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There she was standing in front of the orchestra. Barely 14 years old, I think, a candle in her hand. The flame was trembling, due to her shaking hands. It was almost imperceptible, as the lights in the cathedral had been turned off.

American Idol! So You Think You Can Dance. Britain’s Got Talent! Project Runway. The Great Pottery Throw Down. Blown Away.

Our screen time is filled with talent shows that try to sell us this slightly narcissistic message that we too can become the next

I have a confession to make. One that is going to end my career before it was able to take its first wobbly steps in the bright daylight, because I’m pretty sure what I’m about to tell you is the first deadly sin for artists:

When I first started sculpting, I focused on art dolls. Someone at school showed me one and I knew this was what I had to do. Never mind that I hardly knew what clay looked like.
“All heroism is due to lack of reflection.”

One of the downsides of having a chronic condition is that planning can be a challenge. It shouldn’t be that hard. You have your starting point, you have your deadline. You take the shortest route towards your destination. Done! Easy-peasy. What could possibly go wrong?

For as long as I remember, I feel like I’m an uprooted tree. I’m still standing, but in a precarious balancing act, trying very carefully not to topple over, because if I would, I’d take a large swath of forest with me.

In a well-known and quite debunked ‘study’, it is said – *cough* among other things that I won’t mention here – that women use an average of 20.000 words a day. Now I am definitely a woman and I trump that average.