In words:
I make paintings today for the same reason I did when I was 12. The subject matter has changed over the years, as has the medium and the battery of others who have informed me has grown, but other than that, the affiliation with an inanimate object, akin to the telepathy of twins remains the same. I use this analogy, because the type of concentration involved in making a painting seems to be as close, intimate and even psychic as that connection.
Making a painting involves simultaneous decisions. There are a plethora of choices regarding colour, form, mark making and composition, which begin and end your day. You set your mind on solving a problem, and begin the process of making an image that didn’t exist before that point. There comes a juncture during the initial mechanics of hit and miss when your brain engages with the object. For instance, two adjacent colours become sublime companions and a rush of adrenalin is released. From this point, you have a window of time where you’re running with it, decisions are made before you realized you made them, the painting seems to be working with you; you are together. At the very peak of concentration, you’re perfectly bilingual in a language that twenty minutes previously you were struggling to understand at all.
Whatever I paint, this curious capacity to mentally synchronize – almost as if the subject were alive and in some way telepathic; your ‘twin’ – is essential for the communication of what initially began as an idea based on a storm-lit walk, or a face that you can’t stop thinking about, or a sighting from a car window.  It is not easy to describe or even understand post that peak in which you are immersed in the work, but it is this concentration that holds onto you, and it is why in the end I continue to paint.