Harmony of colour and composition are important to me and make me happy, so I use them all the time, even in my abstract work, I like happy.

To achieve colours that work instinctively I use a limited palette (think Apelle, Zorn) although avoiding black and normally using dark greys, if I want a black of sorts I often use a mix of Ultramarine Blue and Burnt Umber, but I also like dark subtly tinted greys, they are mysterious, greys are a world of their own and often overlooked.

Although 99% of my palette comes from just five colours, Cad Red, Yellow Ochre, Titanium White, Ultramarine Blue and Burnt Umber, I will also add tiny amounts of other colours, if and when I feel they benefit the main colours on my palette, but in very small amounts, this is my homeopathic palette.

To avoid the charge of hypocrisy, in common in with most painters I sadly have a vast tube collection of different colours, that mysteriously attached themselves to me in art supplies shops.

Part of the pleasure of painting is to spend time preparing the surface you are going to work on. Applying gesso to reduce the tooth and create a smooth surface and stop oil eating the canvas. I find it is also therapeutic, like prepping veg before cooking. I also knock back the surface glare to create a mid tone, normally using diluted Burnt Umber, but sometimes raw sienna if I want a warmer background, and even a green mix if i want to lift skin tones

In terms of composition I generally mark the background into symmetric plains or a composition grid, then draw in the rough outline of what i am going to paint with charcoal before using a dilute Burnt Umber mix to define the light, mid and dark tones i.e. 'brunaille', variations of this process are variously called 'the dead layer', grissage, verdaccio and verdaille, if it works don't knock it.

Next I will block in colour and then from that point refine the picture step by step, sounds easy but this is when you trust gravity and believe that a brush you don't have will fix everything.

I work in both acrylic and oil, acrylic for the challenge of speed, and oil for the complex interaction of pigments that result as it dries.  Also because oil makes me both patient and reflective, acrylic demands that I get a move on, whereas oil tells me to slow down, both good exercises and when practised alternately can help to grow a different way of seeing and working that compliment each other.

On that point I often paint the same subject and very similar composition once in oil and then in acrylic, it’s fun.

I use photographs and sketches as source material, but I am not reproducing from either, merely using them as starting point to allow me to be clear as to the direction of light and shadow, and to plan the interaction of all elements of the composition.

If I am unable to release the work from the ugly stage (yes we all go through that dark place) I will ruthlessly and with some pleasure paint over, and start again, ditto change the background more than is healthy, but that is different story, me and backgrounds.

Mostly I do not wait for inspiration I swallow the frog and start, and then expect it to join me somewhere on the way. Other than that drinking tea, swearing and making a mess are all part of the process. The process such as it is, combines early optimism, painful realisation, patience and sadness on  a loop, then the return of optimism and a constant challenge to stop or ruin (often ruin), followed by more sadness and eventually an argument about what it means to actually say it’s finished, I often lose that argument.