05 : 04 : 09

I could have gone into block paving you know, like my old man. After finishing a diploma in jewellry design I caved in to his nagging to get a job and went straight in to block paving. At first, the shock of hard work almost killed me, but I got the sun on my face, developed the calloused hands of a proud working man and never laughed so hard at the dirty jokes of my fellow labourers. Good, honest labour. Go to work, make money, go and drink beer with friends, simple.

I often thought I chose the path of general all round creative and artist, but I have recently realised that I become a miserable git if I'm not painting. It's part of the sum that I'm made up of and It's not a choice. Painting is the real me. It's the distraction from constant ego-centric, introspection that I'm plagued with, so when I hear the grounded words from the missus "Oh for or God's sake just get on with it like the rest of us will you?', that's usually the cue to get the paint brushes out. When ideas become palpable, shapes form, the smell of turpentine is in the air, life's alright. It's when I paint that I'm attempting to create an considered connection with people - sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always enlightening. So on the my road to Damascus I decided to enter the BP Awards at the National Portrait Gallery. If your going to go for it, aim for the stars etc....

I've entered the BP Awards before and got rejected. That didn't bother me, rejection is common for a creative and all you can do is up your game. So that's precisely what I did. Now, I don't paint to enter competitions but I've been gong to the BP Awards for at least 10 years and every year it never fails to inspire me. John Westwood's portrait is my biggest and most ambitious piece yet, at 2 metres high, it was too big to get up the stairs to my studio so I had to paint it in the front room right next to the front door, which meant friends, family, the gas man, my hairdresser.......mother-in-law, mother-in-laws boyfriend (who wanted to invite his Pompey mad golf coach to to see it), could walk in and out of the house comment on it and spread the word. In fact I encouraged this, in a way to hype my inner self up if that makes sense. I laid down the first layers very quickly and as the painting took form I got good responses. In fact, it felt like a different kind of compliment, as if everyone could sense I had a lot emotionally invested in it and considered it watershed painting. I had upped my game and expectations had risen. I was really serious about this.

I rarely finish a painting, I just reach a point when I have to stop painting. It's a self imposed discipline - if the painting is saying what it is supposed to say don't over paint. I like the fact that it's a painting, not a photograph, I like seeing brush strokes, they are part of the process, the creative narrative, they 'represent the sum of moments captured' ( Alexander Rodchenko, I believe). So when the submission days loomed nearer and I'm getting the "is it finished, yet" questions I know damn well that it should be and to stop buggering about with it - (titanium white does not dry quickly). The sleepless nights increased along with the usual self-obsessive artistic anxieties.

The day comes and I get a confirmation phone call from 1car1 and I say I'll be there to pick up the van at 10am to take into central London - D-Day. I decide to walk down to 1car1, it takes an hour and I enjoy the walk in the sunshine. I particularly chose 1car1 because I needed mid sized van and it was one I had previously checked out to make sure the painting would fit and having never driven a transit van before was confident that I could handle it in the maelstrom of central London traffic, I was treating it all like a big adventure. So when I get there and the lady who had phoned me, informed me that 1car1 had gone into receivership and they are not releasing any vehicles the fun stopped. She suggests another van hire company up the road which I immediately walk to, and thank God, can get me something that day. What I got was long wheel based transit van. This thing was big, it might as well been a bloody articulated lorry. I put the painting in the back and off I went. I'd never driven a long wheel based transit van before so when I hit London Bridge at 5.30 the road just seemed to close in on me. I don't know how I found the drop off point at Arnold Circus but I did. Somehow I pushed this leviathan through Whitehall, started cutting people up, driving in the wrong lane, and what only seems like driving in ever decreasing circles through London's back streets made it. Dropped the painting off - 'ta very much here's your receipt, bye' - no fanfair and trumpets and went home. One 6 hour round trip and a parking ticket, done.

So when I found out that I'd been accepted it felt like I had won. The nice thing is so does everybody else.