For me, art is about painting a feeling. Some feelings I manage to capture within an hour or two, while others can take much longer — for instance, I worked on one of my favourite paintings, Mosaic of Disarray, for four years, on and off. Despite all this effort, when friends and family ask me to explain the meaning of the end result, I never can: I paint without intellectualising, letting my hand be pulled toward different colours; I feel like a child, never knowing where I’m being led. I do know when I’ve arrived, though: it’s when I look down at the picture mid-brushstroke, and realise the exact feeling I’ve been trying to communicate is flooding through my body. I find that moment of completion incredibly emotional: it’s perhaps my main incentive for painting. Of course, it’s fine if other people don’t get the same feeling as me from a piece — I’m just happy if they like it, for whatever reason.