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David Brady

Phoenix, United States

My process for creating art is as necessary as the final I'mage. From my daily drawings in ballpoint pen to reworking them into more significant mixed media works, my focus has been on reflecting on social issues such as mental health, social media, religion, and politics. I take a body of work and display it in large, tightly hung installations in a theme for I'mpact and, hopefully, discourse with those interacting with the work.

Born in Los Angeles, Phoenix‑based artist David Brady is known for provocative images of contemporary life. His recently published graphic memoir “Into the Tunnel” chronicles his experience surviving Stage 3 throat cancer. Since the early 1980s he has filled over 90 sketchbooks with drawings, observations and ideas, forming the basis of his belief that art is healing. He contributes to art therapy projects, including work with terminally ill children through Coach Art and workshops for U.S. veterans, and has collaborated with Nelson Mandela to raise funds for African AIDS programs.

Brady’s paintings and collages have been shown internationally, including the Museum of Fine Art in Cuba, the Modern Art Museum in Mexico, the Turchin Center for the Arts, Lilia Arts Center in Japan and the Center for the Study of Collage in France.

Artist Interview



Q: Your work is deeply provocative and carries dark undertones that leave a lasting impression. What inspires you to create these pieces, and what do you hope your audience takes away from your art?


A: Art rarely addresses the unheard and unseen in society. Early on in my art making, I shifted from what I saw to what I felt, which led to me drawing people from the inside out. With so much violence and anger in our environment, it often goes unnoticed until it is portrayed in art. I want the audience to see themselves in the reflections of one of my installations.





Q: "Into the Tunnel" offers a raw and personal account of your battle with throat cancer. How did the process of creating this graphic memoir influence your perspective on art as a healing mechanism?


A: I have always felt that drawing or the process of making art has the power to redirect pain or suffering, at least temporarily. Each day, I took my sketchbook to Chemotherapy and recorded how I felt. As I observed other patients, I could see that most had no way to process the pain and uncertainty of the journey they were on. I realized the advantage I had in surviving because I could escape, process, and record the strangeness all around me.





Q: With over 90 sketchbooks filled over the years, how do these personal archives inform and inspire your larger works? Do you find yourself going back to your older sketchbooks for inspiration?


A: I have used the sketchbook as a way to keep the creativity moving, continuing no matter the change in my world. Like a mini studio, a listening friend, the books became a way to keep going simply. I tend not to want to refer to past work; however, going through it, I can see and read that I haven't changed in terms of my insecurities and questions about life in general. Notes from 34 years ago seem to have been written yesterday. Recently, I have been reviewing drawings from the past year and reworking them into larger drawings. As they are instant, unedited spurts of emotional energy, the long drawn out process of painting them doesn't hold that initial impact, something I hope to get better at with more practice— perhaps discover a new process





Q: Your involvement in projects such as working with terminally ill children and U.S. veterans, highlights your belief in art's therapeutic potential. Can you share a particularly impactful experience from these collaborations?


A: Well, the vast majority of the children I did workshops with did not get better, and died. The first day of class, a teenage boy brought me a black and white drawing of a skull with a small part colored in yellow. I asked what the yellow represented, and he replied, "It's the cancer. Do you think if we erase it here, the tumor in my head will go away?” He then requested that I teach him how to make a 3-D castle on paper. For months, we worked on the piece until he was to ill to continue. I was asked to speak at his funeral, and when his casket arrived with him, it was covered with the design of the castle we were making. He knew all along and said nothing.. Years later, when it was my turn, I often thought of him, his courage, and his belief that art could take away his disease.





Q: Reflecting on your career, how has your approach to art evolved throughout the years, and what future projects or themes excite you? Any advice for emerging creatives at the start of their journey?


A: Early on, like most, I was lost and clueless about why and what to draw. I had talent and could draw realistically, which garnered applause, but I had no direction or purpose. Over the years, I kept my art at a distance, pouring my best into a design career that, despite getting significant projects and pay, left me empty and unfulfilled. Taking the plunge and moving into a daily mindset, renting a studio, and plugging my ears opened my mind to more profound possibilities. After completing a series of portraits on mental health, I presented the works as an installation, "The Mind Mask." The response from viewers triggered a newfound purpose, which has led to numerous opportunities and directions for my work. The best advice I've been given is to draw from within; the well is deep and authentic.




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