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Multidisciplinary artist Daisy Patton was born in Los Angeles, CA to a white mother from the American South and an Iranian father she never met. Influenced by collective and political histories, Patton explores story-carrying, aspects of the family, and what shapes living memory. Her work also examines in-between spaces and identities, including the fallibility of the body as a disabled person and the complexities of relationship and connection. Based in western Massachusetts, Patton has exhibited in solos at the CU Art Museum at CU Boulder, the Rowe Gallery at the UNC Charlotte, the Harold J. Miossi Gallery at Cuesta College, and the Chautauqua Institution, etc. She has an upcoming solo at Denver Botanic Gardens in fall 2026. Her work has appeared in a two-person exhibition with Alicia Brown at Augusta Savage Gallery at UMass Amherst, and group shows with MCA Denver, Spring/Break NYC, Utah MOCA, Katonah Museum of Art, The Delaware Contemporary, among others. Patton’s work is held in public and private collections such as Denver Art Museum, Tampa Museum of Art, UMCA at UMass Amherst, Ulrich Museum of Contemporary Art at Wichita State University, Mattatuck Museum, Ellen Nöel Museum, Seattle University, Fidelity Investments Art Collection, among others. Patton’s work has been featured in Hyperallergic, Harvard University’s Transition Magazine, The Denver Post, The Chautauquan Daily, Cultbytes, and more. Minerva Projects Press published Broken Time Machines: Daisy Patton, a book on Patton’s practice in spring 2021. Patton earned her MFA from SMFA/Tufts University, and has a BFA in Studio Arts from the University of Oklahoma. She completed artist residencies at Anderson Ranch, the Studios at MASS MoCA, RedLine Denver, Minerva Projects, and Eastside International in Los Angeles. She was awarded grants from Massachusetts Cultural Council, SMFA at Tufts Travel Fellowship 2025, Barbara Deming Memorial Fund, Assets for Artists Massachusetts Matched Savings.
Published on March 2nd, 2026. Artist responses collected in months previous.
Was pursuing your creative work a calling for you? How do you define calling within your practice? Share a concise definition and a moment when this felt most true.
I loved art and making it since I was a small child, so it has always felt an intrinsic part of me, this need to create and share. I see art-making as a form of communication, and while I don't think art-making should be restricted to "professionals," the stakes are higher for us I think. I thought I'd be a history professor to "pay the bills" in undergrad; once I realized that field was almost impossible to survive in as well, I chose work that wouldn't interfere with my art practice. In 2012, I left working administrative roles to work on my practice full time. With art-making, the choice in this capitalist society always seems to pit stability and survivability with actually getting to live—fulfilling what feels vital and necessary, i.e. being an artist. The skills I learned from all those other potential forks in the road—research, administrative tasks and organizing, reading deeply and thinking about audiences—have helped me greatly in my role as an artist.
What does a successful career in the arts look like to you today? Describe how you measure success now and note any shifts from earlier in your career.
Thinking about our careers while being in a country that is so in flux, battling fascism and eugenics and white supremacy, sometimes feels incredibly selfish. I am an ambitious person and have my own personal goals, but since the start of the pandemic and especially these last few years, my plans for my career have had to shift. I still hope for much of the same: a self-sustaining practice, time for hobbies and rest, the ability to make impacts with what I feel is important (through fundraising, volunteering, speaking out, etc.). But there is so much stratification and lack of financial stability the longer I do this, and it can feel discouraging, especially as someone who came from a poor background and who has been mostly shut out from public life as an immunocompromised disabled person in this current moment. And, frankly, I am very tired. The last few years have been grueling trying to keep up, I had some tremendous losses including my mother last year, and I have been reassessing how to answer this question for myself.
How are you kind to yourself in your art practice? (Include one or two concrete examples such as boundaries, rest, or studio routines.)
I actually don't think I am! I have had tight schedules and ambitious shows for the last few years that have pulled me away from any kind of rest, routine, or ability to be in community as much. I know that I am facing burnout, and I have taken several steps, including ending relationships that are no longer productive, to find some balance in my life and practice. Part of the problem is time; with everything going on, it feels urgent for me to make the work I desperately want to make while I can. I am hopeful that with the changes I have made, that I can give myself more space to breathe and think and feel, rather than grind constantly.
What impact do you hope your work has on others? Name the response you hope to spark and who you most want to reach.
This is what fuels my work, thinking about what I hope my work does out in the world, outside the studio. I make work about connection and care, about storycarrying and memory and how to embrace our shared humanity and dream of better futures. I used to be able to see in person the impacts at my shows or other spaces, but now that has changed. It makes it that much harder because I worry that the work I do is in some way pointless or futile. Those fears and doubts have always been part of my practice unfortunately, but they are louder now that I am less able to be out in the world. It is incredibly meaningful when people reach out to tell me what my work has meant to them, or that they love it so much they want to collect it. The Forgetting series is about memorializing and monumentalizing everyday people who are typically not remembered in our historical records, that their lives mattered and their loves and dreams and selves all are knitted into our current moment, guiding and shaping us now. I have to remember that I am part of that too.
