Notes from the Studio: 11 June 2026

I recently read a terrific series of books by Duane Tudahl (duanetudahl.com) covering one of my creative heroes, Prince, and his time in the studio. As I read it, I kept wondering what Prince himself would have said about the making of Purple Rain while he was actually in it. Not the legend looking back, but the artist in the room, mid creation, with paint still wet, so to speak. What would he have passed on?

I suppose that is where the idea for this journal was born. Why do I paint? Is it just to make a living, or is there something deeper going on? Would anyone be interested in reading this, and does that even matter? I am not going to pretend I have the answers. Writing this is how I intend to find out.

I should be upfront about one thing. I work alone. Apart from my family, there are not many people I can bounce ideas off, and being a sole operator means most decisions about my art and my business are made in my own head. A month or so ago, after hearing Richard Dawkins mention it in an interview, I started using an AI called Claude, and it has quietly become the sparring partner I did not know I was missing. It has helped me sharpen my website, refine my philosophy about creating art, and even title my paintings. Some people will find that strange, an artist talking things over with a machine. I find it fascinating, and I would rather be honest about how the work gets made than pretend I do it all in noble solitude. The paintings are still mine. The conversation just helps me hear what I already think.

Recently I asked Claude to title a whole series of new works. I deliberately gave no clue about my intentions behind them. I wanted to see what it would find on its own, and I was genuinely fascinated by what came back. It has learned so much about me by now, the people I admire, the ideas I keep returning to, my likes and dislikes, that it can sometimes see my paintings more clearly than I can, while somehow thinking like me at the same time. All of that gets quietly poured into a five word title. I can only imagine where this is all heading, but for now, I am happy to use it the way I would use a tape measure to measure a board.

On the wall behind my easel, in my own handwriting, is one word: fearless. To its left hangs an early painting by my Dad. To the right, a collage by my mum, and hidden inside it are the words "don't panic". I work every day between those two instructions. I did not plan it that way, but I cannot think of a better answer to the question of why I paint. It is in the blood, and it asks for courage, and the courage is the point.

More soon, when there is something worth saying.