When I look at our foundation's logo, I don't just see an image; I see John. I see the promise I made to him. A promise born in the quietest, toughest hours after he left us, and fuelled by the unforgettable spirit he carried right up until the end.

This foundation is here because of John's life, and because of his deepest worry. It’s here for every single artist, musician, and creative soul in Northern Ireland who, just like him, pours their life into their work only to find there’s nothing to catch them when disaster hits.

The Shock That Took Away His Bass

John was simply electric. He was that guy: the musician on the bass, the poet, the guy behind the lens of his camera, tirelessly documenting local bands and charities as a videographer. He was everything the Belfast arts scene is, creative, active, and absolutely essential.

Then, in January 2024, everything went silent.

A seizure led to the diagnosis of a brain tumour. Instantly, he couldn't work. The surgery, the treatment, the exhaustion, it all meant he couldn’t play his bass or focus on a video edit. For a freelancer, stopping work means stopping income. Just like that, the music stops.

His Worry Was My Mandate

I was lucky. I had a steady job, which gave us a financial shield. But sitting there, watching John, the man who lived for his craft, I had this awful realisation about everyone else.

Even while he was fighting for his life, John wasn't focused on his mortgage; he was focused on his peers. I remember him looking at me, tired, and just saying, "God, you know how hard this is for us, and we're better off than most. What are the others doing? "

He understood the impossible choice: risk your recovery by working through chemotherapy, or lose your home.

When John passed away that November, after a hard, brutal fight, I was shattered. I needed a focus. I needed a way to keep his boundless kindness in the world. He never knew about this charity. I created it because I remember those conversations, those worries about the "others like us who weren't so lucky." His concern was his final, powerful request, and I knew I had to honour it.

The amazing staff in the ICU at the RVH in Belfast gave me something priceless: John's handprint. I knew that moment. That handprint is the symbol of his creativity, his last physical touch, had to be the logo. It had to be the foundation's enduring touch, reaching out to the people he cared about most.

The Moment We Knew We Could Do This

Just two weeks after losing him, we started the journey. Family, friends, and a brilliant board of trustees all jumped in. We set up the legal work and planned our first event: a Night at the Races.

Honestly, I was blown away. The support was just phenomenal. That single night raised over £12,000. It wasn't just the money; it was the overwhelming, tangible love that confirmed it. The community was saying, "We loved John, and we need this lifeline."

John’s passion for the arts is now the pulse of this charity. He was the kindest soul, a true champion for the underdog, and I know he would be our greatest advocate.

When you see our logo, know that we are here to honour his memory by giving others the dignity he wanted for them. We are not offering pity. We are offering hope, a lifeline, and the space to heal so you can get back to creating.

We’re here for you. We are John’s legacy.