At the tender age of 5 years old, I had already begun my lifelong obsession with paper, drawing, folding, making art with the stuff, when one day the very object of my desire, attacked me. It happened very quickly, a complete surprise, one moment happily drawing a picture, the next, a cut on the finger, blood flowing. In fact, before this, I had no idea that there was such a thing as ‘blood’ and even less that I was filled with it and that it coursed through my veins. All I knew at the moment was the awful pain of a cut and that by a sheet of paper. My best friend, love of my life, a blank, empty, snow-white beautiful, lovely piece of paper. Looking on in horror at the red stained sheet of white while enduring the pain, I understood, life would never be the same.