Life seems to be a perpetual practice of letting shit go. Letting go of an idea of how a thing should look, or be, or feel. And that one’s a big one … - Andrew Garfield

I didn’t have to force my way into letting myself rest. It was interesting. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, the reason for this weird peace I’ve been experiencing. I think the loss of my mum was a big thing. That cataclysm is a forever-reverberating shift into a deeper awareness of reality. Existence. The shortness of this window we have. I think that’s working on me in profound ways that I’m probably not even aware of.

I love learning about other artists’ processes so much; I don’t know why. It’s like a magpie-collecting hobby of mine. I find it incredibly inspiring, and just as a human being, I’m like, God, I love people. I love it when people devote themselves to something that is greater than themselves, and they work at it.

It’s that eternal struggle between being devoted to the invisible world, the world of spirit, the world of imagination, creativity, what we know we’re meant to do. But if we were purely devoted to that, it would be much harder for us to put a roof over our heads. So how do we balance that? We’re living through a capitalistic period in the history of humanity. And it’s deeply disgusting and horrific and ugly and all those things, as well as beautiful. It’s a fascinating time to be alive. And how do artists – how does anyone, because everyone is an artist – really retain that connection to soul, to spirit, to the unseen, to the thing that really pulls us? Our own personal genius. Our own personal calling. Giftedness.