About

Capture what remains when form gives way to memory.

My work begins with a feeling rather than a place.

I am drawn to the atmosphere that remains after we have left somewhere—the particular light of a landscape, the cool shadow beneath an arch, the stillness of water, a garden glimpsed through an opening. These fragments stay with us long after their details have softened. In my paintings, I return to them not to recreate what the eye once saw, but to explore what memory chose to keep.

Working primarily in oils, I build translucent layers of colour, softened edges and gestural marks, allowing forms to emerge and recede as memories do. Architecture, water, botanical forms and light drift between abstraction and recognition. An arch may begin as something encountered on a journey, but within the painting it becomes something more—a threshold between past and present, the tangible and imagined, what we remember and what we feel.

There is a quiet romance in this uncertainty that fascinates me. We may forget the precise shape of a building, the road that brought us there or even the year in which we stood before it, yet somehow remember the warmth of the stone, the movement of water, or the way sunlight appeared beyond a doorway. The image fades, but the feeling remains.

More recently, this search has led me towards reduction.

I began to wonder what would happen if I removed the colour, the layers and eventually even the recognisable architecture. What would remain?

Working with black ink on handmade paper has become a way of travelling backwards towards the origin of an idea. The fibres and imperfections of the paper carry their own sense of time. Architecture is no longer described but remembered: an arch becomes a gesture, a doorway a mark, a landscape a quiet horizon. The spaces I leave untouched have become as important as those I paint.

I don’t see this as a departure from my oil paintings. It is a return to their foundations.

We are capable of longing for richness and simplicity at the same time. There are moments when we want colour, depth and accumulated stories, and others when a single mark and an expanse of silence can move us more deeply. My practice exists somewhere between these two impulses—between abundance and restraint, presence and absence, memory and imagination.

Oil will remain an important language within my work, but ink has allowed me to see more clearly what has always existed beneath the layers: a search for atmosphere, stillness and light.

Ultimately, I am not trying to tell the viewer exactly where they are.

I hope the paintings awaken something more personal—a half-remembered journey, a place once loved, the sensation of standing beside water, sunlight beyond an arch, or simply the inexplicable familiarity of somewhere we may never have been.

They are invitations to pause, to wander and perhaps to remember.

Before colour, there is light.
Before detail, there is gesture.
Before architecture, there is the human desire to find meaning.

Paint not what the eye sees, but what the soul remembers.