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You have shared with us some great inspiration images of refracting light, shadows and architecture that have informed your artwork. Can you tell us more about these influences and anything else that inspires you?

I am frequently inspired by shadows and reflected light, their movement and the way they transform a space. I like to use them as a visual metaphor for the passage of time. I’m particularly drawn to the way geometric, man-made structures interact with nature, and to the glistening and shifting quality of sunlight.

I’m also fascinated by the movement of lines and repetition in shapes. I think I have a natural eye for shape, structure and repetition and notice these things wherever I go. I find that endlessly inspiring.

Your background is in design. How does this inform the way you approach your painting?

I think design is quite natural to who I am as a person. I have an instinctive eye for composition, structure and proportion, and I tend to notice these things everywhere I go. My training in design has certainly helped develop and refine the way I see.

My background has given me an instinct for structure and order, and grids and geometry are a strong part of my visual language. I see these as a framework to work within, considering how the elements of a composition relate to each other to create balance and rhythm, while still allowing the painting to feel tactile and handmade.

There is also an element of editing and restraint in my process. I like to simplify, remove or refine elements until the composition feels resolved. Negative space is extremely important to me; it gives the work room to breathe, and the areas with less detail can be just as important to the overall composition as those with more visual information.

Your paintings often begin with photographs, observations or moments from the world around you. How do you transform those experiences into abstract works?

Often it starts with something very ordinary that catches my attention - a shadow falling across a building, the way light reflects from a window, a particular arrangement of lines or shapes, or the way natural and built environments interact.

I might photograph or sketch these moments, but that’s just the starting point. I’m not trying to recreate the scene. I’m interested in what initially caught my attention and how I can reduce that experience down to its essential shapes, lines, colours and relationships.

From there, it becomes much more abstract. I’ll experiment with cropping, simplifying, rearranging and removing elements until I’m left with something that captures the feeling or idea that interested me in the first place.

I think that is where the personal part of the work comes in. The original moment might be something I observed, but by the time it becomes a painting it has been filtered through my own memory, perspective and interpretation. It becomes less about representing a particular place or moment and more about capturing an experience of it.

Can you walk us through your artistic process for this body of work, from the first initial ideas to the finished exhibition?

For this body of work, my process evolved through defining my parameters and setting some clear boundaries around what I wanted to achieve. I already knew the themes I wanted to explore, having worked with these ideas for the past year or so, and wanted to continue developing them.

I decided on the number and sizes of the works, then experimented with paint, developing a limited colour palette and exploring different textures and colour combinations on a sample piece of plywood that I could refer back to throughout the process.

I developed around twenty ideas for the ten paintings, which I then pared back and formalised into a final vision for the exhibition. I compiled this into a quick sketchbook overview (which I’ve since posted on Instagram, if you’re interested). It gave me a clear framework and helped keep the decisions moving forward. I was working to a pretty tight timeline, so this approach really worked for me.

I worked on two or three backgrounds at a time, then completed the detailing one by one. I let the works sit before reassessing them as a group a few weeks before the deadline, making final adjustments and touch-ups before signing them.

I also painted the edges of the panels and hand-painted each frame to match its painting. I really enjoyed these final finishing touches, which made each work feel even more unique and complete.

Your artworks involve such intricate mark making, beautiful colour palettes and a variety of textures. Can you give us some insight into your use of material, techniques and processes?

I paint on wooden panels using acrylic paint. I like experimenting with different techniques for treating the wood so that I can achieve different effects. For example, I sometimes create an almost wood-stain effect where the natural timber grain comes through.

I also use impasto paste to build up layers and contrasting textures - rough and smooth, hard-edged lines alongside more expressive, hand-painted elements.

In the past, I aimed for a smooth and precise finish, but recently I’ve embraced more texture and the evidence of the hand in my work. I want that human element to always be present, so there is no mistaking that these are one-off, hand-painted works.

Your work is highly geometric and structured, but also clearly handmade. How do you balance precision with the human element of painting?

I think the grid and geometric structure actually help to contain the more spontaneous and chaotic side of my painting. I’m quite instinctive when I paint, especially the backgrounds, and I love getting hands-on with the materials, building up texture, experimenting with paint. There can be quite a lot of energy and chaos in that process!

The structure gives me something to work against. The grid, repetition and geometric elements create a sense of order, which allows me to be much more spontaneous within it. I like that tension between the two.

I also really love the physicality of painting. I want the hand of the artist to be visible and for the work to feel like it has been made, rather than manufactured. The texture, the variations in the paint and the small imperfections are all part of that.

For me, precision isn’t about trying to control every aspect of the painting. It is more about creating enough structure to let the more intuitive and expressive parts of my process come through.

Do you ever have creative blocks in your artistic process and if so, what tricks do you have to keep moving forward?

For me, creative blocks tend to come from having too many possibilities and not being able to make decisions. The best way for me to move forward is to set myself limitations.

I do this by setting myself a brief of sorts. For example, I might give myself 20 minutes to do a sketch, using just three colours and based on a particular moment of inspiration. By setting those limitations, there is a tangible result at the end rather than me sitting there thinking, “What should I do?”

I find this helps even if the result is rough, because it usually leads me on to the next thing. It gives me something to respond to and gets me moving in the right direction.

What role does experimentation play in your studio practice?

Experimentation is an important part of my practice. I am always experimenting with adding more textures and with optical blending, where colours interact and visually blend when they are overlaid.

I’ve also been experimenting with relief work since 2016 (can’t believe it’s been that long!). I’m still a little hesitant to release that work into the world fully until I feel it is absolutely perfect, but I’m getting there!

And I have some new things that I’m really excited to start developing in the studio, particularly some new experiments I’m doing with oils. I’m looking forward to seeing where those take me.

What do you hope viewers take away from encountering your work?

I would love the viewer to stop, really look at the work and think, “What is this about?” Then perhaps learn the title and start to think a little deeper - “What does this mean to me?”

For me, that is one of the most important aspects of my work. I know what I was thinking when I created each piece and what it means to me, but I deliberately give my works titles that offer a starting point rather than a definitive answer.

I want the viewer to be able to take an idea and run with it on their own terms, connecting it to their own experiences and interpretations. I love it when someone sees something in my work that I hadn’t considered, or interprets it completely differently from how I intended, but finds something that is unique and meaningful to them.

I think that process of connection is particularly important to the themes I explore. We all experience the same world differently, and our memories, experiences and perspectives continually shape how we see it. In that sense, the work can continue to evolve through the viewer - taking on a new meaning over time and creating a personal connection between the work, the viewer and their own experience.

What does a typical day look like in your studio and what is on the playlist?

The specific content of my day varies from day to day, but one constant is that I try to paint as much as possible during the 9am-2.30pm window while my kids are at school. I try to push any admin, marketing or computer work outside of those hours as much as I can.

That core painting time is crucial, whether I’m working on sketches for ideas, backgrounds, patterning or experimentation. It is solid, uninterrupted thinking and studio time - not counting all of the disruptions from my feline studio assistants, of course.

What’s on the playlist? Usually my go-to is Andrew Bird or Nick Cave. It depends on how dark I want to get. Or how loud. Later in the day I might move on to a mix of The National, Arcade Fire or other Indie-type bands. Sometimes I go full retro 1950s, Film Scores or Classical. Music is extremely important to me in the creative process. I need to feel creatively stimulated but also ‘at home’ or nostalgic.

It also depends on what part of the process I’m up to. If I’m working on backgrounds and textures, I tend to be louder and more stimulated. But for the repetitive patterning, I need soothing, repetitive music - or even no music at all. That part of the process is much quieter and more mindful.