I make paintings as a direct antidote to my everyday life as someone with autism. They open up a refuge to exist in, where the line between reality and imagination is blurred and there is breathing space to be authentic. Domestic cats transform into tigers and leopards, and close relationships become characters navigating themes and narratives like immigration and isolation. It’s not an idealistic place without problems, but the colours are brighter, the tears saltier and the embraces tighter. 

Dynamic and confident drawings serve as the structure to underpin each painting, and create a space to engage with play through the painting process. Texture sits under smoothly blended surfaces, creamy brushstrokes meet buffed neon cheeks, and traditional rules are not followed. Amidst the narrative of the paintings, a sense of stillness prevails. Each small moment is immortalised and transfigured through the trace of the painting process.

A childhood fascination with American films from the 1980s and 1990s is very present in the atmosphere of the paintings, neon signs glow, cocktails are sipped and cigarettes smoked. There is a yearning to be enveloped by the setting of the paintings, to finally belong somewhere. With each painting reading like a still from a film it is up to the viewer to create their own narrative from the respective moments captured. They are however kept at arm's length, treated like outsiders – voyeurs – looking in on a private moment, a personal nod to my experiences of isolation navigating the world with autism.

Ultimately, the act of making paintings serves a purpose for me. I am looking for myself in my work and answers to likely unanswerable questions about what it is to be alive, belonging, fear, loneliness and love.