A visual notebook
I'm interested in that brief moment before something becomes certain.
A ball still in the air... A shadow crossing a room. A piece of music that changes the atmosphere without asking permission... The small, almost accidental things we notice... and the many we don't.
I cook much the way I paint: with an idea, but rarely a map. Recipes tend to lose my attention somewhere between the first ingredient and the inevitable ‘what if...?’ Then instinct takes over — something sharper, something softer, a little contrast, an unexpected combination.
There's a particular joy in not quite knowing where it will end, then suddenly tasting something that feels as though it had been planned all along.
Perhaps creativity is like that: a little knowledge, a little curiosity, and knowing when to let go...
My mind has a habit of keeping fragments: a movement, a colour, a conversation, the memory of somewhere I may not remember exactly as it was. They return later, rearranged. A line appears. Colours meet unexpectedly. Something familiar becomes abstract.
I rarely know at the beginning what a painting will become. That is part of the pleasure. I follow it until it begins to have its own logic... somewhere between what I remember, what I imagine, and what happens on the canvas.
Perhaps painting is simply where all these fragments go when they refuse to disappear...
Perhaps it all comes down to curiosity — the pleasure of beginning without quite knowing where something might lead...