Kayra Dayi Scholastics 2025 Portfolio

As an artist, I am driven by a deep connection to my identity as a Turkish American who had to navigate the space between two cultures and environments. My work reflects the complexities of cultural duality, memory, and self-exploration. I aim to create art that addresses broader issues of belonging and identity, visually documenting the experiences of being in between—balancing the old world and the new with all the tensions, contradictions, and joy that entails. I am motivated to share personal stories that resonate with collective experiences, particularly those of identity and displacement through figurative painting, mixed media, and the incorporation of culturally relevant symbols and rituals. In "Torn" I overlay my self-portrait on maps of Turkey and Florida, symbolizing the turmoil of navigating the clash between two worlds. “Torn” serves as a synopsis and embodies the overall traditions I experience as a Third Culture Kid who is not fully American or fully Turkish. In "Pity Party" I depict the loneliness I felt after moving to the United States, using a muted color palette and a melting cake to symbolize the bittersweet reality of celebrating my birthday without friends. Similarly, in "Dreaming" I explore the isolation I experienced during COVID. Having recently moved from Turkey, I spent hours alone in my room during the lockdown, with my imagination becoming my primary form of entertainment. This surreal painting conveys how I used creativity as an escape from solitude. In "Golden Child" I reflect on being the only American female in my family, capturing the world from the perspective of a baby overwhelmed by family expectations. Along with "Stuck," which reflects the constant pressure and need I feel to perform exceptionally, these pieces highlight the emotional toll meeting both personal and external demands brings. "Seeds of Growth" marks a change in direction as I embrace my Turkish culture within my new life in the United States. I depict a traditional Turkish New Year's ritual of smashing a pomegranate as a way to connect with my heritage, while simultaneously presenting hope for a prosperous future. Through my artwork, I aim to inspire and provoke thought by promoting a deeper understanding of the complexities that come along with migration. I hope to use vulnerability and self-reflection to foster understanding and connection.

Inner turmoil cast a thunderous shadow over my creativity. My paintbrush, which I usually wielded so naturally, felt like lead clasped between my fingers. I sat frozen in front of my blank canvas, hearing my art teacher explain the assignment like a distant rumble: "The work needs to embody you as a person"—a self-portrait. How terrifying! I had moved to the U.S. from Turkey and felt like I had lost all sense of myself. I spent most of my time with my mom, floundering as we adapted to our new environment. On Friday nights, I retreated to my room to watch the latest episodes of Kübra. Seeing Gökhan wandering the back streets of Istanbul made me feel like I was home. I could smell the freshly brewed coffee from Mandabatmaz, see the pomegranates piled high in the market, and feel the weft of the kilim bags hanging from storefronts. I was far removed from the self-doubt, fear, confusion, and, most of all, loneliness I was feeling. Pausing the episode, I scrolled through photos on my phone, searching for the "perfect" image for my self-portrait. I swiped left, cringing at my acne, thick black hair, and baby-fat cheeks. I wondered who this person in the image was. In a last-ditch effort to make my canvas less bare, I looked to other elements in the photographs: the birthday cake from my last celebration with friends in Turkey. I chose to focus on that. I started to paint: balloons, streamers, a cake. A pink background. Pieces of happier times gone by. But I could not ignore my reality. I leaned into vulnerability, painting myself by the cake, with drooping candles and melting frosting reflecting bittersweet time. I blurred the background, fading the colors of balloons and streamers to symbolize fleeting joy amid overwhelming self-doubt. Muted colors and washes expressed the conflict of celebration and mourning. With each stroke, I grew more confident. My brushstrokes became stronger and more expressive as I began to fill in my features. I saw my flaws as something to embrace. I saw my dark eyes express my deepest feelings. I appreciated my dark hair, which connects me to my heritage. Hours went into the greatest challenge: capturing my expression caught between a forced smile and a frown, encapsulating the duality of wanting to celebrate but feeling isolated. After two months, I finished the painting but didn’t know if I was ready to share it. It felt too raw, exposing my deepest insecurities. Placing it on the easel, my fears slowly subsided as peers gathered around. Everyone found a connection, whether through feelings of loneliness, time's relentlessness, or imperfection. I realized I was not alone. Painting "Pity Party" was emotionally challenging yet transformative. Allowing myself to be vulnerable took courage, but it rewarded me with a portrait that captured powerful emotions and fostered connection. Staring at my work, I no longer felt pity—I saw a timid girl rising like a phoenix through her art.