I was a sensitive child an extravert but of an artistic nature, always wanting to make things, draw things or pull them apart in case there was some magic there that I’d missed. I always believed in magic, some kind of formula that could be used to gain all the things you desired a bit like the alchemist always gambling on finding the right ingredients.
At school I was a poor pupil and learnt little, I never felt part of it and was expelled at the age of 14 for refusing to ware the right uniform. I then spent
a few months working for my father in his tailoring shop. We had a very difficult relationship, alike in some ways, totally opposite in others and arguing regularly. He eventually threw me out. I enrolled at the local art school, staying with friends and living in various cheap rooms. I don’t remember learning much but it gave me the space to think about where I was heading.
I was very naive (still am a bit) but was convinced my name would be in lights, while I still held on to my belief in non-materialism.
In the early sixties art school was an exciting place to be, people seemed to be making changes in their lives and all sorts of stigmas were being broken. I felt at last that I belonged somewhere.
I grew my hair and beard; because that was obviously the natural thing to do, why stand in the way of nature? I wandered around London’s portabella road, looking for old soldier’s uniforms and anything colorful or mystical. Color and originality was the key but I hated it when people stared at me, just because I looked a bit different.