Curious about me, my inspiration, or the story behind Wavism? You’ll find answers to some questions below.

Can you tell us a bit about your journey as an artist - pivotal moments, milestones, and any early signs of creativity or influences that shaped the way you work today

Creativity was always there for me from a young age, but my path into becoming an artist was quite unconventional. I studied Physics at university and then spent seven years working in Tech across a variety of roles after graduating. Painting actually began as a creative outlet for me in 2019 - something that existed completely separately from my career at the time -  and from there, it grew very organically.

One of the first major turning points came in September 2020, when I finally landed on a visual style that genuinely felt like my own. I’d spent that entire summer experimenting relentlessly with different materials, techniques and tools, and after months of trial and error, something finally clicked. It was the first time the work felt fully aligned with me creatively.

Another pivotal moment was making the decision to fully commit to painting - allowing it to become not just something I loved, but something I built my life around. I didn’t go full-time as an artist until 2025, which made that transition feel incredibly meaningful after years of balancing creativity alongside a more traditional career path.

To mark that journey, I held a major solo exhibition in Cavendish Square in September 2025, celebrating the five-year anniversary of developing my style. That show felt incredibly significant because it represented not just the evolution of the work itself, but the years of persistence, experimentation and belief that went into building it.

Wavism has become central to your practice and how people recognise your work. How would you describe it in your own words, and what first led you towards developing that visual language?

To me, Wavism is really about movement, emotion and energy translated through flowing form. It sits somewhere between abstraction and figuration - recognisable enough to feel familiar, but fluid enough to feel dreamlike or emotional rather than literal.

A lot of it came from an obsession with rhythm in nature: tides, wind, reflections, changing light, the movement of fabric, hair, clouds, water. I became fascinated by how emotion itself feels wave-like - nothing is static. Even memory feels fluid.

Initially, the visual language developed quite naturally through experimentation. I noticed I kept returning to curved forms, soft distortion and repetition. Over time those shapes became more intentional and refined. I think Wavism emerged from wanting to capture not just what something looks like, but what it feels like energetically.

There’s also something freeing about it. Traditional painting can sometimes feel fixed, whereas Wavism allows space for atmosphere, interpretation and emotion. It creates room for the viewer to project their own feelings into the work.

You’ve spoken about spending years learning tone, colour and form so you could eventually “break the rules.” What did that period teach you about your own voice as an artist?

It taught me that freedom in art actually comes from understanding structure first.

For a long time I was very focused on technical development - studying colour relationships, anatomy, composition. At the time, it probably felt slower than I wanted and I had no idea where I was going with it, but looking back I’m incredibly grateful for that period because it gave me the foundations I needed to build on later.

Once you understand why certain rules exist, you can bend them intentionally rather than randomly. I also learned that my strongest work happens when technical understanding and intuition meet. If I lean too far into precision, the work can lose emotional energy. If I lean too far into instinct without structure, it can lose clarity. My voice really emerged in finding the balance between the two.

That period also taught me patience. Developing a genuine artistic voice takes much longer than people often realise. It’s built through repetition, experimentation, failure, refinement and trusting your instincts enough to keep going even before the work fully makes sense.

Developing a recognisable visual language is something many artists spend a lifetime chasing. At what point did you realise Wavism had become something bigger than experimentation?

I think it was when people began recognising my work before they recognised my name. That was a really surreal moment because the visual language had evolved so gradually that, from inside the process, it still felt like experimentation. But over time, people started describing paintings as “so you,” saying they could spot my work instantly while scrolling, or even finding me years after seeing an old Pinterest pin and referring to me as “the wave artist” because they couldn’t remember my name.

I also realised Wavism had become something bigger when it stopped feeling confined to individual paintings and became more like a lens through which I view everything I create. Whether I’m painting figures, water or landscapes, the underlying visual language remains consistent

The emotional response from people has probably been the clearest sign of all. When viewers begin connecting not just to a single piece, but to the atmosphere and feeling of the work as a whole, you realise you’ve created something more cohesive than a style - it becomes its own world.

Building a visual language of your own takes conviction, especially in an industry that can often reward familiarity. Were there moments where you questioned the direction of your practice or style, or found the process challenging? What advice would you give to artists trying to develop a voice of their own?

Definitely. I think every artist questions themselves at some point, especially when you move away from work that feels commercially “safe” or easily understood.

There were periods where I worried the work was becoming too different from what people expected. When you’re developing something personal, there’s often a stage where it doesn’t fit neatly into existing categories yet - and that can feel uncomfortable. 

But I’ve realised that discomfort is usually a sign you’re getting closer to something authentic. And weirdly, it's always the art that I create 'just for me' that seems to resonate the most with other people. 

My advice would be to pay attention to what you naturally return to. The colours, shapes, themes or emotions you keep repeating (or are drawn to in other artists' work) often contain the beginnings of your visual language. And don’t rush the process. The work that feels most 'you' is often the work that initially feels the most vulnerable to share.