We are born into a family, which lives at a particular time with particular knowledge in a particular culture.
The process of growing up is one of continual accommodation to the threats and pressures around the child.
Our innocent nature, born undivided, comes under assault.
The reveries of childhood, the joys and wonder of the world and the splendour of being alive disappear.
We are left with vague memories, a mere taste of what life could have been, as we labour under the burden of hollow work with short changed pay checks and empty lives of quite desperation.
We should all celebrate the rebel artists who survive this attempt to destroy creativity.
Child dressed in garden netting, running through an allotment. Bridport Dorset, June 13, 2015, Photograph: Robert Golden