To say my art has saved me is not a grandiose exaggeration but a rooted reality throughout my existence. Even when the sky is blackened by ferocious storms or the land shudders violently from earthquakes below it has offered me shelter, purpose and a voice. Sometimes it is a solitary singular strand that resolutely refuses to give and send me toppling, other times the roots are as strong and as many as the largest of Oak trees. If no-one was ever to bear witness to my Art I would still create it is as essential to me as breathe.
I joke that I am a post-discipline artist but there is also truth here. I dabble with disciplines; I paint, dance, write, sculpt and perform gleefully mixing them all up as I go. Then there is the fact that any form of discipline when it means rules, authority and set ways of being seem impossible for me to follow, uncomfortable pairs of shoes that I refuse to put on. This tendency to bulk at the official has caused difficulties when seeking to share my art with others for these channels of order are perplexing landscapes that I loathe to enter. I have been lucky to encounter people who believe in me and who offer a hand to guide me through these complications, fellow artists, teachers and health and social service professionals; without these ‘others’ my art would not be present for anyone but myself.