gym class, 1998-glitter headband scratching down into my eyes, and I see the colors I have been painting all along, the burning Madonnas I sketch, tourists tipping me all this time.

Now the invoice is printing. Only a minor charge for the damage that happened in Pompeii, still life cremated by this irrational Earth, and I have rendered something in my youth while dying, and perhaps you will look upon it while we’re all dying–every day–and feel alive, every day. Watercolor beads across my paper like God’s tongue stretching down to the Earth with colossal yawn, and resting on the taste buds is a city so blithe with identity and money that it will be swallowed upon waking. My technique? It’s always on the tip of my tongue.

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Artist Statement, 2020:

When I make art, I cut my nails short so as to not scratch a god since they are nearby in the form of circles, lines, and chants, all the souvenirs sold in Vatican City, products of the space between Adam’s and God’s fingers in that Michelangelo ceiling painting. Accidents are more likely with long fingernails when transporting a bomb, an idea, above the sacred negative space of a canvas or paper. But, once it’s dropped, the violence becomes a gentle answer, like a priestess in ancient Greece sacrificing the offered goat, relaying hope after reading its insides. Those guts, however, all have the same construction, the same vein of collective unconscious I so often apply to my art—mythology, literature, and other breeds of story. These narratives allow us to find each other throughout time. At the end of the year the shoulder blade of Sagittarius has one job, and it isn’t aim—yet here goes the arrow, his fingernails kissed by the fletching as it departs the bow. Not unlike that arrow, my art tends to find its way, landing in the story of now.