ART, IN ITS MANY FORMS, IS ALL ABOUT TELLING A STORY. MOVIES TELL THEIR tales on film. Books tell their stories through words on the page. And paintings, regardless of medium or method, are a narrative on canvas.
Is it any wonder, then, that Diane Durant’s 40-plus years working in film as a script supervisor transitioned her almost seamlessly into a second-act career as a painter? The storyteller in her found an outlet through paint—one that allows her to express herself and process the world around her, transforming lived moments into canvases that speak in color, rather than dialogue.
Raised in a family of creatives, Durant was surrounded by film editors, actors, photographers and eccentrics from an early age. “Creativity was woven into everyday life,” she says. “Growing up in a bohemian, beachside family of storytellers gave me a lens that’s always tuned to the emotional undercurrent of things. We were loud, passionate and perfectly offbeat. That taught me to find beauty in chaos and honesty in imperfection.”
Still, painting wasn’t Durant’s first love. It wasn’t until she was filming in Detroit that she found herself captivated by the work of Chun Hui Pak, whose multimedia pieces blend the ancient art of origami with oil paints to capture the wonder of nature. “These paintings struck something deep in me,” says Durant. “They weren’t just images—they were emotional landscapes. I remember standing there, feeling cracked open, like someone had put feeling to canvas in a way I hadn’t realized was possible. That moment lingered. It started everything—my trial and error, my dabbling, my classes. My way to process the world emotionally, physically and, eventually, spiritually.”
The Santa Monica native used the stimuli of those paintings to propel herself into the life of a painter: the pursuit of technique, the endless shift of process to achieve something that feels whole, finished. Enough.
As a self-taught artist, the path to understanding, to expression, to the creation of a piece that resonates with others has been largely her own, though Durant has taken various workshops and attended retreats. Rather than relying on the methods taught to her by someone else, however, she relies heavily on her instincts. “My background is rooted in visual storytelling. Working in film as a script supervisor for over four decades trained my eye for detail, movement and composition. I bring that same awareness to the canvas,” she says. “The path that shaped my work came from feeling the art I saw. It’s visceral. I feel it in my gut. And yes—I painted a whole lot of bad work before anything honest started to show up. Life has been my most persistent teacher. I didn’t come up through the academic route, but I’m learning to trust who I am and what it feels like when the art is real.”
Real is the perfect way to describe Durant’s work, as she responds to what’s happening on the canvas, letting the paint and movement guide her as the piece develops—even if it takes time to get there. “My studio practice is deeply intuitive, but it’s held together by structure,” she says. “I show up whether I feel inspired or not, and I allow the ritual—sweeping the floor, laying out materials, listening to music or basking in the silence—to ground me. Some days I’m on fire. Other days, I make a mess. But I’ve learned that even the mess has meaning; there’s a discipline in surrender. I rarely start with a fixed plan. Usually, it begins with a color that grabs me or a loose composition that feels right in the moment. From there, I build—layer after layer—letting the painting push back, demanding attention and adjustment. I step away often, letting it breathe and settle. It’s a conversation, really, between my emotions and what the canvas wants to be. Most of the time, I don’t fully understand what a piece is about until it’s done—or sometimes, even long after.”
Durant’s studio, located at The Goat Farm in West Midtown Atlanta, is “a raw, vibrant space that feels both grounding and electric,” she says. “It demands presence. That environment shapes the energy of my work—it’s no longer just about what I want to say but also what needs to be said.”
Durant works mostly on individual pieces rather than formal series, though some collections—like her Chaos collection—are connected by an emotional thread through their movement and boldness. Totems—a mixed-media and collage series on large 9-by-6-foot cradled panels—are a departure from her typical painted works in that they are more structured and grounded. “They are freer in form but without the fluidity of my painted work,” she notes. “I usually decide what to paint next when something sparks my interest—often a color combination or composition idea that excites me. It’s not a logical decision—I feel it in my body first. I’m still learning to show up with full honesty—and that’s been a process. I believe in the body’s wisdom, in intuition, and in the quiet power of feeling deeply. I don’t paint to impress or explain. I paint to connect—with myself, with something greater and, hopefully, with others. My worldview is shaped by the concept of the ‘beautiful mess effect,’ that which feels messy or vulnerable on the inside can appear beautiful and real to others. I try to embrace that in the studio. The work reflects my willingness to be open, imperfect and fully human.”
Durant prefers acrylics on large canvas because it allows her the freedom of immediacy, fluidity and scale. She also uses charcoals, oil sticks and sometimes spray paint to break the surface and introduce tension into a piece. “These materials let me move between control and chaos,” says the artist, whose work is largely impressionist and abstract. “In Totems, I use found materials, created papers and paint. I like the physicality of scraping, sanding, smudging, layering—there’s something primal in it,” she adds
That primal quality is something that resonates with her in the work of others, as well—work that feels, to Durant, to be “instinctive and immediate.” Joan Mitchell is a particular favorite for her “fearless, emotional mark-making,” she says. “Helen Frankenthaler’s work has a looseness and elegance. And, of course, Rothko’s color blocks bypass logic and reach straight to the core. Their work reminds me that abstraction can carry deep personal truth.”
As personal as her works are, Durant welcomes interpretation. “My work is rooted in emotion and energy—what it brings up in someone else might be entirely different from what I felt while making it,” she says. “That’s the beauty of abstraction: It invites people to bring their own story to the piece. If it makes someone feel something, then it is doing its job. Whether it’s joy, tension, stillness or release, I want the work to create a moment of connection. And maybe give the viewer a little permission—to feel more, to let go, to be messy and human.”
Durant is continuing work on her Chaos collection, as well as a series called Moms—smaller mixed-media works featuring vintage images of mothers reimagined in irreverent, unexpected ways. “Each body of work stretches me in different ways,” she says. “Some days are playful, some are intense—but they keep me challenged and fully engaged.” *
Liesel Schmidt lives in Navarre, Florida, and works as a freelance writer for local and regional magazines. She is also a web content writer and book editor. Follow her on X at @laswrites or download her novels, Coming Home to You, The Secret of Us and Life Without You, at amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com.
