My paintings arise from a dialogue between landscape and consciousness — a search for the quiet thresholds where the outer world mirrors the inner one. I’m drawn to the mythic and the unseen presences that inhabit natural spaces: the guardians of sacred groves, the spirits of stone, the whispering silhouettes of trees at dusk. These entities are not literal figures but emanations of awareness, reflections of how we perceive and project meaning onto the earth itself.
Each work begins with close observation of place — the curve of a hillside, the pulse of green light through leaves — but evolves toward something inward, a dream terrain. Layers of pigment act as sediment of memory and time, where transparent glazes open portals between form and spirit. Through the process of painting, I seek to record not the landscape itself, but the consciousness that moves through it.
Ultimately, my work is an invitation to attunement — to perceive the quiet intelligences that move beneath the visible surface of the world. In these painted spaces, I hope to evoke a sense of guardianship and reverence, reminding us that what is sacred still lingers in the world around us, waiting to be recognized.
Each work begins with close observation of place — the curve of a hillside, the pulse of green light through leaves — but evolves toward something inward, a dream terrain. Layers of pigment act as sediment of memory and time, where transparent glazes open portals between form and spirit. Through the process of painting, I seek to record not the landscape itself, but the consciousness that moves through it.
Ultimately, my work is an invitation to attunement — to perceive the quiet intelligences that move beneath the visible surface of the world. In these painted spaces, I hope to evoke a sense of guardianship and reverence, reminding us that what is sacred still lingers in the world around us, waiting to be recognized.
How to make a painting.
In order to be able to make a painting, I have to be prepared to forget who I think I am and everything I think I know; every time. Forgeting is part of the process.
Painting is an exercise in consciousness. Not so much who am I - but where am I? Where is consciousness located? It’s also something to do with the nature of time; how time behaves. It seems to loop round like a stretched out spring.
When I started out, I was obsessed with how to make a painting work formally. How to integrate space; but that’s only a skeleton on which to hang the flesh. Painting is more than that. It’s an exploration of the psyche, and of our relationship with the planet. It’s about becoming rather than just being, about finding a pathway, and the pathway having a sense of place. I want to create a kind of Nomadology of time and space. An anti-history. if you like. We are, after all, naturally nomadic, mentally, if not physically.
If memory and consciousness are closely linked, if memory is a kind of ‘guiding hand , what does this mean? That time moves in two directions? Something which remembers where we’ve been before? Are the paintings like little moments of déjà vu? They do seem to be moments of recognition - of…what?
I paint, until I can bear to look. Or even until I cant tear my eyes away. The image has to surprise in some way. I have to think: how did that get there? I paint to lose myself. To lose and forget, so as to find a sense of clarity.
I see the process of as painting as time travel. If you could move around the universe at the speed of light, you would undoubtedly meet yourself coming the other way. And this other self would be a vision of pure clarity. Baggage free, and the moment you start to feel jealous of this baggage free other you, is the moment you fall back to earth; and you are standing there, with a paintbrush in your hand.
Painting is an exercise in consciousness. Not so much who am I - but where am I? Where is consciousness located? It’s also something to do with the nature of time; how time behaves. It seems to loop round like a stretched out spring.
When I started out, I was obsessed with how to make a painting work formally. How to integrate space; but that’s only a skeleton on which to hang the flesh. Painting is more than that. It’s an exploration of the psyche, and of our relationship with the planet. It’s about becoming rather than just being, about finding a pathway, and the pathway having a sense of place. I want to create a kind of Nomadology of time and space. An anti-history. if you like. We are, after all, naturally nomadic, mentally, if not physically.
If memory and consciousness are closely linked, if memory is a kind of ‘guiding hand , what does this mean? That time moves in two directions? Something which remembers where we’ve been before? Are the paintings like little moments of déjà vu? They do seem to be moments of recognition - of…what?
I paint, until I can bear to look. Or even until I cant tear my eyes away. The image has to surprise in some way. I have to think: how did that get there? I paint to lose myself. To lose and forget, so as to find a sense of clarity.
I see the process of as painting as time travel. If you could move around the universe at the speed of light, you would undoubtedly meet yourself coming the other way. And this other self would be a vision of pure clarity. Baggage free, and the moment you start to feel jealous of this baggage free other you, is the moment you fall back to earth; and you are standing there, with a paintbrush in your hand.
