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 the British folk craft canal ware: obsessive, repetitive mark-making found on often obsolete, ordinary, domestic objects and tools. The layering is deliberate. Like sediment. You recognise the folk motifs. You recognise the blots. Until you don't. It sits together but it shouldn't, not really. Resonance transmits across each boundary. The painting asks what persists.

So I answer: I'm still here.