I remember as a child, being fascinated by the names on those tiny tubes of watercolour paint. Somehow mystical associations came up for me. Half squeezed and wrinkled or brand new and swollen, I would read the labels pasted on the front as if they were some sort of secret insight into my father's magic. Rose Madder, Sap Green, Cerulean Blue... It is, in fact an alchemical thing, this painting process. Now, well into his future, seeing the dry pigment sitting on the thick paper it seems more than just a picturesque depiction of the world. With the passing of time, these watercolours are paradoxically embedded with both mystery and insight at the same time.