Landscape regularly enthralls me, but while I love the untamed and moody glamour of, say, a wild, storm-raked mountain, it's often the tamer, more domesticated scenery that draws me back.
A lot of it is about layers. If humans live somewhere, they adapt the world around them over and over until it becomes a palimpsest, a document rewritten time and again, sometimes leaving evident or hidden traces, sometimes not. Under this school sports field there sits a mosaic, the stone outline of a roman bathhouse; under that new development was once a tapestry of thin, battered concrete, swathes of coltsfoot, bee orchids; under a hilltop copse or a quiet, ploughed field, who knows? The layers, long gone or still existing or no more than the accretion of time, pair together place and memory - ours and the land's. We borrow landscape features for ourselves, too - landmarks on personal maps; fragments of stories told or untold.
I explore ideas mostly through printmaking and book arts, and sell through exhibitions, fairs and open studio events, but please get in touch if something catches your eye and you'd like to know more.