The Studio I Kept Walking Past
On a weekend with two artist friends, a park in autumn, and the painting that came out of it.
Most of what I do happens alone. The studio is a quiet, particular kind of solitude — necessary, but never quite enough on its own. Painting requires something to paint from, and that something has to come from somewhere outside the four walls where I work.
Edinburgh, From the Floor
On a weekend with two artist friends, a park in autumn, and the painting that came out of it.
Most of what I do happens alone. The studio is a quiet, particular kind of solitude — necessary, but never quite enough on its own. Painting requires something to paint from, and that something has to come from somewhere outside the four walls where I work.
Where the Colour Comes From
On a weekend with two artist friends, a park in autumn, and the painting that came out of it.
Most of what I do happens alone. The studio is a quiet, particular kind of solitude — necessary, but never quite enough on its own. Painting requires something to paint from, and that something has to come from somewhere outside the four walls where I work.
Finding Permission at the British Art Fair
On the exhibit that made me call myself an artist for the first time.
There is a particular kind of nerve required to walk into a contemporary art fair when you have never quite called yourself an artist.