I’m not someone who always loved painting. I discovered painting like some sort of addictive drug in my late teens. Creative inspiration would grab me and not let me go. As far as possible I would pursue it obsessively day and night until it was complete, or else ruined in the exhaustion of the early hours. I did practice, but I soon reached a stage where artwork was pretty much internal, and what was produced was not only unplanned but often, a complete mystery. Nothing was ever as good as it would have been, if I’d known what I was painting, before I started. But that was how I worked.
I spent a lot of time writing books and stories using the same irrational method. I spent years unravelling the impossible plot of an improbable internal fantasy, which resembled nothing so much, as a tangled ball of multicoloured string. I was interested in finding enlightenment, in the tarot, in magic. I had the idea of creating stories that joined up with themselves in which profound messages could be placed. Out of these stories emerged Humple-Bubber, a wise navigator of my fictional esoteric worlds in which reality was transforming under the influences of unknown forces, and characters battled with the uncertainty of discovering that that they were not real but invented by another.
Most recently I have been painting fairies-don’t ask me why. It started from some idle whim or momentary impulse, dabbling with the watercolours I had been bought some years before. Soon I’d painted another, then another. Now I have a whole collection.
I’ve discovered that people love fairies, or are obsessed by fairies. I’ve found that there are fairy festivals around the world, and that people love nothing more than dressing up as fairies or strapping wings to their back. There are fairy costumes, fairy merchandise and of course fairy magic. There are even people who believe in fairies.
In my wildest moments, I realise I am one of them.