Will St. John is lying in bed. Which is fair enough: he’s on holiday and our interview is interrupting (though perhaps I should say at this point that I don’t make a habit of meeting people between the sheets).
‘Oh! Hey, how’s it going?’ he asks, a little startled, propping himself up and walking me — via his laptop — into the kitchen. It’s 11am in upstate New York where the 40-year-old artist is in the midst of a ‘massive family reunion’. He turns his camera to show me the lake and woodlands that stretch out in front of him like a Bob Ross painting — ‘it’s our little corner of the world.’
