When I was younger, I associated people with colours. For me, colours were a feeling unto themselves, the intricate layers of emotion that language has not yet welded into a tangible form. As I grew older, this feeling persisted, only I found colours developed a different significance, which I could only discover through maturity. That is not to say my relationship to colour responded to adolescent change, the emotional intensity that hormonal fluctuation necessarily evokes, rather it was a new understanding of life; a lens more experienced, more aware of the complexity of the world. Colours are now related with the patterns of my thought structure, the manner that I view people, which occasionally render my palette inert, for the hue appears almost too basic to represent that feeling attached to the individual. Although it appears peculiar, bemusing, or perhaps farcical, my condition, commonly known as synaesthesia – where separate senses blend together to provide an idiosyncratic emotional experience – has affected hundreds of thousands of people, including many cultural figures, particularly in the arts.