Photography and I have been at odds with one-another over the past few weeks. Every time I look at my camera I just feel deflated. I think: ‘What’s the point? Everything has been done before. And whatever I do there is always someone out there who could do it so much better anyway.’ The other day I was looking through some of photos I took while I was studying and I realised that I used to be a much better photographer. Which isn’t fair, really. The subject matter, plus the reasons and motivations for taking the photos I took in uni couldn’t be any more different from what I’m doing now. They are so far apart there is no point comparing them. But compare I do. I compare without even realising I’m doing it. And I do it constantly. I recognise that my negative thought patterns are blinding me to the fact that the whole reason I took on this project was simply to document. To record a precious, fleeting childhood not to make meaningful, poignant art. But I’ve also been through these episodes enough to recognise that this is just another one of my self-doubting phases. And that’s it’s not necessarily a bad thing either. Even if it feels like it is.