My dad worked at the tip and always brought home treasures for me. I work with unwanted suitcases full of old photos and personal mementos from the tip where they have been discarded and were ready to be destroyed. By obsessively trawling through the images and stories I create expired characters I feel energise a work that I can entertain.

I abruptly break the dimensional boundaries of painting by attacking the idea of canvas and frame with loaded oil bars and available materials. My studio is my ever changing loaded space filled with iconography that exhumes my thoughts and physical identity.

Awkward faces planted amongst intense settings. I paint paused static images loaded in colour that allow my hectic linear eyes and chattering teeth to narrate a scene.

By juxtaposing masked characters in a conflicting realm I portray a yearning I both detest and desire to painterly please.

Through imagery I aim to address rules of framing sanity and indifferent approaches to life.

Driven by a long fear of approaching portraiture I now find myself utterly obsessed with creating seemingly simple faces through line. This has turned out to be my most pained anguish.    

I developed severe epilepsy 5 years ago and now i am identified as disabled. This is a very new place to what i can remember before being diagnosed as epileptic and told that i am disabled.

I feel conflicted by the sudden use of the term disabled featuring daily in my life. I do not feel disabled yet my body disagrees.

I like to avoid identifying as disabled but have unfortunately learnt this can actually

turn out to be very selfish and although i find others react differently when told,

I now have a new identity that i will always be conflicted by.       

I am still an artist

I still make art that reflects upon human behaviour

These two things are the aspects that have not been affected by the new conflict with my identity.