"I look at one of my paintings and I feel separate from it. Who painted that? Certainly not me, not the me of today anyway. The woman who painted it must be fun, full of life, ideas and ambition, not the lifeless girl who sits here now.
It’s a weird feeling.
Being aware of another type of me, existing at another time.
Another me who felt inspired to create a piece of work and saw it through to the end. When I’m that other motivated person I don’t recognise or want to dare to think of the part of me that’s depressive, sad and lost. And yet here I am, lost and not able to connect to the other vibrant me, the me that painted Sanctuary"