Some artists are like Bansky. A spectre flitting in and out of the public eye, full of mystery, but empty of identity apart from what their art projects.

And then there’s the other end of the artistic spectrum, the Picassos, the Dalis, those that make it a point to share their personal lives as much as their art. In both cases, these guys create a story around themselves which is rich, complex, often disturbing, sometimes scary, full of emotion.

I never expected to make many stories out of my art that were too much about me, in the most direct sense of the word. I’ve always talked about my art for what it is; my awe and passion for all things nature, my shrewdly optimistic, David Attenborough-narrated view of the world.

But a chronic illness can somewhat change your perspective. Of yourself, which ultimately changes your perspective of your art.