Starting a new artwork is rarely smooth. A clean panel leans against the wall, waiting for the first marks. The hand hesitates, then moves. Scratches and pressure break the surface, awkward but necessary. Those first marks stay buried under layers of paint and plaster that build the final piece.

A frame does more than contain. It sets proportion, adds protection and gives the work its distance from the wall. When timber, colour and depth align, the frame becomes invisible and the piece can breathe. Making some frames by hand slows the work in a useful way and keeps the decisions close.

The garden table holds notes, sketches, and pauses. Not separate from the studio, it carries its own quiet role in the process.

In the studio, the pace slows as plaster dries more slowly. Each layer asks for patience, for space to breathe and settle. Waiting becomes part of the rhythm, a quiet act of trust between artist and material. Light shifts, surfaces change, and the work evolves in its own time.