Every week I visit my art psychotherapist Jane in her room which is lined with art and books and a fireplace which is sometimes burning wood. Occasionally her cats sneak in and sleep on the sofa. We sit and I draw or sculpt, but most importantly I talk freely, which is not such a common thing for me. Life untangles itself and begins to make some kind of sense. The trust I have for Jane is a valuable thing, she is an artist herself. I always come away feeling lighter. These are a selection of drawings from those sessions, mostly treasures washed up by the Thames.