Page 108 - Winter Issue

The Moon often serves as the light source in your work, casting elongated shadows and creating a
dreamlike atmosphere. What significance does the Moon hold for you, and how does it contribute to the
overall mood of your pieces?
The Moon is universally associated with the night, a time that can be restful and serene or empty and unknown.
Sometimes The Moon provides a soft, gentle glow but at other times it can be cold and harsh providing an intense light
similar to the chiaroscuro of the works of Caravaggio or Rembrandt. As the only light source, all shadows fall away from
The Moon. This helps to create tension in my work and a feeling of the unknown.
How do you approach the balance between dynamic, movement-inspired compositions and the
tranquillity of your sensitive color palette? What kind of tension or harmony do you seek to create
through this contrast?
I favor blues in my work as the color sits nicely in the spectrum between energetic violets and calming greens. This allows
me to create "pockets" of stability in my painting which relaxes the overall aesthetic and prevents my dynamic
compositions from becoming vortices of chaos.
Charity and community seem important in your artistic practice, given your support of various causes
through your work. How does your involvement with these causes influence your creative process or the
themes you explore?
Most of the charity events that I support showcase my work to a much broader audience than the usual gallery patrons.
The expectations of a casual viewer of art compared to those of an aficionado are very different and this presents the
challenge of how to engage with them as the viewer. The result is that my work expands further into concepts and
techniques that I would not have previously considered.
Your use of extreme perspective creates feelings of vertigo and movement. How do you technically
achieve these effects, and what challenges do you face in maintaining that balance between motion and
stillness?
I am very aware of the golden ratio and the rule of thirds. With this in mind, I position vanishing points and the line of
sight in such a way that the entire image feels "unstable". In my seascapes, this is hardly unexpected but in other scenes,
this creates quite a sense of urgency and drama.
Much of your art presents uninhabited, desolate scenes. How do these empty spaces reflect your personal
experiences, and what do they say about the human presence—or lack thereof—in your work?

Health battles are fought alone and there are many
situations in life where we feel isolated. The lack of human
presence is a way of exploring this notion while still keeping
my works broad enough for the viewer to identify with.
Although there is narrative in my work it is important that
the viewer can find their meaning in what they see.
Looking back at your first solo exhibition in Salisbury,
how has your artistic vision evolved over time,
particularly in relation to the exploration of duality
and the impact of your personal journey?
Time has only enhanced my exploration of the concept. My
illness, and subsequent sensory problems, have encouraged
me to experiment more with textured mediums. This not only
broadens the visual concept of duality (the texture and visual
image can complement or contrast each other) but it also
widens the audience as art that can be touched can be
"viewed" by those with visual impairment. This is quite an
advancement from my earlier work and not something I had
anticipated.

Harmony
Acrylic on canvas, 66x56cm, 2023

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