Epilogue: The Work Continues (2026)

When I began this book, I thought I was looking back at forty years of paintings.

Instead, I discovered a single journey.

The images changed.

The materials changed.

The subjects changed.

But the direction never did.

For many years I believed I was moving from one project to another.

Now I see that I was quietly following a single thread.

A thread I could only recognise by looking back.

Looking back, I realise that my work never began with certainty.

It never began with a plan.

It began with listening.

Listening to a line.

Listening to a painting.

Listening to what wanted to appear, rather than to what I wanted to make.

Only now do I understand where that listening was leading me.

Space.

Not empty space,

but the space in which something can appear.

At first I did not recognise it.

Only now can I see how it returned, again and again, always in another form.

With Morandi, it was the space between the bottles.

In The Fourth Dimension, the space behind the visible world.

In the Falling Angels, the space between heaven and earth.

In Chartres, the space of the labyrinth.

In The Odyssey, the space of the journey.

In Inner Landscapes, the landscape within.

In the bowls, the space they were made to hold.

In the scrolls, the space that slowly unfolds.

In Unknown Territory, the space hidden in reflection.

In calligraphy, the empty paper that gives meaning to every brushstroke.

In the circles, space itself became the subject.

And in Cartography of Belonging, the space between hundreds of small paintings became part of the work itself.

Only now do I understand.

I was never searching for a new subject.

I was learning to recognise the same space,

again and again,

in another form.

I never set out to paint space.

I discovered it by painting.

The work gradually moved towards less.

Less explanation.

Less narrative.

Less certainty.

More attention.

More silence.

More trust.

I began by painting what I could see.

Slowly I began painting how I see.

And eventually I no longer wanted to describe the world.

I wanted to create a place where seeing itself could happen.

For many years I thought I was making paintings.

Looking back, I realise that the paintings were quietly shaping me.

The discovery did not come before the paintings.

It came through them.

Perhaps that is why the work has never really stood still.

Not because I was searching for something new,

but because attention itself is always alive.

Every painting.

Every journey.

Every mistake.

Every conversation.

Every beginning.

Every ending.

All of them belong to the same work.

The journey was never about arriving.

It was about learning to see.

And perhaps that is all art can ever do.

Open a space.

And leave it open.

The Work continues and is becoming The Way