I am Alice

In 2013, Jo told me we needed a dog. Not wanted one. Needed one.

I wasn’t convinced. To me, a dog represented responsibility and a gradual narrowing of freedom. There would be fewer spontaneous trips, muddy paw prints across the floor, scratched doors, chewed possessions and the constant question of who was going to look after the dog when we went away. I liked dogs well enough. I simply wasn’t sure I wanted one shaping our lives.

Perhaps some of my reluctance came from childhood. My brother Steven and I had once persuaded Mum and Dad to let us have a Beagle called Benji. He was beautiful, energetic and completely ruled by his nose. The excitement of having a puppy quickly collided with the reality of looking after one, and after a few months Benji returned to his original owners. The lesson seemed fairly straightforward. Dogs were lovely, but dogs were also work.

Jo, however, could see something I couldn’t.

She imagined companionship and another presence in the house. She never pushed particularly hard, but gradually the idea began to make sense. Perhaps there really was a space in our lives waiting to be filled.

Then Alice arrived.

She flew up from Christchurch, a small bundle of fur entering our lives with absolutely no understanding of the negotiations that had preceded her arrival. She was soft, curious and immediately at home. On paper Alice was a Labradoodle, but in character she was pure Labrador. Food was not simply something she enjoyed. Food was a reason for living.

Nothing edible stood much chance, and plenty of things that weren’t edible were equally vulnerable. Tennis balls were carefully dismantled. Bright rubber balls were chewed into new and unexpected forms, occasionally making a second appearance after travelling through Alice. Crumbs disappeared from the kitchen floor before we had time to notice them. We joked that we no longer needed a vacuum cleaner. We had Alice.

Even my painting props were not safe.

While I was working on Follow Me, Alice managed to get hold of Godzilla and ate one of his hands. I had spent considerable time making the prop, but Alice had little appreciation for craftsmanship or artistic intention. To her, Godzilla was simply another interesting thing to chew. To Alice, there was no distinction between a carefully made painting prop and an ordinary rubber toy. If it looked interesting and could be chewed, it was fair game.

Her greatest obsession, however, became the Kong.

Alice quickly learnt the sound of the coffee machine. Each morning, the hiss and gurgle meant something important was about to happen. She would arrive carrying her Kong, ready for her share of the morning ritual. Three treats for Alice and three single-shot coffees for me seemed to be the arrangement. Any more coffee than that and my hand begins to wobble, which is not particularly useful when you make your living holding a paintbrush.

Gradually, Alice became part of the rhythm of the studio.

I had never planned to paint animals, but I began noticing the shapes she made. She would stretch across the floor, curl into a patch of sunlight or rest her head on her paws while watching me work. Sometimes a particular pose would stop me. I would look at her and immediately think, there is a painting in that.

Jo once photographed Alice watching me paint. Her attention was completely fixed on what I was doing, almost as though she were quietly encouraging me from the sidelines. That simple moment stayed with me.​

• Fetch (2013)
• Dream Job (2016)
• Obsession (2017)
• Chilling Out (2020)
• What Now? (2022)
• Temptation (2023)
• Daydreaming (2024)

Looking across those paintings now, I realise Alice was never included simply because I wanted a dog in the composition. Each painting grew from something I had observed in her character. Her patience, curiosity, appetite and extraordinary ability to live entirely in the present offered endless possibilities.

Perhaps that is one reason she fitted so naturally into the 1–100 series. Much of my work begins with ordinary objects and familiar moments that carry something larger within them. Toys can become symbols of childhood, aeroplanes can suggest freedom, and a dog waiting patiently beside a Kong can say something about anticipation, desire and the small rituals that shape a life.

The irony is that nearly everything I worried about in 2013 came true.

Alice changed our routines. She restricted some freedoms. She made a mess. She destroyed things. Our lives had to accommodate another creature with needs, habits and an impressive appetite.

What I hadn’t understood was how insignificant those inconveniences would become compared with what she gave us in return.

Jo had recognised the empty space long before I did. Alice filled it almost immediately. She became companionship, entertainment, routine and affection. She became part of our home and, quite unexpectedly, part of my work.

I thought getting a dog might make our world smaller.

Alice did exactly the opposite.

54 Obsession

Oil on fine portrait linen: 95 x 125 cm; 37.4 x 49.21 in (Sold)

83 Daydreaming

Oil on fine portrait linen: 95 x 180 cm; 37.4 x 70.86 in (Sold)