Sprawled across a chaise longue in my mother's house, I reached for the 'phone and dialed the model agency in Sydney.“How're you going with those last two kilos?” the woman who ran the agency asked me. She didn't even bother with 'hello'.
“I’m not coming,” I said. There was silence. Then, before she could complain about all the time and money the agency had invested in me, I told her, “I’m going to be an artist.”“That’s not a living,” she said. “That's not the point,” I replied. I apologised for wasting her time.I called my boyfriend who was waiting for me in Sydney and told him almost exactly the same thing. “But your first show hasn't even opened yet,” he said.“I know. I’m sorry,” I told him. “I wish I’d figured it out sooner.”