The Turning Point
My sliding doors moment came in the mid 1980s when I happened to walk in the National Gallery, London. It was like a slap around the face with the history, beauty, colour and light of the paintings.
Hook, line and sinker, I fell in love with art. At that time I was a young police constable who had just been told, after an incident where I received a bang to the head, that one day I would be profoundly deaf. They were not wrong.
Equally, I was witnessing the most traumatic scenes. In a short period I attended three ‘hold the fort calls’ where an ambulance was on its way, but we had to do what we could in the meantime. Two of these incidents involved young children.
We had never heard of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) back then and there was no counseling. That unplanned trip to the National Gallery accidentally provided me with art therapy. I began visiting galleries, reading about art and painting, it was my release.