“I am rooted, but I flow.”
— Virginia Woolf
My work begins in motion: hunting, praying, grieving, scoring, stroking, begging, playing. Unleashing and hoping, always searching. I circle the surface as if circling a question that can never be answered. Painting is not linear for me. It is a constant return, a movement through the same place altered by time.
Painting is a kind of slow time and a way of thinking. A portal into ancestral and future space at once. I move between myth, memory and imagination. I paint to listen, to feel connection to something beyond myself, to empty out and fill again, to enter that looping thread of time where past and present knot together.
Colour arrives first: urgent, insistent, alive. One hue moves toward another, colliding, dispersing, reforming. I follow their momentum, the turbulence of their meeting. Alongside that force exists its opposite: slowness, sensitivity, a kind of attention that allows the surface to open. Each mark becomes either a release or a holding.
There is a sense of enclosure and emergence within the work, a movement between holding and release. The surface becomes a kind of interior, where something gathers and begins to form, not yet visible, not yet fixed.