Playing with my clay, alone in the studio quietly expressing my anxieties I realize the possible simple answer to my wrangling and upset over the past few days. And why, when I decided not to paint for a while, I felt a sense of ease. Like a strong plunge of colour dispersing as it filtered through. Like strong red tea in clear hot water, a puncture of the hot surface and in, the colour seeps, curls, drifts, creeps round the glass and finally disperses changing the liquid completely, into something delicious.

Sculpture, my clay, is the way I communicate with the world, in painting I was speaking in a language I knew nothing about, no wonder I was feeling so dumb.