Research matters to me. I may spend months reading, thinking and testing ideas before a painting begins. But once I reach the canvas, the process becomes instinctive. I rarely plan the final image in detail. I apply paint, move it, interrupt it, remove it, and build through layers until something begins to settle.

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Surface is central. Experience is strata: pressure, damage, repair, residue. I use oil, marble dust, impasto, ink and layered marks to create work with physical resistance. Texture makes the work harder to dismiss. Even when hidden, the earlier layers matter; they are part of the foundation and part of the truth of the piece.

Titles are important. A title can provide a hook without closing down meaning. It can open a door without telling the viewer which direction to walk.

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Poetry enters when it is needed. Sometimes it comes before a painting, sometimes after, sometimes alongside it — and sometimes not at all. The poems do not explain the paintings, and the paintings do not illustrate the poems; each can stand independently. When placed together, they question one another and open a wider field of thought. Poetry is still relatively new to me, but it has caught hold of me. It helps me consolidate information, sharpen my attention, strip away excess, and work out what is key.

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At the centre of the practice is a concern with how we live, how we treat one another, what we allow, what we avoid, and whether we are willing to look again.