Do you have any rituals or spiritual practices that you integrate into your daily life as an artist? If relevant, mention frequency, timing, or how the practice supports your work.
I try to keep a basic routine that I will be in the studio every day unless I am purposefully taking a break. I cannot meditate, but painting is the thing that helps me lose sense of time, of connecting me to the unified field. That in and of itself is its own spiritual practice. Recently, I have picked up tarot cards as a way of thinking about what's going on, work, etc. My way of thinking about my own spirituality is that all the various religions and spiritual practices (which even include things of the occult like tarot or astrology or Spiritualism) all are trying to reach towards whatever it is out there, but none do fully. I recently listened to a short story about a physicist who studied dark matter; her hypothesis was that it was actually other timelines or alternate realities, and eventually portals opened up that allowed them to transport from their dying planet to whatever was out there. All this to say, I am always thinking about deep time and existence, which does show up in my work. I think I am making spiritual, sacred objects of some kind, or at least I hope so.
Was pursuing your creative work a calling for you? How do you define calling within your practice? Share a concise definition and a moment when this felt most true.
I loved art and making it since I was a small child, so it has always felt an intrinsic part of me, this need to create and share. I see art-making as a form of communication, and while I don't think art-making should be restricted to "professionals," the stakes are higher for us I think. I thought I'd be a history professor to "pay the bills" in undergrad; once I realized that field was almost impossible to survive in as well, I chose work that wouldn't interfere with my art practice. In 2012, I left working administrative roles to work on my practice full time. With art-making, the choice in this capitalist society always seems to pit stability and survivability with actually getting to live—fulfilling what feels vital and necessary, i.e. being an artist. The skills I learned from all those other potential forks in the road—research, administrative tasks and organizing, reading deeply and thinking about audiences—have helped me greatly in my role as an artist.
What does a successful career in the arts look like to you today? Describe how you measure success now and note any shifts from earlier in your career.
Thinking about our careers while being in a country that is so in flux, battling fascism and eugenics and white supremacy, sometimes feels incredibly selfish. I am an ambitious person and have my own personal goals, but since the start of the pandemic and especially these last few years, my plans for my career have had to shift. I still hope for much of the same: a self-sustaining practice, time for hobbies and rest, the ability to make impacts with what I feel is important (through fundraising, volunteering, speaking out, etc.). But there is so much stratification and lack of financial stability the longer I do this, and it can feel discouraging, especially as someone who came from a poor background and who has been mostly shut out from public life as an immunocompromised disabled person in this current moment. And, frankly, I am very tired. The last few years have been grueling trying to keep up, I had some tremendous losses including my mother last year, and I have been reassessing how to answer this question for myself.
How are you kind to yourself in your art practice? (Include one or two concrete examples such as boundaries, rest, or studio routines.)
I actually don't think I am! I have had tight schedules and ambitious shows for the last few years that have pulled me away from any kind of rest, routine, or ability to be in community as much. I know that I am facing burnout, and I have taken several steps, including ending relationships that are no longer productive, to find some balance in my life and practice. Part of the problem is time; with everything going on, it feels urgent for me to make the work I desperately want to make while I can. I am hopeful that with the changes I have made, that I can give myself more space to breathe and think and feel, rather than grind constantly.
What impact do you hope your work has on others? Name the response you hope to spark and who you most want to reach.
This is what fuels my work, thinking about what I hope my work does out in the world, outside the studio. I make work about connection and care, about storycarrying and memory and how to embrace our shared humanity and dream of better futures. I used to be able to see in person the impacts at my shows or other spaces, but now that has changed. It makes it that much harder because I worry that the work I do is in some way pointless or futile. Those fears and doubts have always been part of my practice unfortunately, but they are louder now that I am less able to be out in the world. It is incredibly meaningful when people reach out to tell me what my work has meant to them, or that they love it so much they want to collect it. The Forgetting series is about memorializing and monumentalizing everyday people who are typically not remembered in our historical records, that their lives mattered and their loves and dreams and selves all are knitted into our current moment, guiding and shaping us now. I have to remember that I am part of that too.
Do you have any rituals or spiritual practices that you integrate into your daily life as an artist? If relevant, mention frequency, timing, or how the practice supports your work.
I try to keep a basic routine that I will be in the studio every day unless I am purposefully taking a break. I cannot meditate, but painting is the thing that helps me lose sense of time, of connecting me to the unified field. That in and of itself is its own spiritual practice. Recently, I have picked up tarot cards as a way of thinking about what's going on, work, etc. My way of thinking about my own spirituality is that all the various religions and spiritual practices (which even include things of the occult like tarot or astrology or Spiritualism) all are trying to reach towards whatever it is out there, but none do fully. I recently listened to a short story about a physicist who studied dark matter; her hypothesis was that it was actually other timelines or alternate realities, and eventually portals opened up that allowed them to transport from their dying planet to whatever was out there. All this to say, I am always thinking about deep time and existence, which does show up in my work. I think I am making spiritual, sacred objects of some kind, or at least I hope so.
Find Daisy Patton on Instagram
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