FROM beneath a mop of shaggy dark hair, a pale figure emerges from a purple canvas, with the green of her skin giving way to a hard gash of a mouth which splits the face in two like a lopsided horizon.

It’s an uncomfortable painting. The coarse, bold strokes lead you back to the penetrating gaze but something in the expression behind those slate-grey eyes holds you transfixed. Before long, you start to realise you’ve probably been staring too long.

That canvas, Lucy Jones 1996, is an early example of how this artist deals with being looked at. Born with the cerebral palsy which affects her speech and movement, Jones’s work is hard-won, but steers well clear of sentimentality.