For the thrill of it all

For as long as I can remember no surface has been safe from my creative endeavours: walls, furniture, tiles, fences all fell victim to my artistic fervour. Not that I limited myself to two dimensional masterpieces, whether it be clay from a nearby culvert or cutting down old clothing for dress-ups, I could always be found in some quiet corner working on my latest brainstorm – oblivious to the outside world. I sometimes think that it was in sheer desperation that my mother made my first visual diaries out of sheets of butcher paper sewn into pages. My most memorable birthday present was a set of water colours; scarlet lake and Indian yellow the prized colours, gone