I realised that I had awoken, stepped out of the wasteland and connected with something deep. I started to paint and draw, and as I wandered the early morning fields I began to feel something, something like an ancient rhythm, coming from the earth. It felt old, primal and real. As if I had woken from a superficial dream, and for the first time the world felt real, as if all time was reaching out to me, to tell its story, the stories of the land. The sights and smells and memories, the magical, mystical meaning of it all. As I saw hares and foxes running across fields, and watched the crows and buzzards swoop overhead something lit up in me, and I began to hear a call, a deep resonating call from the ancient wild, of the stories and memories held within the landscape. I had to try to paint them. worked from a tiny table in my small caravan kitchen, cramped but happy, and those stories started to emerge, one by one.
And then one day, Phil came home and announced he had bought me a studio! A bargain no less! It was a shed… and it was a bargain because it had no roof and no door… but a studio nonetheless. And so I had my first studio, and my work started to sell, which was just as well because the next thing….
