I have recently been asked why I create art?  It has been a surprisingly challenging
question in which I have had to delve deep and uncover new truths about the
work I create. 

I have been making pictures for so long now that it has
become integral to my everyday being; it is something akin to breathing-an
automatic process that allows me to live. 

The facets for creating my paintings are manifold.  There are linked to the loss of my sister
when I was merely a boy; they are triggered by the bullet which my father put
through his head when I was 21 and studying 3,000 miles away.  They are rooted in the veneer table-top which
threw demonic faces and voices at me when I was 17 and experienced my first
bout of depression. They are intertwined with all the deep regrets I retain and
all the exhilarating hopes I have for a better tomorrow.  They are steeped in my fascination with the
human form and peoples abilities to be either so generous or so cruel.  They are linked to the politics, history and
social studies I have done throughout my life. 
They are emblematic of a man trying to make some sense of order in his
own mind while also trying desperately to come to some kind of understanding
about the chaotic world in which he inhabits.