Tentative initial strokes, as if the painting needed to settle itself into the canvas. A bit like a dog circling on its bed before it finds the position that fits its body. Slowly, taking on its own life as the shadows mould themselves into the folds of skin, colours merge and the painting pulses with life. Little control on my part over the process as my right hand takes over from my left, the fingers of which are cramping.

If the painting oozes the wisdom, thousands of years, passed between elephants, elephantoms, then it has achieved my expectations?