Trees
I paint trees because they feel like companions rather than subjects. When I’m working, I’m not trying to describe what a tree looks like — I’m responding to how it feels to stand near one, to notice its quiet persistence, its generosity with shade, colour, and time.
Colour leads the way for me. I let it carry mood, memory, and movement, allowing each tree to emerge slowly, intuitively. Some feel playful, others grounded or contemplative. None are fixed.
They shift as I work, much like trees do themselves — adapting, leaning, reaching.
These paintings are not about a specific time or place. They come from moments of looking and being still long enough to notice small changes: light moving through leaves, branches holding space, the sense that something steady is present even when everything else feels in motion. Painting them is a way of paying attention, and of staying connected.
Together, this series feels like a quiet conversation — between colour and form, between the trees and myself, and hopefully between the work and whoever spends time with it.
“The landscape thinks itself in me, and I am its consciousness.”
Paul Cézanne