About

Artist Bio & Practice Statement My paintings begin with a sense that the image exists before I consciously understand it. I do not always begin with a fixed subject, narrative or visual destination. Instead, I work through an intuitive process in which marks, colours, gestures and forms accumulate, obscure one another and gradually reveal something unexpected. Alongside this intuitive process, I am interested in the relationship between instinct and structure. My work is informed by natural systems of growth and proportion, including the Fibonacci sequence and principles associated with the golden ratio. I am interested in these not as mathematical formulas to reproduce, but as ways of thinking about rhythm, balance, proportion and the relationship between parts and the whole. These ideas provide a quiet framework within which gesture, chance and intuition can operate. They are not intended to be immediately visible, but to contribute to the underlying coherence of the composition. I paint as a process of discovery. A mark leads to another mark; a shape suggests a form; layers conceal and reveal one another. Sometimes, within the accumulation of paint, I suddenly recognise something that feels as though it was already there. I often feel that I am not simply creating an image, but entering into a dialogue with something that is emerging through the act of painting. The work can surprise me, resist my intentions and take me somewhere I had not anticipated. My role is to remain attentive enough to recognise what is happening and to follow it. I am interested in the space between intention and instinct, control and surrender, knowing and discovering. I want to leave enough freedom within the process for something unexpected to happen, while allowing an underlying sense of proportion and relationship to hold the work together. The Flower as Opening Flowers have become one of the most persistent images within my work. I am increasingly interested not in the flower as a botanical subject, but in the act of opening. A flower opens outward from an enclosed centre. It exposes what was previously protected or hidden. It is simultaneously delicate and powerful, beautiful and anatomical, organic and erotic. I am drawn to the way natural forms contain both structure and spontaneity. Patterns of growth, repetition and proportion can create order without appearing rigid or controlled. The flower becomes an example of this balance: structured but alive, contained yet continually opening. In my paintings, the flower can therefore become much more than a flower. It can suggest a body, an aperture, a mouth, an eye, an interior space or a threshold. Its petals can become gestures or bodily forms, while its centre can suggest an opening into something deeper. I am interested in this ambiguity. I do not need the viewer to identify the image in one particular way. A form can remain a flower while also becoming something else. The flower embodies a recurring movement within my work: concealment → emergence → opening → revelation Something begins beneath the surface, gathers energy and gradually becomes visible. For me, the flower is not simply an image of beauty. It is an image of transformation—the moment when something closed begins to open. The Hidden Image Much of my work begins in abstraction, but within that abstraction I often discover forms that seem to have been waiting to emerge. They might suggest a body, an anatomical structure, a face, a landscape, an opening or something that cannot easily be named. These forms are often ambiguous, and I am drawn to keeping them that way. I am interested in the moment before an image becomes fixed. There may be an underlying awareness of proportion, balance and composition, but I do not want the work to feel predetermined. Structural ideas support the process without dictating what the painting must become. The viewer may see one thing while I see another. A particular shape may carry an erotic or bodily association for me that remains completely invisible to someone else. Another person may discover something in the painting that I had never consciously seen. This difference is part of what interests me. I want the paintings to remain open enough for the image to change depending on who is looking. Sometimes I see faces within the work, but I don't think of them as portraits or even necessarily as faces. They are often fleeting suggestions created by the interaction of marks and forms. They may appear and disappear depending on how I look at the painting. What matters to me is less the identity of the form than the sensation of suddenly recognising something within it. The Hidden Erotic There is also a recurring erotic dimension within my paintings. Much of this imagery is not immediately obvious to other people. I may see distinctly sexual or anatomical forms within an otherwise abstract composition, while another viewer may simply see colour, gesture or an organic shape. I am interested in the possibility that an image can hold several experiences simultaneously. A flower can be a flower and a body. A circular form can be a centre, an eye, an aperture or a sexual form. A gesture can suggest both vegetation and flesh. The relationship between the organic and the structured is important here. I am interested in how proportion, balance and rhythm can coexist with sensuality and instinct. I do not necessarily think of these forms as representations of sexuality in a literal sense. For me, they are connected to something broader: Eros as energy, attraction, vitality, embodiment and desire. The