Animals have no language. Everything they might say is held in the eyes, the breath, the way they stand.
Animals have no language, but a look is more direct than language. To paint a pair of eyes is to paint a consciousness that is currently alive.
I often wait in the studio for the moment it stops looking at me. That is when it is finally itself.

Tigers and horses stand for more than strength; they are life under two kinds of tension — one held in, one let go.
I do not paint the ferocity of the tiger, but the power that is still there once it has gone quiet.

The cat is the quietest presence in ordinary life, and the one I have watched longest. It does not perform and it does not explain. It simply stays.
Paint them long enough and you notice who is really being observed.

“If a painting only lets you recognise a tiger,
it is not finished yet.”