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The art world is vast and noisy. Over the years, I have learned to tune that noise out. My approach to collecting has never been about chasing trends or ticking boxes, rather a deep, personal connection to the work, the artist, and the ideas behind them.

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When I look at a piece, I ask myself: Does this artist have something urgent to say? Does the work demand to exist? Will it still speak in ten years, or even a hundred?

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I am drawn to artists who operate in the space between disciplines - those who disrupt, surprise, or challenge the visual language we take for granted. It is not about shock value, but about work that carries friction and feeling, something that lingers in the mind long after the first encounter.

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One of the earliest examples in the ModernForms collection is Douglas White, whose work has always fascinated me. He transforms natural debris - charred tree stumps, scorched rubber, fossilised growths, into haunting sculptural forms. There is an alchemical quality in what he does. His art speaks of decay and survival, of nature's violent beauty. Supporting Douglas wasn't just about acquiring objects - it was about aligning with an artist who sees the world with raw, poetic clarity.

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More recently, I have been drawn to the work of Billy Fraser, whose irreverent approach challenges the sanctity of the white cube. His pieces often merge humour, irony, and material experimentation. There is a self-awareness in his practice that critiques both consumer culture and art-world seriousness - yet does so with joy. Collecting Billy's work felt like investing in a new language: sharp, informed, and unafraid.

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I have always believed in supporting artists early - when they are still finding their voice, still unsure how the world will receive them. I believe that is when patronage matters most. Many of the artists in the ModernForms collection were unknown when we first met. What I saw in them wasn't market value - it was vision.

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That vision often takes unconventional forms. I’ve collected works made from industrial waste, pigment-stained bedsheets, hacked appliances, and chemical spills. I’ve supported ephemeral installations that vanish after one night, and sculptures that will weather slowly over decades. What unites them is a commitment to truth over permanence.

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But intent does not mean rigidity. I allow space for intuition. Some of the most powerful acquisitions I have made were immediate, emotional responses - moments where the work bypassed logic and landed somewhere deeper. That, too, is part of collecting: knowing when to stop thinking and start feeling.

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ModernForms reflects this philosophy. It is not a collection built to impress, rather to endure. Every piece represents a conversation, a decision, a moment of alignment between artist and collector. And every acquisition carries a responsibility: not just to protect the work, but to protect the conditions that made it possible.

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In a world of endless distraction, collecting is an act of focus, of belief,  of quiet rebellion against the disposable. I collect what I cannot ignore.

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And what I hope will help the world one day remember.

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