Some days it feels like the heart of my enamel works emerge not from the act of painting but from the much more strenuous activity of sanding the surfaces before and after each coat. It's during this process that I discover my most intimate connection with the work, rubbing with just enough pressure (and a fine enough grade of sandpaper) to smooth and clear a coat – and to abrade it just enough to take another – but not enough to damage it. It's a delicate balance that requires concentration and a deft, quick touch. I become sensitive to the base surface of the board or canvas, to the natural flaws now invisible beneath the paint.I've been re-finishing one of the more complicated paintings in the Dangerous Career Babes series, The Demolitionist. The background is a psychedelic spill of yellow, red, orange and grey over which are scattered jagged shards of darker grey. At times, as I bend over the board and peer closely at each small section of colour, it's almost as if I am trying to survey some alien topography and create a map of it in the asymmetrical patterns of the paint. Maybe this 'journey' of exploration is the real key to my craft.