About

I paint the moments people forget they're having.

The morning coffee before anyone else is up. The beach at 8am when it still belongs to the locals. A group of friends on a walk, the kind of scene that looks like nothing and everything at the same time. I keep coming back to the ordinary. Not because it's comfortable but because when you actually look at it, it's where everything important is happening.

The work has a tension built into it that I find hard to explain but easy to show. Stand back and it's a coloured field. Vast, quiet, the kind of thing that makes a room feel like it's breathing. Walk toward it and something changes. A figure. Then another. A dog on a lead. A shark, completely calm, passing a metre and a half beneath a paddleboarder who has absolutely no idea. The closer you get the more there is. That's the point. Large worlds for small moments.

For a decade I did other things. Paramedic first where I was on frontlines with real stakes doing the kind of work that changes how you see people. Then executive strategy, which is a different kind of high stakes entirely. The painting went quiet during all of that. Not completely gone, just very quiet. When my son was born something clicked into place. I thought, I'm going to spend his whole life telling him to chase what matters to him. I should probably be doing that myself. So I came back to the studio and stopped keeping the most important thing about me to myself.

Each piece takes longer than it looks. Every vignette is built from hundreds of reference images of real people, real places, real light. I care about getting it right more than I probably need to. I think that comes through when you're standing in front of it.
Originals come out in collections with time-limited prints. When the window closes, it's closed.