As a child I was always engrossed in, and obsessed with, imagery. When I would look at books or magazines the pictures were far more important to me than the text; only after the desire for the visual was sated would I even consider reading. In fact, I would often stare at the words looking for images and patterns to appear from the jumble of letters and paragraphs, which they often did. Reading was third on my list of priorities when digesting any form of printed media. Drawing was the same; it was my language, and writing always seemed like such a waste of good drawing time. Of course, the irony of now writing this is not lost on me, but I would find so much pleasure in drawing throughout my childhood that it was obvious to both me and my parents that this would be the direction my life would go in, there was never any doubt.