'Art is the lie that reveals the truth.' Picasso

As a visual artist, I aim to tap into as many of the areas of the viewer's brain that enable us to see and perceive the world as possible, and enhance the experience; to create a more powerful reaction in the neural circuits that make-up the visual pathways in the brain, than when we view ordinary material objects, or subjects.

We often find it difficult to find beauty in ourselves. We pick out the physical attributes we find fault with and exaggerate them; distort them until all we see is the equivalent of a caricature of ourselves. We don't see what the eye of the beholder sees, nor do we tend to believe them. Perhaps what is so intriguing about portraiture is, not only are we the beholder, but we're beholding that of another beholder; the artist. The viewer reflects as much about the subject, as that of their relationship with the artist.

When I paint a face I want to find the beauty in that particular set of features, I find it incongruous to paint warts and all. There is a desire in me to please my subject; to give them pleasure by revealing the truth and beauty they never noticed. For whose view is the true view anyway, artist, subject or viewer?

I want that face to be hyper-real and yet, at the same time reduce and simplify the computational labour involved in the brain's processing of the visual data. I want to show technical brilliance without cluttering the viewer's attentional resources with superfluous information, and simultaneously, enhance hyperbolically the basic information; the fundamental elements that enable recognition of facial features as visual phenomenon (not dissimilar to theories in Platonic Idealism).

In order to do this I deduct as much from the background as possible by zooming in to frame the face only, for there is a specific module of the brain that computes facial recognition alone and nothing else besides. What remains of the background I paint with as little detail as possible, sometimes just leaving it one block colour. Although I could technically reproduce photographically, the weave of cloth for instance, I believe it unnecessary, even damaging to the impact of the final work. I apply the paint thinly so the nub of the canvas can still be felt and seen, reminding the viewer that this is a painting. The colours of the skin are broken down almost anatomically, and applied in layers, one of the last being a pale translucent veil, as though applying the epidermis itself.

Sometimes a mark or effect happens that was meant to be, without my meaning to do so. It worked without my working it; like some unseen force. These are the thrilling, inspirational moments; unlike the distress of having diligently deliberated over a mark or effect that just doesn't work once applied. Painting, be it a portrait or abstract, is a roller-coaster of highs and lows; one instance a pit of exasperating despair, the next riding a crest of an exhilarating wave.

For more on neuro-science, www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/reith2003/lecture3.shtml