Years ago, as an art student, I was convinced that artists were a breed apart, answerable to no-one, not having to justify or explain the shallow and inexperienced brushstrokes of their self important efforts. Artists, an esoteric bunch, were to be found floating around near Adam's finger, looking down with disdain on everyone else.

Every once in a while, I just have to leave the city and go somewhere where there are rocks and trees and wind and water. I need to be where there are lady bugs and honey bees and the sound of my shoes in the tall spiny grasses.