Back in the 90s in Edinburgh, I was sat on a bus on my way into work. Every day I passed a tiny parkette that was crammed with cherry trees. On this day the wind was blowing a gale and it was like being inside a cotton candy coloured snow globe. Our cherry trees are pink, the air glowed as the petals swirled densely just outside the windows. The bus was stopped, I wanted to go stand in the middle of this burst of colour, but I was almost late for work. I was increasingly almost late for work, I hated my job. Afterwards I was filled with regret that I didn’t just get off the bus. What would it really have mattered in the grand scheme of things if I’d been 10 minutes late? Every time I paint cherry trees it’s a reminder of the regret I had, now I always try to be the person who gets off the bus.
The tree I used for the phototransfer of the trunk lives near my studio in East York.