William Wright's paintings and drawings have for me the same intensity as poems that conjure visual imagery of the world we live in. He is a poet. They have a melancholic ache that comes from someone who is a profound observer. They are wonderfully quiet and distilled, all extraneous detail taken out of them. In many of Will's paintings, because they are so minimal, description of movement creates sound in one's head. The fluttering of a flock of pigeons, the wake of a ferry, the pull of oars through water are images we all know. But his acute editing process enables us to see them without the clutter we experience of living life now. They become meditations on a world less packed to the brim, like a place in a washed out dream or a far off memory. So often they are paintings I wish I had painted, and they link to a line of artists close to my heart, but nevertheless talk to me about living life in the present.