An old road rarely begins as scenery. It begins as a way between places: used in weather, remembered through repetition, and understood by the walls, gates and turns that contain it.
Looking at such a road means looking at the decisions around it. Stones were gathered and placed. A boundary was maintained. Grass took hold at the edges. The route became familiar enough to be followed without thought, and later distant enough to be remembered.
In the studio, these elements resist becoming a literal map. The painting has to keep the pull of the road while allowing paint, colour and surface to carry the uncertainty of memory.
