There is a sort of maddening frustration which afflicts a workaholic who cannot work, a creative urge which cannot find an outlet. In this purgatory of my body's own making, I found clay.
With clay I began to construct a language to express my experiences with chronic illness.
I played with paper and polymer but nothing matched the immediacy of clay - its ability to be monumental and still capture the delicacy of a fingerprint. There is something visceral and cathartic about making art with your hands; shaping something in a medium which can be altered by the heat of your skin.
Chronic illness has altered my life; it has been something of a new becoming. It is very powerful to be able to guide the future of a piece when you are conscious of just how little control you have over your own life and body.
I am a figurative sculpture, bent on exploring our relationship with ourselves and the world around us using mythology and folklore.
For me, mythology is a primal thing. It is a search for truth. It sums up our human desire for understanding so neatly that I can think of no better lens through which to confront and explore.
I strive for realism in my work, not down to the pores of the skin but down to the rhythm of our underlying musculature. There is a poetry of rightness to the body when captured skilfully. The Sinclair Method allows me to create a form from its internal architecture and vital proportions upwards so that, even unfinished, there is beauty in the clay and character.
At first glance my sculptures are classical in nature and mythic in content but it doesn't take much to realise there is more going on. My work seeks to be visually arresting and is often darkly humorous. It embodies the pitches and peaks of human emotion, the moments which catch us off guard, bowl us over with sheer elation and leave us struggling to breathe.