Emma Stone-Johnson's work asks the question: "what would it be like to walk through a museum of melted paintings?" Throughout her oeuvre, colour seems to drip and split. It seeps and oozes onto the gallery floor. Her marks are slurred punctuation; their residue forming gullies and small pools and worlds. In Stone-Jonhson's painted world the floor would be a distorted ocean, a "world lung."
As a child, Stone-Johnson remembers drawing her own cats and being mystified by their green eyes, pink paw pads and grey fur - a grey so complex, a colour that contained all colours. Thus, for Stone-Johnson, the act of painting is an act of colour coding; an archaeological forensic investigation into her own psyche.
Stone-Johnson describes her studio practice as 'chancy.' Throughout her work she questions colour and investigates pigments; constructing new brushes and writing. Her brushstrokes appear as if out of nowhere like on an old blurry 90s TV screen. Her works are "oversized letters, they are billboards, they are satellites. Hunting."