I have been fortunate enough to travel in the Himalaya several times.

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My first journey was at the age of twenty, made possible by a travel scholarship from The Slade. I applied to go to Tibet after seeing a small photograph in a newspaper. The image gripped me, and the fascination has grown into a lasting attachment.

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Although I had already travelled at high altitude several times Tibet arrived with unexpected freshness. It was unlike anywhere I had been, and the impression has never left me.

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I travelled overland from Nepal, which at that time was connected by a single-width, unpaved road. With sheer drops on one side, a rock face on the other, and heavily laden trucks edging past in the opposite direction, the journey was quite shocking. I remember staring out of the window, scarcely daring to look down, trying to understand what I was seeing. Were those really mountain peaks dissolving into the highest clouds? Even now, high cloud formations can take me straight back to that sense of astonishment.

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Crossing the Himalaya and arriving on the Tibetan plateau felt quite unreal. The clouds lifted to reveal an immense and luminous landscape, the scale and light of which were overwhelming. What struck me was how closely it resembled the work I had been making at home that was not tied to a specific location. I felt an immediate sense of belonging and a strong urge to explore despite the physical limitations of altitude/weather.

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I explored alone whenever possible  despite the strict policy that tourists must only travel in organised groups. I rose before dawn, often half frozen, to get out before the officials. I moved quickly through mountains and into areas where few people went. On one occasion, a misjudgement resulted in a freezing night spent in a pig-sty, but I was rewarded at dawn by a staggering view of Everest. Looking back, I can see how inexperienced I was, but I was drawn magnetically to the landscape.

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I travelled with a small easel and paints, which proved impractical and drew lots of attention, so I eventually reduced my kit to a sketchbook and pencils. Drawing was a more discreet way of working, and allowed me to respond quickly in the freezing conditions.

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I was conscious of the complex political realities of Tibet and tried to tread carefully, supporting Tibetan-run establishments and engaging as fully as I could with the culture. Communication remained difficult, but the desire to understand stayed with me. On returning home, I enrolled in Chinese evening classes (Tibetan being unavailable) and spent several years studying the language. I have not yet returned to Tibet, and the question of doing so remains unresolved for me.

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Subsequent journeys took me to other parts of the Himalaya, including Nepal, where I began the Annapurna circuit somewhat abruptly - my first steps landing in a ditch under the weight of an overfilled rucksack. Among the many impressions of that trip was a glimpse into Lo Monthang, a place that has remained firmly marked for the future.

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I have also worked extensively in Ladakh, climbing and travelling through the surrounding ranges, including Stok Kangri at 6100m. The high peaks and remote valleys of the Zanskar and Nubra Valley regions have also fed a lot of my work and, due to better gear and reduced art materials, plein air work improved.

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My travels have also included China, where I travelled alone from the far west to the east. This journey took several months and took me through some of the most austere landscapes I have encountered, and generated a substantial body of work. The experience reinforced my love of moving slowly through vast spaces, and helped me understand that landscape can significantly shape who we are.

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Below are some of the studio pieces resulting from these trips and some of the  on-site work I made whilst there: