Francis Bacon has been a constant presence in my life. When I was a teenager I identified with the gore and the anger. When I was in my twenties at art college I marvelled in his practise, theory, and seemingly effortless ability to create so much visual power with such little amount of actual mark making. Now I still feel all the above but fall hopelessly in love again with his freshness, oneness, fearlessness, and attack of subject matter; his life and loves and his emotions. No ones work looked like His before or since. He is unique yet familiar, you 'feel' his painting, you see everything whilst only being shown barely a smudge or a slash of paint. I always feel like his work is like a lucid dream or memory smelted down, a lava flow of every emotion and experience you have had poured on the canvas. A constant inspiration.