Mystery. 2025. Pen and ink on paper. 9″x12″.
The creation of a new piece of work unfolds in ways most people never imagine. It’s nonlinear, unpredictable, and refuses to adhere to routine. This isn’t a recipe for paella, it’s the act of conjuring something from nothing.
In past blog posts, when I’ve written about creating new work, I’ve fallen back on the same worn-out playbook, offering a play-by-play of pencils, pens, and technique. That approach has never done a damn thing for anyone, let alone provided any real insight into my process. It’s been nothing more than a polished façade, a false account of what it truly means to create something from nothing.
The changes my work has undergone over the past few years make it impossible for me to present anything but the raw truth behind what I do. Speaking that truth is essential to where I am now and what I create. The creative process is messy, complex, and rarely linear; it’s not a fucking Disney movie.
My drawing Mystery began as a ball of frustration after the worst bout of creative stasis I’ve ever experienced. 2024 started as a long list of projects that would move me closer to my goals, but life had other plans. In the past, whenever I’ve experienced rough patches on my journey, I’ve always turned to music to get me through; it’s never let me down. In 2005, after losing my mom and my way, I reached out to Hounds of Love, London Calling, and Point of Entry for salvation. The sounds on those albums were a balm for my mind during the bleakest period of my life.
This time, the rescue came quietly, almost by accident. One night, after weeks of aimless sketching and abandoned starts, I sat in my petite atelier listening to Kate Bush’s reinterpretation of the traditional Irish air My Lagan Love. Stark and unaccompanied, her magnificent voice rose like a prayer in a vast, empty cathedral. Its resonance and haunting stillness carried the same ethereal quality and mystery that had first drawn me to the Pre-Raphaelites decades ago. Not long after that moment, I came across I Can’t Sleep from Wang Chung’s 1982 debut album. Its enigmatic tone, paired with the solemn beauty of My Lagan Love, reminded me of what had fueled my fascination with the Pre-Raphaelites from the beginning: beautiful mystery.
Alongside music, images play a vital role in sparking the creation of new work. In the case of Mystery, I recalled the sublime portraits of Jane Morris by Rossetti and a magnificent photograph by Clive Arrowsmith of Kate Bush–her face framed by leaves in a distinctly Pre-Raphaelite manner. Combined with the songs I’d been listening to, an image began to emerge, slowly, insistently. What followed was a long, deliberate stretch of hard graft: translating emotion and idea into form on paper.
The creative stasis I endured in 2024 was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. I’d weathered dry spells in the past, but never one so long and so sustained. Still, I’ve come to see that every pause, every obstacle, has its purpose. The path of artistic growth always comes at a price.
As Mystery began to take shape, every mark I made carried the weight of my desire to excel and create something undeniable, something that bore witness to the struggle that preceded it.
A clear idea, a balanced composition, and solid drawing are essential to any new image. There must always be rhythm as well as weight in what you put down. What has always resonated with me about the Pre-Raphaelites’ work is the brilliance of their draughtsmanship and the precision behind their iconic images. Everything they created, whether an oil on canvas or a design in pen and ink, began with sketches and studies in pencil. They worked out every facet. Their pictures were born of a deep, genuine love of drawing and painting, a truth reflected in every mark and brushstroke. Their draughtsmanship set the bar when I first discovered the Brotherhood at sixteen, and it remains the standard I hold myself to today. I will never compromise my standards.
Mystery is a chronicle of struggle and triumph, captured in exacting pen strokes and lush crosshatching. When I began the drawing, I had no idea what would emerge after the weeks of work required to bring my idea to life. Starting was a tentative step after a year of stasis, but as always, I found solace in the long, deliberate process of creation. The act of building form through a profusion of crosshatching and the feel of the pen nib etching ink into the surface of the paper has always carried a kind of therapeutic magic, capable of dissolving whatever hurdle stands in my way.
Whenever I complete a drawing, I’m always surprised by what I see when I finally step back. It’s one thing to sense the potential in an idea; it’s another to bring it fully to life. After weeks of work, I stepped away from the drawing table and looked hard at what I had made. My gut told me I had created something powerful. Maybe.
That intuition found its echo when my wife walked into the studio to see the finished piece. The look on her face said everything: “This is my favorite of all the newer, Pre-Raphaelite-inspired work you’ve done. “She isn’t one to mince words, so perhaps my instincts had been right all along. The moment that confirmed what we both felt came unexpectedly, weeks later, when Dr. Zaynub Zaman, editor of the Pre-Raphaelite Society’s journal, the PRS Review, emailed to offer me the opportunity to help inaugurate her new series, In an Artist’s Studio. To say I was gobsmacked would be an understatement. In an instant, Dr. Zaman validated years of effort and sacrifice and gave the voice I’d long been searching for new depth and resonance.
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