I'm a self-taught artist. My work began from a simple preoccupation: that our inner lives are as real and as populated as the world outside us, and yet almost entirely invisible.

I'm drawn to abstraction because most of what I'm trying to say doesn't have a literal shape. A feeling — embarrassment, longing, the specific relief of getting home — isn't a face or a place. It's a colour that flickers away too fast, a line that won't sit still, a shape that almost resolves into something recognisable and then doesn't.

Abstraction lets me paint the texture of an experience instead of a picture of it. Which has always felt closer to the truth of how feelings actually arrive: not as scenes, but as sensations.

The result is part cartography, part mythology: images that make room for feelings that would usually pass by unnamed.