Echo-two Print

My favourite stage of the process is when a painting has only just begun; I’ve maybe sketched something in my notebook, made larger pencil drawings on a canvas and added some colour, suggesting a form or basic structure. I know the scaffolding is there, ready for a state of mind to take over. This is when a painting’s reason for being is born. It’s not planned in the sketch, and often different from my original thought. It’s the true beginning, for me; where the act of painting becomes instinctive, and a deeper relationship between form and colour reveals itself. I don’t always know where the intention is going; there is an element of mystery and the unknown. I have to be flexible, not to impose my own decisions while the painting takes on depth, value, emotion. The idea is out there in the ether. I must lose myself, in a sense to allow that idea to be found in the moment. If I can do this successfully, it means something spontaneous from that stage of composition is captured, but it still leaves the work open to a personal interpretation from the viewer. The most important part is to let the painting live its life. My most recent work is a small collection of paintings entitled “The Pinnacle of Consciousness,” exploring the concept of boundaries, confinement and sense of self.