How a colourful painting changed character in a moody French salon

Can a vibrant painting make a moody room feel brighter? I recently explored the question by placing one of my new square abstract landscapes in two very different interiors: a soft, sunlit coastal living room and a dark French salon.

Creativity in the Age of AI

Artificial intelligence is changing the way we create images at extraordinary speed. An image that might once have taken hours — or even days — to produce can now appear in seconds.

For artists, this raises some fascinating, and sometimes uncomfortable, questions.

What makes an artwork ours? Is it the hand that physically made it? The original idea? The creative decisions made along the way? And if an artist uses AI to alter or develop an artwork they have already created, at what point does it become something different?

French interiors are often associated with ornate fireplaces, decorative wall mouldings, glittering chandeliers and gilded mirrors. With so many beautiful classical details already present, it might seem natural to complete the room with traditional artwork.

But contemporary art can create a far more interesting result.

In this French-inspired salon, an expressive female portrait takes centre stage above an emerald-green velvet sofa. The artwork is modern, simplified and quietly mysterious, yet it feels completely at home among the room’s elaborate architectural features.

Loops have appeared repeatedly in my artwork. I’m drawn to their freedom—the way they can circle, overlap, stretch and move across a painting without becoming rigid or predictable. Unlike straight lines or formal geometric shapes, loops feel spontaneous and organic. They create movement, but their rounded forms also have an innate softness.

Grids are among the simplest visual structures we know: lines crossing lines, shapes sitting beside shapes and order created through repetition. Yet for something so seemingly straightforward, the grid has an extraordinary ability to hold our attention.

We encounter grids everywhere. They appear in windows, tiles, textiles, streets, buildings, bookshelves and the screens we look at every day. They help us organise information and make sense of space. Perhaps because they are so familiar, grids can feel reassuring—even when we are not consciously aware of them.

Artists have also returned to the grid again and again. But in art, a grid does not have to be measured, perfect or precise. It can be broken, softened, layered or almost hidden. Its shapes can vary in size; its lines can disappear beneath paint; and its regular rhythm can be interrupted by texture, colour and imperfection.

A rigid structure can become something surprisingly expressive.

Walk into some homes and your shoulders seem to relax before you've even sat down.

It's easy to think the feeling comes from expensive furniture or beautiful architecture.

But often, it's something much simpler.

It's what isn't there.

Recently, I found myself wondering why so many people enjoy knitting and crochet.

Of course, there is satisfaction in creating something useful or beautiful. But I began to wonder whether there might be something else happening as well.

Perhaps part of the pleasure comes from watching a pattern emerge.

One stitch follows another. A simple repeated action gradually becomes something much more intricate. There is something quietly satisfying about seeing order develop from repetition.

That thought stayed with me long after I had put the crochet aside.

It made me wonder whether our attraction to patterns extends far beyond textiles.

Lately, my creative work has been moving in two visible directions.

One is art in French interiors — elegant rooms, soft light, beautiful spaces, and the way a painting can transform the atmosphere of a home.

The other is biblical art history highlighting typology — short visual reflections exploring how images in Scripture can return, deepen, and carry meaning across time.

At first glance, these two threads may seem quite different. One is interior and aesthetic. The other is symbolic and spiritual.

But to me, they belong together.

The common thread is simple:

Images carry meaning.