Painting, for me, begins with fifty years of looking and seeing — and still discovering what the landscape asks of us.

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The landscape is more than a view to be recorded — it is a presence to be experienced through all our senses, simultaneously comforting and foreboding.

I work in oil and cold wax on canvas, building surfaces through repeated intervention — laying down, scraping back, uncovering.

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The medium holds every change; nothing is entirely lost. What emerges is not a description of a place, a coordinate — it is a translation, an amalgamation of memory and perception.

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The forest returns again and again — not as subject matter but as a condition: standing at a threshold, a dividing line, apprehensive but beckoning us forwards.