As a child, I was afraid of the dark.

I’d dread waking to it in the small hours, swinging bare legs over the edge of the bed (well within the grasp of the skeletal hands beneath) and dashing across the carpet to turn on the light. Often however, I’d just lie there. Too scared to move for fear of disturbing those hands that had now crawled along the bed frame and were gently scratching at the corners of my mind. As I grew, so too did my fascination with monsters. I soon learnt that every kindly Dr Jekyll harbours his own sordid Hyde and that the manufacture of beasts is the main staple of those who wish to consume us.

I am inspired by places. I want to explore dusty attics, forest thickets, forgotten pathways and abandoned tube stations. I am drawn to texture. I want to run eyeballs over rusty surfaces, viscid meats and the velveteen of flock wallpaper. I am intrigued by dark themes, by urban myths and cautionary tales, distorted dreams and memento mori. Most of all I am eager to lift the mask, to peer beneath and ponder who really has the sharpest teeth.

I am still afraid of the dark.