David Spencer
- May 15
- 3 min read
David Spencer is an Australian painter, sculptor and public artist based in Fremantle, Western Australia. He grew up in the North West in the seventies, surrounded by red dirt, layered ochre and an ocean that sparked under hard light. His first lesson in drawing came from watching his mother sketch eyes on a pad while she talked on the phone. He works intuitively, building up layers and scraping them back. Over thirty years he has held eighteen solo exhibitions and shown in more than sixty group shows.
Q: You grew up in Australia's North West in the seventies. Tell us a bit about how art entered your life.
A: As a child, I watched my Mum draw on a sketch pad during phone calls; it was always eyes. She'd start with a simple oval, slowly adding detail until they appeared on the page. That quiet process fascinated me and became my first lesson in how a drawing is built bit by bit. I soon began copying her, filling book after book with my own drawings.
Growing up in the Northwest in the 70s shaped not just what I drew, but how I learned to see. It was an unhurried life, spent roaming a hot, near-barren landscape of red dirt and hard rock under an endless blue sky. The sparkling ocean, the raw layered colours of ochre, red and green, and near silence made a lasting impression. It was a landscape that asked something of you. To slow down. To stare into the horizon. To connect.
Q: You do painting, sculpture, public art, commercial work. When you walk into the studio, how do you know what kind of day it's going to be?
A: I rarely have a plan, though I do spend time thinking about ideas before arriving at the studio. It's my sanctuary. A place where mistakes are welcomed, often opening new directions and unexpected inspiration. New ideas are frequently sparked by my inability to find things, as the studio is perpetually messy. Not quite Francis Bacon levels, but messy enough that it's sometimes hard to walk around.
Other times I arrive and do nothing at all. I simply sit, think, and quietly debate with myself about what comes next.
Q: You live by the sea in Fremantle but the Pilbara keeps showing up in the work. How do you carry both?
A: Fremantle feels like a seaside village you might find in Italy. It's not overly urbanised and everything is within easy walking distance: the beach, fresh bread, coffee, beers and good pasta. There's a strong sense of history too, with magnificent buildings standing proudly from the 19th century. It's old and wonderful. I think I take my sense of texture and layering from Fremantle, and the contrasting natural colours and bold forms from the Pilbara.
Q: You chaired Artsource from 2021 to 2024. What did that time running an artists' organisation teach you?
A: There were many agendas and interests to navigate, all while trying to stay focused on delivering real benefits and support for our members. I was fortunate to work with a united board, though there were still plenty of practical issues that required thoughtful, nuanced responses. The role taught me the importance of listening, trusting both myself and the abilities of others, and ultimately approaching challenges with pragmatism.
Q: You've done eighteen solo shows over the years. What have you learned about your own work from putting it in front of people that many times?
A: Over time, you begin to see patterns in how people absorb my work, how they move through an exhibition, and how a single painting, often one I wouldn't have chosen myself, can become the unexpected hero of the show. When there's such a universal attraction, it can feel like it might sell several times over. Observing these responses gives me valuable insight into how to shape the next body of work. I've also learned how important it is to explain the work and the exhibition's synopsis; that context brings the painting closer to the audience and can spark memories of their own.
Q: After thirty years of practice, what's still surprising you in the studio?
A: I'm a very impatient painter. Waiting for materials to dry—especially oils—is genuinely frustrating. I usually have a couple of pieces on the go, but when ideas and energy are flowing on one painting, having to wait days before adding another layer is maddening. Rejection is still the other challenge. Those "it's with regret..." letters never get easy to read, but they are part of being an artist. There are always obstacles that test your ego and confidence, but it's important to stay determined and hold true to your vision.
