How did I get here? Well, I once travelled to Bethlehem, Palestine. It was 2018. At a crossroads in my life. I'd lost my parents and was increasingly losing my marbles working in ‘big-tech’, in advertising. I hated advertising.

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Getting off the plane, I was pulled into the backroom at the airport. Luggage was waiting on a table. Panic. Turns out it was a case of mistaken identity. Believed to be a film maker showcasing his new film at the Jerusalem film festival I was given a bulbous gift bag and whisked to a plush hotel. It wasn’t my hotel.

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Leaving quickly soon after, I made my way to the Banksy ‘Walled Off’ hotel. Passing through ‘that wall’ later that day to get there. No gift bags. No warm welcome. Just metallic voices and no natural light. I was like a battery hen; not a film maker.

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Soon after I met an Italian artist painting a mural. A mural to depict the bravery of a young girl. I helped out. One afternoon as that mural was being completed, I noticed my new friend being bundled into an armoured vehicle. Shaken up, I scarpered back to the hotel with my bag of spray cans and sketchbooks.

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Sitting down for a quick beer to indulge my pangs of panic, I met Ken. Ken from Tokyo. Ken asked plenty questions with friendly enthusiastic eyes whilst smoking a packet of cigarettes. I didn’t want to talk about advertising, so said I was an artist. I’d painted a few pieces that year, put them on a website and now wanted to live a more bohemian life story. Sure, I lied. But it felt good. I suppose was playing out the basic principles of false advertising. 

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Where are you from? he asked. ‘Bristol’ I replied. Artist, Bristol, spray cans, Banksy hotel. He looks at me, even more enthusiastic now. ‘No Ken. I know what you’re thinking but I’m not him’ was the reply. Ken gave me a knowing look.

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Arriving home a few days later – having been cut off for 48 hours due to a variety of dull reasons – it turns out that I have sold a painting. To Japan. To Ken.

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Now, he’s not Banksy. A fairly simple statement to make. Yet from that day onwards I did choose to be a painter. A painter who paints abstract interpretations of the poetry he writes underneath each layer of paint. I'd like to thank Banksy, in a way but, mostly Ken.