THE VISCERAL WORLD OF DAVID VON BAHR

But it’s not just the works themselves that are enlivened with physical energy, but David, too, as we witness his creative process in action. Spray cans snake and undulate; paint is splattered to form abstract patterns; swooping brush strokes dance from left to right; water soaks the canvas to distort and bleed. The canvas, therefore, becomes much more than just a medium, but almost a physical entity in and of itself, alive and pulsating with the vigour of its creator.

David’s work represents an intersection of intuition and structure, nodding to both the spontaneous, emotionally charged philosophy of abstract expressionism, as well as his own singular framework of artistic technicality. Though blunt, direct and emotive, his paintings are constructed using complex and intricate layers, culminating in art that reflects both automatism and order.     

The cultural backdrop of David’s home city, Stockholm, is woven throughout the fibres of his work, ranging from his action paintings which spill over into its cityscape, to his heavy immersion in the city’s vibrant underground electronic music scene. In light of that, and to celebrate the launch of C.P. Company’s “Beyond Colour” collection, we spent the day with David in Stockholm, documenting his creative process and delving deep into the visceral artistic world he inhabits.

First of all, I wanted to touch upon your background and introduction to becoming an artist. What first piqued your interest in becoming an artist and what particular artistic movements inspired your creative vision?   

It wasn’t that many years ago that I realised I wanted to be an artist. I mean, I've always been interested in painting and stuff like that since I was very young. At first, I wanted to go into graphic design school, but I applied and didn’t get accepted. I was then accepted into the fine arts school in Stockholm, and I think it was then that I realised I wanted to be an artist. I had teachers there that made me realise that this is what I want to do, as well as opportunities in the school which were really important. For example, there was a building opposite that was going to be torn down. I called the owner of the building, and I was like “hey is it possible for me to work here for some period?”, and the initial answer was no. But I persevered and called again and again, and I said “okay, can I please just have a meeting with you?”. We then had a meeting and they showed me the space, and we just clicked. I managed to get this space for six months for free, which was like 900m².

That was very important for me and my background in graffiti — to move into a big space. I also still want to do that, but it’s quite difficult in Stockholm to find these kinds of studios. To have this opportunity in my school was really important to me, because there I could feel free — I could paint these big wall paintings. It also allowed me to try to install my canvas paintings on the walls and see how they interacted to each other, and I've never done that before. So that was a big moment for me when I realised, okay, I can combine my wall paintings and canvases.

When I was ten years old, I started to become interested in graffiti because one of my best friends had an older brother who was a graffiti artist and would paint a lot. We would sneak into his room when we were young and he had paintings on his wall, like graffiti walls that he'd made. I would lend his sketchbook and take it back home, where I would make copies of everything. I would open his book, then open mine alongside it, and copy and paste, to try to learn his methods — the colours he would use and how to work with them, things like that. From then, I started painting a lot outside until I was maybe 19 or 20, but I became quite tired of that and made some trouble for myself.

A lot of your work has direct correlations with post-vandalism, the techniques you employ often being distinct references to the world of graffiti. Some of your exhibitions have also seen paint spill over the canvas and cover walls, again nodding to the destructive nature of post-vandalism. What is it about taking these methods of street art, or those typically considered “destructive”, and bringing them into the studio context that resonates with you?

What I really like about those methods is you just have one shot. When it comes to spraying, I can't take it back — it's hard to undo it. You know, if I use oil and stuff like that, it's easier to take it away in some kind of way, but when it comes to spray, you have one shot. I'm not afraid to make mistakes in the paintings. Instead, I try to take care of my mistakes and do something with them, rather than working against them.

Your method of action painting eschews anything formulaic or predetermined for spontaneity, a raw feeling or emotion which can be felt through the directness of your work. What is it about this idea of instinct and spontaneity that drives your creative process?

This feeling you describe is what I want to feel with my own work. I like to take what I have in my studio; I don't necessarily go and buy a lot of stuff, I have like scrap materials that I like to work with. I try to maybe have like, I don't know, two or three colours and then I work from that, instead of having like 20. I think that I gained a lot from the experiences in my younger years, because I remember when I started at the fine art school, I was really like “oh, I don't want to be a graffiti artist, I don't want to talk about that period, because now I just want to focus on art”. But then I realised that this background is really important to my practice, because there are so many things I’ve learned from it — in terms of composition, scale, colours and not being afraid to make mistakes in the paintings.  

Your work also captures a sense of physicality through the painting techniques you employ, like various stretches and distortions that signify the human touch. Why is this notion of physicality so pertinent to your work?

