I am drawn to vivid, high-chroma colour and to the atmosphere created when intense pinks, oranges, reds, and fluorescent tones meet, collide, or sit beside one another. I use fluorescent acrylics because conventional pigments simply cannot produce the intensity I am looking for.  I want colour to do more than describe something; I want it to have its own physical and emotional force — to create light, energy and visual vibration within the painting.  

The physicality of paint is equally important. I build paintings through layers, adding, peeling, covering and reworking the surface, then peeling it back again to reveal what lies beneath. Layers are not necessarily erased; fragments of them remain, resurface, or alter what comes next. 

The painting gradually develops its own history. This way of working connects with my interest in how experience and memories accumulate. A life is made up of countless encounters, relationships, choices and moments, and not all of them remain clearly visible. 

 Some stay close to the surface; others become buried and unexpectedly return. I am interested in those traces and afterimages — what remains, what resurfaces and what we carry forward.  

The human figure continues to be a constant source of fascination for me.  I have spent much of my life looking closely at people through photography, and I never seem to tire of a face, a body or a gesture. In painting, the figure can become less literal: a presence rather than a portrait, a fragment rather than a complete story.  Sometimes the identity is deliberately withheld, allowing the figure to exist somewhere between recognition and ambiguity. I work intuitively, but the paintings are built through constant decisions.  

I want the finished work to feel alive — physically present, emotionally resonant, and open enough for the viewer to bring something of their own to it. Ultimately, I want the viewer to feel something before they necessarily understand it: to pause, look again and perhaps find something different each time.