I work with scraps of fabric, pieces of paper, cut cardboard, and packing tape.

What others discard, I arrange under natural light and study for hours.

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Everything else follows from that obsessive contemplation: the colour that is not simply white but a constellation of warm and cool tones, the shadow that is not absence but deferred presence, the silence that a well painted surface can hold without collapsing.

 

I have been doing this for more than four decades. Technique is not a merit I display; it is a condition without which none of the above can occur.

 

Edward Lucie-Smith observed that my work produces a meditative state, and I think he is right, although I would put it differently: what I seek is for whoever pauses before a painting to feel that time has changed speed. If that happens, technique has served its purpose and can become invisible.

 

I am figurative because the visible world seems inexhaustible to me. I am minimalist, though not always, because excess bores me. I am contemporary not by declaration but because it is the only moment in which I can exist. I paint alone, in silence, in natural light. Solitude is not a hardship; it is the method.