I was born and raised in a small town called Inglewood which sits below Mt Taranaki. It's not far from the Tasman Sea where we went often; not to swim or have picnics, but to get black paua and fat kina.

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As a child crayons and paper became my escape from my  boisterous brothers.  My father, he told me that he drew cartoons back in the day for the Herald Newspaper (I'm not sure how true that was). Maybe that's where I get it from.  I miss him.

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We used to go places, run bare foot, climb trees, and daydream in long grassy orchards near where the white haired Kuia lived. I have fond memories of many beautiful people, and places like Tarata, Urenui, and Tawata. That's where they linger, the ones that visit when you least expect it; sprinkling their angel dusted thoughts into your consciousness.

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If you've been to that place where you hope your children never go; if you've owned it, then you see so much more clearly and feel more deeply.  The dark is a reminder of the light, and the ugly accentuates the beautiful.  I appreciate what I have.  I treasure who I have.

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And so, driven by my past and inspired by my now, my whanau, my culture, and the luscious landscape of Aotearoa, I release onto canvas.  With no training, I stumble along going by feel, with an insatiable desire to capture the emotion of moments. To somehow hold them forever.