Painting is a moving thing. Describing that movement with words is difficult. I hope I can capture the major twists and turns of this piece with the help of some studio shots taking over whenever the words conk out. The canvas is Belgian linen. The scent of Belgian linen is up there in my pantheon of all-time favourite smells. It’s the olfactory equivalent of a cockerel crowing in the morning. A little bit of oil paint and it’s gone. I left the canvas untouched for weeks to hold on to that scent and packed it when I left for Italy last summer...