If I hadn’t fallen in love I might never have known I was an artist. In my third year training as a classical tenor I fell in love with a visual artist. His use of colour and the drama of catching someone’s style and laying it for all to see on canvas captivated me. I started painting next to him just to spend time with him. I travelled through more styles than I can remember; watercolour, clay, screen-printing. None were for me. Before long I let my feelings known to him but they were not reciprocated. Devastated with broken heart, after a day of panic attacks I returned to my blank canvas, dipped my hands into pots of blue ink and smeared them over the canvas. It was a mess, but it was an expression of what I was feeling. Which I suppose was apt considering I too was a mess. For the first time I had finally found out what my style was. It wasn’t the materials I used”¦it was what I wanted to say. Over the next few days I couldn’t stop sketching and painting. Before long I had realized”¦.I didn’t just fall in love with him”¦I fell in love with art.