A life in layers
Artist, photographer, urban explorer. Always curious
I'm the sort of person who gets properly absorbed in things. A new craft, a long walk, a city I've never been to — I like going deep rather than skimming the surface.
I make things with my hands: lino prints of ginkgo leaves, watercolour studies, pots on a wheel. I play music — piano, double bass — more for the feeling of it than any performance. I cook by instinct and season. I notice trees.
This page is a portrait of sorts. Not a résumé. Just the things that make me, me.
There's something deeply satisfying about finishing something that didn't exist before — even if it's lopsided or imperfect. A carved woodblock. A pot that holds water. A sketch that captures the light at a particular time of day.
Japanese woodblock printing, lino cutting, ceramics, watercolours, oils, acrylics, woodworking, printmaking — I've followed whatever thread pulled hardest. The overlap between disciplines is where it gets interesting.
A lot of what I make has to do with the natural world: plants, trees, the grain in wood. I find detail endlessly compelling.
Pimlico, London in Spring
I pay attention to things most people walk past. The shape of a leaf. The key a street musician is playing in. The way light changes a room entirely.
Soul, jazz, folk, and a few voices that just never get old. Music that moves rather than just fills a room — the kind that makes you stop what you're doing and actually listen. Nina Simone at dinner. Bon Iver on a grey morning. Lake Street Drive whenever.
I keep coming back to artists who were obsessed with observation — the way Hiroshige turns a rainstorm into geometry, or Seurat makes you see that daylight is actually made of a hundred different colours.
There's a pointillist discipline in how I try to see the world: slowly, in pieces, letting the whole emerge. Monet's patience. Lucian Freud's unflinching honesty. Van Rysselberghe's light.
Angkor Wat
Bushy Park, London at sunset
Some of my best days have been the simplest: a long walk somewhere new, a camera in my pocket, stopping to identify a tree I don't recognise. I like the slow pace of proper exploration — taking the longer route, eating where the locals eat.
City exploration and long distance walks, Angkor Wat at dawn and Bushy Park at dusk — the common thread is paying attention to wherever I happen to be.
My food taste runs towards the complex and the bright — things with an edge. Dark chocolate with a good book. Fresh limes in most things. The hit of ginger. Yuzu when I can find it. Matcha in the morning, medjool dates in the afternoon.
If any of this resonates, or you're wondering what the ginkgo print looks like in person — I'd love to hear from you.
The best conversations start somewhere unexpected.