Artist Biography

Violence. That is the best word I have to describe how my paintings come into existence. The ideas and feelings I feel compelled to explore typically originate in some dark corner of my subconscious; half-remembered fragments which are difficult to latch onto, which squish and morph when you concentrate on them too hard. It’s a messy process, and the results are often unexpected, raw, and unfiltered. For a long time, I was self-conscious regarding sharing these works, believing that as I matured as an artist my techniques and processes would eventually coalesce into something more refined, more calm, more “normal.”

That didn’t happen.

Instead, I struggled, scratched, clawed, erased, splattered, and slowly wrangled my visions into the daylight. I began new paintings, then ripped them up and pasted in new elements which weren’t part of the original concept at all. Each painting, I discovered, took something out of me. In classrooms, I had watched instructors draw elegant figures and sketch out ideas calmly and, it seemed to me, quite effortlessly. Yet my canvases were more like a battlefield where happy little trees were smashed down and replaced with industrial smokestacks, flowers were subverted and morphed into otherworldly fungi, joyful children became fetuses crawling through the murk looking for weapons, and it rained blood. Bones became the framework of my architecture and industrial machinery sprouted like weeds.

Eventually, I came to understand that this conflict on the canvas isn’t a byproduct, it’s the process. It’s a feature, not a bug.

There’s a hidden beauty to dreams and nightmares, and also a kind of unflinching truth. But not everyone wants to see such visions. Some people prefer conventional aesthetics and symmetry, while others are willing to gaze into the darkness. Clive Barker loosely described this as Us and Them.

Them? The Them want continuity, comfort, and confirmation of their beliefs. Essentially, they want their art to be a mirror.

And what about Us? Well, we know who we are. And if you’re reading this, then it’s highly likely you’re one of Us. You seek out the odd, the mysterious, and the dangerous. You want your art and music to challenge the status quo and open portals to strange places you haven’t visited before.

My name is D.C. Maddox. And my job is to open portals.

Early years

I grew up in a part of America which came to be called the Rust Belt. I’m old enough that I lived through the catastrophic economic collapse and the social and cultural corrosion that resulted. Unemployment, divorce, alcoholism, and lack of education became the norm. Small town, multi-generational poverty has a tendency to do that.

After my school years, I surveyed my rather bleak situation and escaped the only way I could think of — by running away to the Army. And the Army, despite its mountains of shortcomings and focus on breaking things, became a home to me and a place where I excelled. Despite that, it was hardly an environment which fostered a creative impulse, nor an organization which tended to prize individual expression. And yet, in a strange way, it helped shape me as an artist. I served in some truly deplorable places, including multiple times in combat, as a peacekeeper, and on special assignments. Though it sometimes seems like another lifetime to me now, those experiences are deeply interwoven into my psyche and will probably be with me forever.

After the military, I returned to the US and earned a bachelor’s degree in Multimedia Design and thereafter studied art at the New Masters Academy. When possible, I learned from individual artists who were kind enough to share their knowledge. I don’t know how I would have managed without their encouragement.

The world of art

Aa young man, I surrounded myself with equal parts history, science fiction, and fantasy, subsisting on a steady diet of monster classics, Planet of the Apes, and Night Gallery. So, it was perhaps inevitable that I eventually found my way into the world of art. And that’s what it is for me — a world. A place with its own rules, its own themes, and its own characters and stories. And a painting is nothing less than a window into this other place.

I am primarily a visual artist. However, I tend not to lock myself into any one technique or medium. To the extent that I have a process, the process is there to serve my artistic agenda and help me get the ideas in my head out onto the canvass as simply and honestly as possible. Technique is important, as a certain degree of familiarity and skill is necessary in order to translate these visions into paintings. However, I don’t obsess over it. The feel of a painting is what is most important to me.

My characters tend to be distorted in some way and their environment discordant. When painting, I feel an almost irresistible compulsion to peel back the outer layers and reveal the true nature of these characters and the world they live in. I often blur the line between the human and the animal, or between man and machine, because this is the truest expression of what is in my mind and the world as I see it. If there are beautiful lies mixed in with ugly truths, if it becomes impossible to separate the absurd and grotesque and baroque from the clinical and provable, then perhaps I’m doing something right.