The manner in which any reflective human gathers evidence and input is not much different at any given time than groping about in a pitch-dark room. There are findings and assumptions, more findings and then more assumptions as the room is navigated. Space is measured with the body, footing found, forms are recorded and internally distorted.

Brett Davis paints these groping spaces. Forms are found and get moved around in psychological light. As the surface of the works accumulate paint and begin to get messy the space becomes coagulated. He scrapes paint around, gouges it out, disinters some nearly forgotten passage buried in the skin. New air enters, the space takes up recharged navigability, and the forms become mobile again.

The mind of the artist shifts and scrambles for traction in the surface of the work. We therefore become privy to a record of the ebb and flow of thinking in the surface. Any articulation of space seems to quickly become personally sacred and objectively confused. Consequently, Davis claims that the bulk of his painting procedure is negotiation with the material to find form. Any accounts or images or notions whether taken as truth bend under the fiction of his individual gravity as the painting is created.

There’s a telephone, there’s a tree, then not anymore.

The marks are little imprecise memories that make the figure or forms or space warp in the body moored psychology. The one-time facts and records of memory embedded in the body of the artist lay claim to new information, and all of the investigations are automatically altered.

It is a corrupted report.