david fox studio of doubt

These works begin in uncertainty. Each one starts with stains of color—automatic gestures made without plan or design. Out of these accidental grounds, figures slowly surface. I don’t invent them so much as recognize them, like seeing animals in clouds or ghosts in peeling walls. Once glimpsed, they demand elaboration. The stain becomes a stage for them to emerge—awkward, radiant, damaged, absurd.

These characters often arrive in clusters, parades, or collisions. They speak in the language of carnival and collapse. They reflect a world that feels fractured, overheated, and teetering on the surreal. Our own moment seeps in—not directly, but through distortion, fragmentation, and excess. These are not illustrations of the times, but they are haunted by its fever.

I trust what the stain gives me. The result is a kind of fugitive theater—one that resists polish, embraces multiplicity, and insists on the vitality of what’s unruly, overlooked, or undone.

From the wreckage, I excavate figures: grotesque, comic, tender, perverse. They arrive like dream visitors or protestors from the edge of a frayed world.

I improvise with what the moment gives—shifting forms, dissolving boundaries, spontaneous humor, and haunted recognition. It’s not resolution, but something more like encounter. A chance to catch the figure in the fog before it disappears.