Sometimes directness is pure relief;
I like the idea of a strong gaze holding a moment you don’t have to.
Acrylic on canvas
51 × 51 × 2 cm
True to my new flavour of abstract.
Mathematical; calculated spontaneity.
This one is a real dance.
Acrylic, oil on canvas
76 × 102 × 3 cm
Destined for a room with colour,
or a room with no colour at all.
Oil, oil stick on Belgian linen
80 × 100 × 3 cm
The word that comes to mind standing in front of this one : atmosphere.
Energised, unruly - but gentle.
Floating and layered.
Acrylic on canvas
110 × 110 × 3cm
Indulge me here…. this is an old-soul face with youthful baldness, big dreams and a clear mind. I’d be fascinated to hear the conversations this one would start.
Acrylic on canvas
46 × 46 × 2 cm
There is something very juicy about paint applied with a paint-swollen brush.
The bristles have lost the battle any kind of ratio -
an indulgent amount of medium turns the brush into a swamp on a stick.
Lots of paint means your playing an abundant game - it’s expensive.
Material costs, yes (but we ignore that).
But, time, mainly.
Drying time, thick paint demands breaks to allow things to settle.
The sakes are higher when a canvas is wetter.
There is good mess, rooted in abstraction and expression.
And then there is mess-mess - ultimately, a frustrating place to land.
It’s a fine line.
So, this painting - juicy.
Not a landscape, it’s more intimate. A piece of something naturally occuring, organically woven rather than devised.
The green is rich. Energised.
The strokes are playful.
A canvas to recline opposite to,
to considered.
Acrylic on canvas
65 × 80 × 3 cm
If I were an abstract robot…
(I joke.)
Structured curves is how I describe this one.
Acrylic, oil stick on canvas
104 × 64 × 4 cm
Wildness inherently doesn't want to be tamed.
She's lived with me since summer,
co-existing, her knowing I wasn't done with her.
My intention was to calm her; balance the curves, pull her in, mellow her proportions
and maybe incline her towards some kind of modesty.
She's the kind of woman whose form is burned behind your eyelids.
you go searching -
her smell embedded in your pillow; knowing it is no longer there,
but burying your face anyway because she once lay there.
gestural, painterly. she feels emphasised -
in the same way passionate recollections feel more graphic,
grotesque even,
when we recall them in our minds;
memories that return blurred, with specificity.
so, months passed and I just couldn't/l haven't been able to bring myself to curb her.
To change something is to risk her losing her power.
Who am I to make her behave? To correct her nature?
Especially when I've come to love as she is.
I'm excited for the person who falls for her. the best and most beautiful things are jarringly unique. daringly, so.
Acrylic, oil stick on canvas
104 × 64 × 4 cm