Where it begins
A garden in Kildare,
a bag of crisps
Some memories never leave you. Taken from a real photograph — my grandfather in the garden by the vegetable patch, peeling potatoes. The field in front, not behind. I've painted myself into it, sitting beside him eating Tayto crisps — a play on the potato connection between the two of us. A moment I'm sure happened, many a time.
That sense of place — of belonging somewhere, of land and family and the particular quality of Irish light — runs through everything I paint, even when I'm standing in London.
See the painting