It is as if all of the individual strokes and marks that make up a painting have fallen from the canvas, to be gathered together and given a new, sculptural form.

Ribbons of glossy colour, each striped with various tones and shades, form a ball of sorts. Alive with energy, the various strands curl and tumble, drawing the eye in this way and that.

A cacophony of colour and form; there is a greediness to the Gough, a wish for more that presents itself in the Baroque, maximalist composition, and in the bright, saturated colours – reminiscent of sweet wrappers or precious jewels.

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Ghough: n. A hollow place in your psyche that can never be filled; a bottomless hunger for more food, more praise, more attention, more affection, more joy, more sex, more money, more house of sunshine, more years of your life; a state of panic that everything good will be taken from you too early, which makes you want to swallow the world before it ends up swallowing you. – John Koenig