aRTIST STATEMENT

Colour lies at the heart of my practice. It is a beginning, an anchor, and a language of emotion. Working across large-scale wet felting, hand knitting, and intarsia machine knitting I respond to colour instinctively, allowing combinations to emerge that resonate deeply, sometimes unexpectedly. There is no pre-planned palette, no sketch; instead, I move through the work by feeling. Texture, material and the rhythm of making unfold the composition slowly. My choices - of shade, of fibre, of tension - are deliberate, shaped by time and return, by looking again and listening to what the work is becoming.

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Colour becomes a bridge between my own sensation and what I hope to stir in the viewer - a moment of recognition, of joy, of pause. Each piece is a slow, intuitive response to landscape - both external and internal. I work without a plan, allowing colours, textures, and material shifts to guide the form. Making becomes a form of reflection and discovery as I explore the intersection of time, landscape and materiality in my work, through the language of textiles.

Within my practice, there is an ongoing meditation on landscape. Not landscape in the traditional, representational sense, but landscape as system, atmosphere, memory, and movement - something external and internal, familiar and elusive, held within a body, a moment, a gesture, a colour.

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My practice is grounded in slowness, In repetition and in the physical act of making. With intarsia, I knit on a domestic machine, changing yarns by hand stitch by stitch, gradually building shapes that echo skies, mountains, internal landscapes of colour and emotion. Wet felting begins like painting - fibres blended by hand and laid onto bubble wrap, then saturated with water and transformed through heat, pressure, and persistence. I sprinkle the water like seeds, watching the wool bloom beneath my palms, working it with force and tenderness. These tactile processes become a way of thinking and remembering through the hands. My process becomes a quiet collaboration between me and the textile, a rhythm of building, pausing, and responding. This slow unfolding is mirrored in how I hope the work is

received. To spend time with it is to notice what may not have been seen at first glance—a hidden stitch, a layered thread, a shift in texture or tone. These small discoveries, like the details in a landscape, invite reflection.