The tunnel

The Tunnel was born in Calais, while I was working in the refugee camp. What shocked me most there was not only the hardship, but the contrast. Many of the people living in tents were professionals — journalists, doctors, lawyers, teachers — people who once had careers, homes, routines, dignity. And there they were, sleeping on the ground with their families, eating whatever they could find, holding on to one single idea: crossing the tunnel to reach the UK and start again.

This painting is about that moment before everything changes.

I painted a man in a suit because I wanted to honour who they were before the camp — and who they still were inside, even when the world refused to see it. He is blindfolded because the future was unknown, terrifying, and completely out of their control. No guarantees. No promises. Just hope mixed with fear.

He walks one step at a time, arms stretched forward, not to stop moving, but to protect himself from what might come next. That gesture says everything to me. It’s not bravery without fear — it’s courage born from necessity. When there is no way back, you keep walking.

The tunnel itself is not just a place. It’s a state of mind. A space between what you were and what you might become. A place where you risk everything, even your life, because staying where you are is no longer an option.

This painting carries the weight of those conversations, those faces, those nights in the camp. It’s about dignity under pressure, about walking into darkness with nothing but faith, and about how fragile — and strong — a human being can be when survival is the only goal.

"Technique painting: Acrylic, Oil, Tempera, Chalk, Oil Pastels on Canvas and spray paint on canvas 40" by 32"