Things I’ve Noticed…
For a long time, I called this journal Studio Notes — a place to share glimpses into my painting process and the stories behind my work.
Over time, I realised that the beginnings of my paintings often happen long before I enter the studio. They begin with noticing: a shift in light, the colour of a field, the sound of birdsong, the texture of a hedgerow, or a fleeting moment in the landscape.
This is a place to gather those observations — the small things that catch my attention and, sometimes, find their way into a painting.
I’d love for you to join the conversation — if something here sparks a thought, makes you smile, or inspires an idea, drop me a comment! It’s always a joy to hear from fellow creative adventurers.
Working Without a Map…
Most of my paintings begin without a clear destination.
I might start with a remembered place, a particular quality of light, or the feeling of weather moving through a landscape — but rarely with a fixed image in mind. Over the years, I’ve learned that not knowing where a piece is going isn’t a problem to be solved. It’s a space to work within.
Why I Keep Returning to the Same Landscapes…
There’s a question I’m asked fairly often — sometimes by others, sometimes quietly by myself — why do you keep returning to the same landscapes?
Why the marshes and big skies of the Norfolk coast?
Why the long horizons, the shifting light, the meeting of land, sea, and sky?
And equally, why the pull of the mountains — the brooding forms of Glencoe, the vast openness of the Isle of Skye, the sense of scale and weather that feels so far removed from everyday life.