erotic becomes another way of suggesting what is hidden, intimate or not immediately visible. I am interested in the tension between what is revealed and what remains concealed. Instinct and Gesture The physical act of painting is central to my process. I use energetic marks, sweeping gestures, loops, splashes, drips, scratches and layers of paint to build a visual environment in which images can emerge. I often allow the physical movement of painting to influence what happens next rather than deciding everything in advance. There are moments when a line seems to know where it wants to go before I consciously know where I want it to go. I value those moments. They introduce instinct into the work and prevent the painting from becoming too controlled or predetermined. At the same time, I am not interested in completely abandoning control. The work develops through a continual movement between making and responding. I make a gesture, then react to it. I cover something, then uncover it. I create an area of chaos and search within it for something that wants to develop. My awareness of proportion, rhythm and natural patterns of growth provides a counterpoint to this freedom. It allows me to consider how elements relate within the composition without having to resolve everything consciously. The painting develops through this balance between action and response. From Chaos to Recognition At first encounter, my paintings can appear chaotic. Layers of colour, gestural marks, splashes and competing forms create a dense visual field in which it is not immediately clear what the viewer is supposed to see. That ambiguity is important to me. I am interested in the period before recognition—the moment when the eye is searching and has not yet decided what something is. Then something happens. A flower emerges. A bodily form becomes apparent. A face may briefly appear within the marks. An erotic shape is suddenly recognised. The abstract becomes figurative without ever completely ceasing to be abstract. I am fascinated by this threshold between seeing and recognising. The painting initially exists as colour, movement, texture and energy. Gradually, the viewer may begin to find their own associations within it. Underlying this apparent chaos is a quieter consideration of proportion, rhythm, scale and visual balance. The Fibonacci sequence and principles associated with the golden ratio form part of this broader approach to composition, influencing how I think about relationships without becoming a visible system. I don't want to dictate what the viewer should see. I want to leave room for the painting to reveal itself differently to each person. The Artist as Witness I have come to think of my role not simply as that of a creator, but as a witness to what develops. I make the conditions in which the image can appear, but I do not entirely determine what appears. I make a mark and wait. I respond to what is there. I cover something and later uncover it. I follow a shape. I notice a relationship between colours. I recognise a possibility. I allow the image to develop before deciding what it means. This requires trust. The more I try to control the outcome, the less space there is for discovery. When I allow myself to respond instinctively, the work can move into places I could not have reached through planning alone. Painting therefore becomes a form of listening. The Space Between Knowing and Discovering I am interested in the possibility that the creative process can reveal something before I have consciously understood it. Sometimes I know exactly what I am doing. At other times I am following something that I can feel but cannot yet name. The painting becomes a way of giving that feeling physical form. This is why I don't always want to explain the imagery too literally. I believe something can be meaningful without being completely understood. An image can carry several possibilities at once. It can be flower and body, beauty and desire, abstraction and recognition, surface and interior. For me, ambiguity is not a lack of resolution. It is a space in which meaning can continue to develop. Revelation When I look across my work, I see recurring elements that I did not consciously set out to establish: flowers, openings, circular forms, bodily shapes, erotic structures, energetic lines and fragments of recognisable imagery emerging from abstraction. I increasingly understand these not as separate subjects, but as different manifestations of an underlying movement. Something hidden becomes visible. The flower opens. The form emerges. The abstract becomes recognisable. The Fibonacci sequence and principles associated with the golden ratio sit quietly within this wider language of growth, proportion and relationship. They offer ways of thinking about how a composition can develop and how individual elements can belong to a larger whole. Ultimately, however, the painting remains open to instinct, accident and discovery. The structure does not dictate the image. It creates a framework within which the image can develop. This is what keeps me painting. I am interested in that moment when something within the painting suddenly becomes apparent—when an image seems to say, “There I am.” The painting is not simply something I make. It is something I encounter. My practice exists between conscious intention and unconscious emergence, between control and surrender, between structure and instinct. At its heart is a recurring movement: something hidden, becoming visible; something closed, opening; something unknown, becoming known through the act of seeing.