I love working digitally. I’ve never really understood the question, “Is it real art if there is no paint?” For me, the medium is simply another way of making an image. If I create it, develop it and ultimately print it as a finished work, then it is art.

What particularly interests me about digital work is the ability to return to photographs of my paintings and drawings, often taken at different stages while I was making them, and give them another life.

I can take something I created months or years ago and begin working on it again in a completely different way. As I add, remove and manipulate layers, the original image gradually disappears. Eventually, very little may remain recognisable, but it still feels organic to me because everything has grown out of my own work.

I love the unpredictability of that process. Something that seemed important at the beginning can become obscured, buried or forgotten as new layers appear. Other things emerge unexpectedly and take over.

My digital work is deliberately different from much of the digital art I see. I’m not looking for something perfectly smooth, clean or polished. I’m interested in texture, accidents, imperfections and disruption. I want it to feel as though it has been through something.

And ultimately, it is my art. I don’t need to convince everyone.

I find myself creating worlds, figures and characters that seem to be moving, falling or trying to find their place within the chaos of our times. Perhaps, in some way, they are doing what I am doing.

For me, making art is a search. I want to create a body of work that strangers can stand in front of and find something that speaks to an emotion or experience within themselves, even if what they see is completely different from what I saw when I made it.

The work is also a form of self-discovery. I’m trying to understand who I am, what matters to me and where I belong.