Because I see painting as — or at least my practice, anyway — as a performative act rather than just painting. For me, it's a lot about movement and stuff like that. I really enjoy watching my own work unfold when I have this kind of motion — you can say it’s almost like a dance.

Despite the obvious uninhibited nature of your work, there’s also real balance between free-flowing expression and more direct, recognisable motifs. Take your exhibition at GR Gallery in New York, for instance, “Vitamins for Your Soul”, where face-like emblems appeared throughout your work. Similarly, despite the uninhibited and organic nature of your work, there’s always a sense of order and structure in the end result. Why is this balance crucial to your creative output?

I’m also a bit of a perfectionist, and I don’t want things to be too messy. I like things to have some element of order for it to be fresh and clean, in some kind of way. So, with “Vitamins for Your Soul”, that show took another direction because I didn’t typically do this kind of smiley stuff before, but I felt like I wanted to because I wanted my paintings to have a lot of depth, a lot of layers with what’s in the back and what’s in the front. But in this case, I wanted this just to be like a sticker on the painting.

It’s also quite similar to what I’ve done before where I put tape on paintings and split them in two. I just cut the painting in half with the tape, then cover it with paint and make a new painting on top of that. Then I’ll take the tape away and reveal a new painting that I haven’t seen before. I really like to surprise myself with my paintings. I would say it’s one of the most important things to me, because otherwise, if I don't do that, I can become restless and just want to go home.

The mediums you use for your work are pertinent, with large, immersive canvases that really enhance the direct and arresting nature of your art. Why do you look to emphasise scale with your work?   

Because it enables me to work freely in the painting, moving from the left corner to right using big gestures. I see them sometimes as human beings — especially the big ones, they’re almost the same size as me — and I like to almost see them as a person that I have dialogue with. The scale is important to me in terms of how I can do things compositionally with my work; if I use spray paint, for example: as a tool it’s quite hard to change it so much once it’s used. So therefore, I also like to have a lot of space to work within, to move freely in the painting. I feel like when I work with big canvasses, it’s also nice to install them in the galleries, but it’s also great to paint with them in the studio, enabling me to move freely within the canvas. It's like a dialogue that I have with the canvas, which is a feeling I don’t get when I work with smaller mediums, because for me, this idea of movement is super important to my practice.

Similarly, a lot of your work moves over into outdoor spaces, with the city environment often forming the backdrop of your action paintings. How do these broader metropolitan spaces inform your work, particularly your home city of Stockholm?

I think that comes from my background, where I used to paint a lot outside. I like to play with compositions with my work, and my canvas has to be like in some composition outside as well — I really enjoy seeing how my art works outside.

Beyond just using music as direct inspiration for your creative processes, you are also involved with the musical milieu of your home city, having worked closely with Stockholm’s Northern Electronics to create artwork and through exhibitions. As an artist, why is it important for you to collaborate with other like-minded creatives, beyond just the world of art directly?

I’ve collaborated with many different artists. I’ve also had a lot of artists reach out to me as well, because they feel this connection with my work and their music. I’ve always been interested in touching my feet in that area, because I’m really interested in music. I have a lot of friends that work with music and I find it interesting to surround myself with these circles. So it just comes naturally to me, really. I don’t just want to work with one medium — I want to broaden my work and see how my work translates to other areas, like an album cover, for instance. I also did a collab with Shlohmo in the US where there was a great visual artist called Rick Farin, who used visuals of my paintings in the video. That was amazing, because I haven't seen my work in that context before. That’s what I find really inspirational, seeing my work in new forms and mediums. Also, being able to work with a brand like C.P. Company is amazing. I mean, I'm always interested in doing other stuff than just shows, because working in the studio can be quite repetitive. I just feel like it’s a really fun to do things with other artists — like in music, for example — because I can build these relationships and we can have a great time.

Emotion is something that really stands out with your work, especially in the raw, direct nature of your paintings capturing your moods and feelings in the moment. How important is it for your artwork to serve as this cathartic emotional release?

I would say it's the only thing that matters. If I don't have this feeling, and people don't have this feeling when they see my work, then I would say I would stop as an artist. I really enjoy coming to the studio and having the same feeling as you describe having when you see my work. If I don’t enjoy what I’m doing and perceive it in that emotional way, I can’t do it. It’s important for me to feel my own works in that kind of way — that I feel this energy and vibrancy in terms of colours and composition. With reference to music, it’s almost like a bass or something, I want to feel the (imitates bass sound), or like a heart beating, you know? I want to feel my own work in that kind of way, because if I don’t, then I would say it’s not alive.