Galerie Phantom HEADs - Interview by Maija Carr
Maija: You often obscure the identity of your subjects - what does anonymity unlock in the viewer’s imagination that realism might not?
David: I do like there to be a certain amount of anonymity. They’re not portraits of individuals, but representations of moods. I definitely want the viewer to form their own interpretation, and it’s always fascinating for me to hear people’s views. Occasionally I’ve painted BDSM-inspired masked heads, and I’m interested in the coded language that lies beneath that—how people use masks to explore or shield aspects of themselves. Some of my heads are deliberately unresolved, like someone you pass fleetingly. You sense a presence but don’t get a clear read. That ambiguity creates space for the viewer to project their own emotions or memories.
Maija: Could you begin by giving us a little background on your trajectory towards being an artist? Did you study art growing up, and what first drew you to art in your career?
I have always been creative but I’m from a small industrial town in Central Scotland and there weren’t a lot of options there, I moved to London in 1998 to study fashion at Central Saint Martins, I was drawn to how fashion connects with photography, music, film, and culture. After graduating, I found I wasn’t interested in the usual fashion career path, so I started doing graphic design work for friends running a record label. That led to designing album covers, posters, and eventually touring with Mylo, doing visuals for his live shows. Later, I became the in-house art director for Christopher Kane, working closely with the creative directors on everything from show design to art direction for nearly 15 years. In 2019, I rented a small studio and began painting without a clear plan, just a need to create something personal. The heads started to emerge naturally. The pandemic gave me time to reflect, and I began posting my work online.
Maija: Do you see anonymity as a form of liberation or concealment in your portraits?
Both. There’s something freeing about removing identity—it strips away distraction and lets you focus on the emotional or atmospheric quality of the work. But it’s also a form of concealment, and that tension is interesting to me. It mirrors how we sometimes present a version of ourselves to the world while keeping other parts hidden. Some of the works hint at this duality, where what’s missing says as much as what’s shown.
Maija: Could you tell us a little about the title of your exhibition Heads and how this fascination with the physical representation of the mind came about?
When I first started painting, my works were abstract, centred around colour and texture, but I knew I wanted something more. Over time, as I experimented, the silhouette of the head began to appear almost subconsciously. Restricting myself to the human head was actually very liberating, it provided a framework or landscape to work within, allowing freedom to explore abstraction, textures, and colour whilst grounding the works in a recognisable form.
Working as an art director within the fashion industry gave me a good understanding of beauty photography, and I’m interested in why certain poses or expressions resonate with us, as well as how the beauty industry has evolved to shape the imagery we see today. These images dominate much of our digital landscape and influence how we see and feel about ourselves, both positively and negatively. In part, my work is a way of deconstructing this imagery, which can feel quite sterile and detached from who we really are. Watercolour has an incredibly tactile, organic feel, and there’s a visceral effect when it’s applied to these poses which are recognisable to most of us.
Heads is the title I give to all of these works collectively. It’s an ongoing and freewheeling series where I can explore all kinds of representations of the human head. For Inbetween Gallery, I made a selection along with Jessica that I informally titled Altered States. These works could represent someone having a moment on the dance floor, taking in a beautiful sunset, or just feeling a sense of inner peace. I chose the pieces that reflect how I feel about the island.
Maija: I’ve read that you only like to keep 36 posts on your Instagram at one time. What’s your reasoning behind this – does the number 36 hold potency to you? How do you decide what stays and what goes—is it maybe due to your vision constantly changing and shapeshifting? If your Instagram feed is a living artwork, does it change based on your mood, or is it more strategic and concept-driven?
I guess it does hold some potency for me, although it’s more an intuitive decision than something contrived. I’ve been asked this a few times, and it was only after being asked that I discovered the significance of the number 36. Randomly, I recently read that the title of the first Wu-Tang Clan album Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) is linked to the nine members of the group, the four chambers of the human heart, and the classic kung fu film The 36th Chamber of Shaolin.
With my Instagram, I think you’ve best described my reasoning for it in your question, I do see it very much as a living artwork or exhibition space. Something that changes and evolves, mostly in a minimal one-up-one-down way, but occasionally the entire set is replaced. Instagram has become bloated in recent years, and there’s ever-increasing pressure to use it in a pre-prescribed way. In my experience, it’s best to ignore all that—keep things simple, consistent, and well curated.
Maija: Watercolour is known for its unpredictability. How do you balance control and chaos in your painting process?
I work wet-on-wet and without laying down a sketch, so the outcome is quite unpredictable. I choose to relinquish a certain amount of control, which makes the finished product a sort of collaboration with the forces of nature. There’s a huge amount of variety within watercolour paints, with clever mixtures of pigments that create different effects. Over time, you gain an understanding of roughly what to expect from each, so it’s a matter of knowing your palette and constantly assessing the work as it develops. The paint might bloom or bleed in ways you didn’t expect, and you just have to go with it or work with what’s happened. That’s part of what keeps the process alive for me, it’s never static.
Maija: You’ve spoken about stripping down features to explore silhouettes. Do you ever feel tempted to return to more detailed, figurative work?
For me, the ideal is for you not to see my hand at all in the work, so if anything I aspire to strip things back further. I’m now beginning to work in larger formats, which has been a technical challenge. On a bigger surface with much more water involved, it’s easy for things to just fall apart. But after a lot of trial and error, I’ve managed to get it into a really good place. The simplicity is hard-won, and I think people sometimes underestimate how much control it takes to create something that feels loose and minimal but still emotionally resonant. I’m excited to share more of this soon.
Maija: What obsessions or fears do you think your work confronts - both yours and those of the audience?
Well, I have all kinds of irrational fears, and I think most of us do to one extent or another. There’s something in the work that reflects that uncertainty, that tension—the feeling of not quite knowing what you’re looking at. Some of the heads feel calm, others disturbed, and I think they tap into different emotional states that we all experience. I’m interested in that edge where things are both familiar and strange.
Maija: If you could have one of your heads hanging in any location, real or fictional, where would it be, and why?
Well, first of all, Dalt Vila is truly a great place for it to be! I can’t think of anywhere specific, but I would love to do an audio/video installation in a very high-tech venue, something really immersive. Somewhere the work could be experienced on multiple sensory levels, where sound, space, and image come together. It wouldn’t even have to be a gallery, maybe it’s a club, a cinema, or some hybrid space that allows people to feel the work rather than just look at it.
Maija: Ibiza is a place where people often come to lose or find themselves. What would a “Galerie Phantom” character be searching for here?
I’ve been to Ibiza many times, both to party and to relax. I love the island’s hedonistic history and its free-spirited energy. The Galerie Phantom character would be drawn to that, always looking for culture, new experiences, and people who enjoy expressing themselves and living life to the full. Like everyone else, they’d be searching for a good time—something memorable, maybe even transformative.
Maija: Your work explores anonymity through visual abstraction. Do you think Ibiza’s party culture—costumes, personas, masks—is a real-life manifestation of that same drive?
Yes, definitely. There’s a shared sense of freedom and self-expression. It’s about experimenting with your identity, shedding the everyday, and stepping into something more instinctual or surreal. In my work, I use abstraction almost in reverse, to strip things back and reveal something more human, something that hopefully resonates with anyone on a deeper level.