I make paintings and prints, almost always of the suburban and semi-rural spaces at the edge of the town where I live. I’ve done this for some years, but continue to experiment with different ways of doing it.
I make my pictures because I’m struck that there’s a world to see, and that I’m here to see it. I'm not moved to record conspicuously beautiful views because, if I did, you'd think you knew why I'd done it. Instead, I depict ordinary places - those bits of the world that I'm in nearly all the time. I do this to point them out, firstly to myself, and then to others: places that don’t depend on us for their existence but which, in our absence, wouldn’t be disclosed.
The three-part picture displayed holds on to one nearby landscape. In preparation, I used a range of techniques to record its various elements: tonal sketches, flowing brushstrokes, precise drawings. Alive to this, I thought to combine several idioms in a linked work, supposing that no single approach was up to the task.
I chose different types of representation to match the approach I would most naturally lean to for the five separate parts that are combined in the whole piece. Yet where these parts butt against each other there are tensions. It’s like when the edges of my understandings of the world (common sense, religious, scientific, superstitious, rational, gendered, Western, White British...) rub up against each other. Perhaps in art as well as life our take on things can’t be a singular 'world view' with its implied lack of ambiguity.