I make paintings that stack symbolic systems until they speak a language none of them could manage alone. Rorschach inkblots form the ground — the architecture of psychological projection. Over them I paint symmetrically in the tradition of British folk craft canal ware: the obsessive, repetitive mark-making found on decorated, often obsolete, ordinary domestic objects. The layering is deliberate. Like a sediment. You recognise the folk motifs. You recognise the blots. And then you don't. It sits together but it shouldn't. Resonance transmits across boundaries. Each painting asks what persists.

I answer: I'm still here.