My work is about passion.

I take the skills that I have carved from the hot layers of my ignorance. A life-time’s learning. An uncomromising discipline of drawing and painting and seeing.
My hands are full of potential, swarming with latency.
All that I have learned… All the thousands upon thousands of hours, the mass that throbs and groans a vast living library burned into my touch.
All these pieces… they creak in the bones of my hands and hum in the tips of my stained, callused fingers.
I take these things and I hold them and I am almost ready – almost – just one more, just another – tiny – step and
I breathe deep and I face the fear and I show it my will and I smash it with what I have done and the terror I have beaten. The pain that I have painted through.
The searing violence of living with a passion, a wound, a yearning like mine.
Like yours.
I reach into my ribs.
I gently take the measure of my empathy. I cup my fingers around the blazing will, the warmth of living blood and the shocking, violently raw pain that make up the words and world that is my heart.
I take my skill.
I take my memory (shot through with gaping empty years blank and gone without a sound.)
I take my beautiful heart.

I take all of these things in my hands.
And I force them onto the canvas.

Never, ever believe that you do not know what it is that you see when you look at artwork. Never.
Emerson said “Trust thyself, every heart vibrates to that iron string.”
If it moves you.
If you can feel it, empathise, catch your breath in your throat – if you can see what it has cost me to make what is before you.
If it moves you.
Buy it.

Make it yours.
Place it within your kitchen, your dining room. Your living room. Your bedroom.
Glance every day at what you have.
Buy the beauty that I have tried so hard so hard so desperately hard to show to make to will into existence.

Because that’s what I want.
I want you to know and to feel. To share. To be reminded with each look that you are passionate
Vulnerable
Beautiful
And strong.