In college we had to bring a ladder to class. This ladder became a companion in various creative activities, standing on top of it reciting poetry, dropping paint from it, carrying it with us as we moved around the studio. My ladder was small, I don’t like being at height, I have an urge to step off, to jump.

The last task was to paint a portrait of our ladders. We were given a large roll of paper. I diligently set to work, painting what this ladder meant to me. The background was black and in beautiful detail I rendered a realistic portrait of this tiny ladder at the bottom of the page, 1;1 scale. I was marked down for a lack of creativity as my peers had strewn multi-coloured paint and pattern at their abstract depictions of ladders.

I think about the painting all the time, it was so personal to me, embodying my fears, the discomfort of each task on top of it. The feelings of isolation from the group of creatives pushing the boundaries. My boundaries were pushed but in very different ways that were not considered valid by those in power.

I found a ladder in the store at work. A moment took me and I had to photograph it. The store was in the photo studio so I pulled it out and placed it on the black platform.