It’s strange that even though I’m drawn to experimental art, to people and theories that challenge the status quo, again and again I come back to same things that I loved when I was about ten years old. I was bewildered as a child, I didn’t know what was going on. I still don’t know. I loved mountains and history, I loved music and football. And here I am, decades on, after fancying myself as a rock and roll singer in my twenties, and an avant garde artist in my thirties, I’m back to the child I was, staring at the stars in complete astonishment at being alive. I’m fortunate, I know, to have enough of what I need not to care about those things, so I am able to spend time just being in awe.