Sitting on the tube
thinking why?
Why would I paint?

To me its not about pointing.
I am ‘humble
but in a bad way’.

And how?
I don’t have have the arrogance
to change the colour of life.

I would paint for the love of it.
Not the love of painting
but the love of life,
of people, of space.

The sound of an orange anorak
moving on a plaited Russian girl.
For the patterns on the steps.

My squeezing tiny space
between a metal box and a
a puffed jacket.

For the big tongued escalator,
the hands on the rails
hang on.. this is life.

The Hopper silver light reflected
on a bored face
in a Waterloo Grill.

The flash of a conversation
‘and I was like ‘what’
and he was like…’

To paint, for me, is to see
and to see is to take part.