"Although the way I make my images leaves little opportunity for the careful placement of objects within the frame, some degree of control is certainly achievable, and indeed, desirable. So while I cannot claim that a successful composition is solely the result of judicious positioning of camera and tripod, I can ensure that certain prominent elements end up vaguely where I want them to be. My intention here was overwhelm the sturdy trunk with an explosion of blossom. 'The Echoing Green' is a poem by William Blake and one whose title I have already shamelessly misappropriated for one of my photographs from a different series (with appropriate credits given). Although I have titled this image 'Confetti', it seems to me that the blossom fairly echoes around the frame as William Blake suggested. That was exactly my objective as I moved my camera flamboyantly around and fired off several dozen shots - in order to superimpose petals upon petals upon yet more petals. I was trying to capture that wonderful sense of exuberance and celebration that one feels after the bride emerges; dazzling and radiant then suddenly finding herself engulfed by thousands of fragments of coloured paper enthusiastically dispatched by delighted well wishers. Unfortunately it tells only half the story. What is so obviously missing and lamentably impossible to convey here is the chorus of spring. The smell of spring. The feel of spring as the air softens and warms. That pure, unmitigated assault on all of one's senses. Instead, all the photographer or poet or artist can do is rely on the tools they have at their disposal. A poet has words; the visual artist has paints, pixels and colours and I have used them as expressively as I dare. I make my images using unconventional tools and methods and this approach affords me the opportunity to play. I consider myself extraordinarily fortunate that my way of working allows me to experiment, break rules, flout convention and push boundaries in order to express my point of view. It is up to me and me alone to decide what colour the grass will be. If I say it shall be red, then let it be red. Of course, it is the frustrated painter in me that informs these decisions. The delight we all feel as the explosion of colour and life cascades across the countryside is hard to quantify. It's Mother Nature suddenly looking every so slightly pleased with herself. If I can be permitted to strangle another famous quote (Voltaire), I might be so bold as to suggest that if spring didn't exist, it would be necessary to invent it."