I usually compare my the painting and the creative part of my life as a path in the forest. The path winds between roots and rocks, under the trees chandeliers and lowhanging branches. Sometimes the path takes me deeper into the forest, sometimes it leads me to the ocean.

Sometimes the path takes me nowhere and then I usually find it better to turn back again. Back home to the house and the garden that waits for me with its great oaktrees and the warm and sunny bridge.

Back to the my studio filled with brushes, dented colourtubes and filthy cottonrags. There in the eveninglight and the shadows my visuals from the walk in the forest comes back. Sometimes other visuals visits me. From the ocean or from small tiny islands of the Vietnamese coast.