I paint selfishly for my own enjoyment and peace of mind. I seek out the quiet uncluttered corners of the valleys and towns in Wales. The backstreets, lanes, deserted high streets and industrial wastelands.

Painted in any colour pallet I choose at the time which can engulf the colour spectrum or omit the majority. For me they are all worthy of attention and capture in oil paint. They are of what I have known all my life but they have no deep meaning, no point to make , no opinion and no story line. Deliberately so.

These are inconsequential images with no big deal behind them. But that presupposition has changed. I became enlightened by the fact that these paintings mattered in different ways to different people. They saw them as a captured memory or moment in their lives. Meaning nothing to the next person, nor I, but of importance to them. What was narcotic to me was to others a stimulating recollection and above all meaning.

These prosaic and lowly scenes do have stories to tell through so many people (past and present) . Because of and belonging exclusively to the viewer. There is entity in all paintings after all