![]() ![]() That’s what makes her fearless in our eyes. Not everyone will appreciate the sheer brilliance behind Miles’ pseudo-selfies. But then it hits you: She’s illustrating the absurdity of the cult of fame through the lens of what she calls “obsessive hyperawareness.” Perhaps she’s also showing parts of herself - of people, really - that exist but are too unpleasant to talk about. She and her hedonistic alter ego, Neon Courtney, paint self-portraits that seem so … selfish. Taking in Courtney Miles’ self-portraits, you can almost hear the vocal fry. ![]() The titles are so basic they're misleading: She’s also half of the bluesy rock band Sister and a board member at Art Con, and she teaches art part time at Hogg Elementary in Oak Cliff. the simplification across a series of remakes (IAm Legend and 3:10 to Yuma). Now, she’s represented by Jen Mauldin Gallery, where she’s amassed a prolific body of works. Vincent O'Brien, The Doctor or the (Post)Modern Prometheus, in Anthony S. Ryan sold her first portrait in ninth grade. It’s haunting but inviting, evocative yet simple. Her style hits several paradoxical sweet spots. Her innate fascination with regular, ho-hum humankind pops from the canvas, and we want more of it. It’s just that she paints people in a way nobody else in Dallas does. She’ll paint the occasional cactus or floral bouquet. ![]() To say Haylee Ryan only paints people is inaccurate. ![]()
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