My earliest childhood memory is watching the sunlight through a jar of amber full of wasps.

Some of my old memories feel trapped in amber in my brain, lucid and burning, while others are like the wing beat of a hummingbird, an intangible, ephemeral blur.

My earliest memory is aged three, seeing sunlight on water and feeling it was really magical.

At home, I love reaching out into that absolute silence, when you can hear the owl or the wind.

As women, we need to remember: don't be a doormat!

People think of me as a stereotype: muse, privileged, decorative. Classically, the muses were the inspiration. They'd come and go - they wouldn't actually make things, get their hands dirty. I don't think I'm a muse, although I think I can help pull a trigger. I really like getting my hands dirty.