Strewn remnants of wet bush find their way again, into my cabin from underfoot. Trickling remnants of black sand shores and bush - I find them in sporadic places. I sweep, and they return.
There is nothing I can do but smile, and love this nature life.
Last week the tree tops were covered in frost, and mist blanketed the forest. This week the sky was clear, and the temperatures momentarily seem to have risen once again. Another layer to take off. Perhaps next week, I'll add the layer again.
I dug into some vessels in the studio and found more of my vintage canvas money bags. I cut some more up and tied them into knots, before soaking them in a bath of secrets ingredients. This was last week.
They stayed tied in knots, wet, until suddenly they seemed dry enough to wrestle with and untie again, which was a little more difficult than I had imagined. Envisage a miniature tent, in a knot...
But I am pleased with the results, and may try different methods at this process. I love to start with something blank, cream or white, and see what can be made with it. Change it into an unrecognizable state. Work with it. See what it wants to become.
These things seem to give themselves over to me in trust. And I feel a degree of responsibility to make them beautiful. Sometimes to me, the oldest, rustiest most weathered thing with all the imperfections I can find, is the most beautiful.
The wisest piece.