I asked myself what I needed each day, I took my time. Because of this, I was able to take stock of my life and, with some surprise, realised I was encrusted with responsibilities, habits, possessions, just BITS of life that I quite simply did not need, and did not enjoy. I kept picturing myself as one of those baby flamingos with their legs covered in salt, struggling to walk in the saline water that is usually fine and dandy, unless you’re in there too long.

Failure is not a corpse to be buried and forgotten. Once you find the essence of your failure, you can truly see it, and become inquisitive about it. Instead of reeling in agony or attempting to shut out the pain, I let it be pain. I turned the pain over, exposing its belly like a lover in a bed bathed in soft morning light, warm and ready to explore with curiosity and pleasure.

January is the fallow month - a month for prepping, ploughing, sowing. It’s a time for all that underground work to start to grow and spread. The soil itself needs time to replenish, to fill up with the juices and energies of life, the dead and half-dead skeletons of things that happened in the past need to be pruned and snipped away, ready for fresh growth

During my recent performance/participation piece/exhibition, Inhabit, the wonderful and extremely talented film maker Ellie Kynaston visited me during my week in the gallery space, to document me and my work as the project unfolded and create this mini-documentary.

I also model for classes and I feel this transformation when I model, a distinct lack of judgement, like I am being objectified in the only positive way. I feel like a beautiful bowl of fruit that everyone is trying to understand, mysterious and stoic in my stillness.

Before I can reach this vast and hallowed place of creativity, there are countless fields of should-dos, have-tos, ought-to-dos blocking my way. I feel them stretch out before me, demanding to be threshed, cut, farmed, completed so that then, finally, with nothing left to do, I can be creative.

Here’s a reminder to loosen your grip. Not on reality, or life, but on your creativity. Do not force yourself to make, do not force yourself to realise your ideas and thoughts into something. Tend to other gardens. Ban yourself from making, whilst you dedicate yourself wholly and fully to The Other Things.

There are obvious links and spoofs, which makes me wonder - does everyone who makes art have a problem with the art scene, and the art that has come before them? Does everyone who makes art secretly hate that they are at art school?

I sign a form to tell the robot not to steal my soul: the very thing that makes me human and the robot a robot. But the robot doesn’t steal my soul for itself, it steals it for other humans who have forgotten that they have a soul too.