Ashley Collins is an American artist who tells her story of liberation on an iconic scale by creating imposing, mixed-media canvases that are today prized by blue-chip art collectors, including Hollywood A-listers, worldwide.

Her work blazes with the primal energy of dynamic sometimes violent transformation. Collins never makes preliminary sketches, instead summoning into view the entities she calls her “children” in a supernatural fury. Every painting begins with layers of recycled paper -- pages from old books, dictionaries and encyclopedias, aged outdoors on racks behind her studio located on the outskirts of Temecula wine-country — which she collages across the surface. She then carves down into the layers with power tools, releasing a system of personal glyphs, destroying to create. She refers to this process as stripping away the “noise” which accumulates over the truth.

Working several feet off the ground on ladders, she may integrate scrap metal, found materials, and occasionally neon tubing into the composition, and often finishes a massive work with an acetylene torch, using it to move hot, liquid resin glaze across the surface.

The icon symbolizing Collins’ volatile personal evolution, appearing in roughly half of her works since 1989, is a horse of classical proportions. It’s not just any horse, nor is it the trusty steed of the Wild West, although Collins’ work may be found in the Cowgirl Museum and Hall of Fame in Fort Worth, Texas.

Collins explains that her depiction of horses triggered instant rejection by gallery owners, on the basis that equine imagery could not be considered “modern.” This objection may have been a flimsy cover for the actual issue: Collins’ gender. In those early years, when Collins was often homeless, choosing to spend her waitressing earnings on paint rather than rent, she made swift strides by claiming that the artist Ashley Collins was actually a man, an elusive British recluse who never showed his own work.

As her stock in the art world rose, the truth emerged, including the meaning of the nobly painted horse in her work. Collins references a damaging childhood in which she encountered a literal angel in the form of an Appaloosa called Chief, legally registered under the name Shaman. Her healing relationship with the stallion was her first experience with unconditional love, empowering her not only to survive, but to reclaim herself as an artist.

Another recurring symbol which emerges as a signature element in her work is a crown, further affirmation of individual worth and value.

Just as the artist shattered sacrosanct barriers to achieve her success, she continues to defy convention regarding how her work is shared with the public. Eschewing centuries of hushed “velvet-rope” gallery etiquette, Collins encourages visitors to touch her paintings. She explains that her work is informed by literal touch, starting with the generations of human hands that turned the pages of the deconstructed books she uses as a foundation for much of her work.

Collins is passionate about using her success to protect vulnerable people, especially women and children. When she sold her first painting for $2,500, after living on the streets for years and subsisting on meals of peas and ketchup warmed on the electric heater she used to melt encaustic paint, Collins donated $1,000 to AIDS Project Los Angeles.

She has since raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for numerous philanthropic causes which provide medical care and educational opportunities for girls and women living in poverty, as well as resources for children with cancer, and people with disabilities.

Her work may be found in esteemed private collections, in Southern California’s Laguna Art Museum and Newport Art Museum, and the Cultural Palace Museum in Beijing, among many others.