Fine-art giclée reproduction printed on premium matte paper.
Unframed · £4.95 UK delivery · £30 US delivery.
Outside the UK or USA? International orders by arrangement.
The Tempest began as a seascape. I spent ages building a quiet shoreline at sunset, trying to replicate the soft water, fading light, and that particular stillness that comes when the weather has passed, and everything seems calm again.
And then I had the overwhelming urge to paint over it. Genius or reckless, who knows?
The sweep of deep purple came first, cutting straight through all that carefully constructed calm. Then fine white lines followed: restless, tangled and slightly frantic. They could be wind, waves or the remnants of a storm.
For me, they're closer to the noise inside my head. The whole painting reflects the juxtaposition that my neurodivergent brain often faces: the strange contradiction of everything appearing still while your thoughts are doing absolutely nothing of the sort.
Perhaps the tempest isn't always what's happening around us, but what's happening in us.
