Keeping the grain in the picture
My illustration method is meticulous and time-intensive. Even the simplest piece can take upwards of half a dozen hours; something more complicated might take a month or two, perhaps longer. I think in general people are surprised by how old fashioned this process really is. It’s digital, yes, but only in that I can skip the scissors and glue. It’s pretty much analog in every other sense. There’s no rendering software or any stock graphics involved. It’s still a chemical process. My rates reflect the time it takes to source references, assemble component images, iterate according to feedback, paint/colour, and knit together the final composition. My multiform styles are best viewed via my CTI Instagram channel but I will happily prepare specific commissions, craft typographies (design fonts) and sketch out scamps, layouts and storyboards.
The lines begin as whispers, tracing an idea pulled from memory. A flag unfurls, its colours recalling distant horizons, windswept landscapes, and a quiet resolve to preserve stories passed down through time.
Every detail matters—a branch bending under imagined weight, the negative space where leaves once lived. It’s less a tree and more an act of remembering: each mark a conversation between what’s seen and what’s felt.
Under the soft glow of a desk lamp, the world dissolves into ink and grain. My hand moves slowly, carving the essence of a vision into existence. It’s a dance between precision and imperfection, where the grain holds the truth.
Light dances through the archways, casting patterns that speak of warmth, nostalgia, and fleeting moments. The figure descending the steps is more than a subject—it’s a memory, painted with colours that refuse to fade.
A caravan of figures, caught between myth and reality. Horses kick up imagined dust, banners ripple in winds I’ve never felt. This is a story unfolding—timeless and transient, both anchored and untethered.
She holds the wheat like a sacred offering, the symbol of growth and sustenance. Her gaze is quiet yet commanding, patience, strength, and the delicate balance between humanity and nature.
Fish, letters, and a quiet symmetry. This piece is a pause, a meditation on simplicity. It’s the kind of thing that whispers rather than shouts, inviting you to lean in and discover its rhythm.
Morning coffee, morning goodbye. Two sharing a moment over coffee, a scene of connection—unspoken words, a shared rhythm, and the simplicity of being present with another.