In 2001 I ran away from England.
My band had just imploded, The Spice Girls were on TV and I was at a loss.
My solution was to gather up my belongings, leave them on the side of the street somewhere in West 11 and get on a plane to Los Angeles.
And so it was that I arrived, starry-eyed, in California with nothing but my guitarist boyfriend and a few possessions that escaped the purge.
When you arrive in LA, she rolls out the red carpet, welcomes you with open arms, and turns up the volume.
Perfectly fluffy clouds, a warm breeze off the ocean, top down on the PCH with my hand hanging out the window. it was all magical.
Parties till dawn, rubbing shoulders with this one and that one. doing cartwheels in the lobby of the Chateau, driving home along Mulholland watching the lights twinkle as far as the eye can see. Everything seemed possible. I was smitten.
In those early, over-excited days I could be found wandering the streets with my trusty FM2, documenting my new surroundings.
My 35mm camera gave way to a Hasselblad and then again to a large format.
These photographs are some of the very first images I took of LA.