Aged 4, I discovered an attraction to the colour red while at the village harvest auction. So I bought those tomatoes with my 2p.
Aged 6, I decided to draw a cat. Everyone said I was an 'artist', so I became one.
I imagined myself as a bald, bearded, portly 50 yr old (holding a paintbrush) looking at my mirrored reflection in a dark room with a strong light source coming from one side. Years later I would see Sickert's painting of Victor Lecour. Or had I already seen it?
Aged 9 , I went to BSC and was taught by an Art teacher who looked very much like the portrait of Victor Lecour, and he said so.
Aged 15, I suspended a rubber (that's an eraser, American readers) on pins. It was a thing of beauty, and I knew I had become an artist, a state from which I knew I would never unbecome.
Then lots of other things happened, like:
making the 'jetty' maquette which Tracey Emin would later present in full scale at the Tate Gallery
attempting, and failing to create the real Glass Bead Game
exhibiting some air
embarking on a mission to reclaim Pop Art from a festering void
etc. You know, the usual things...