I have lived at the edge of the English fens for many years and have come to know them well.  I have walked ditches, dykes and drains along their precision-engineered straightness; listened to wind in the reeds at the margins of the gravel pits, the washes the Welland and the Glen.  I have watched smooth herons and tattered crows trace the big skies above splashes of yellow flags and crimson poppies, sheltered beneath willow fronds and caught the intimate embrace of reedmace and bindweed, colonising the banks.

These paintings depict the warp and weft of the fen tapestry - the natural texture on my doorstep.  They are about the spirit of the Fens.