I’m going to post about my Christmas soon! Don’t worry! It’ll be up when I come back from the family Christmas in Montreal. I’m going there the 26th and 27th.

I have been fleshing out the plotline for Mothpowder, because when I read the last synopsis, it seemed unclear to me. I couldn’t make up very many events. So, here’s the newly-formed one, just for you!

m o t h p o w d e r

After witnessing the shocking death of her father, young clairvoyant Hailey Simmons is transfered to Blair Academy, a prestigious boarding school also renown for its colorful history. There, she meets the mysterious Thomas Blair, descendant of the school’s founder. The building itself is a Hell Circle, a result of the last witch that was burnt there before Blair Academy was created. In her final words, the witch cursed the school and its founding family, so that they will never forget the treachery that lead to her death.

I know there’s things missing, but at the same time, I don’t want to reveal too much.Tell me what you think? Tips? Suggestions? I’m a little rusty with synopsizes.

Movie Review: Ricky

Alternate Title: Up in the Air

Story: What happens to very ordinary people when something extraordinary happens in their lives? Director and writer François Ozon tackles this interesting subject matter with flair and grace. The film is based on “Moth,” a short story by Rose Tremain.

Chemical factory worker Katie, lives with her seven year old daughter in a concrete housing complex in France. She meets a co-worker and before you can snap your fingers they are living together and have a baby. The seven year old names him Ricky. Director Ozon handles the first part of the film like any other family drama. There are ups and there are downs in everyone’s lives. Soon enough, there are mostly ups – but the ups come in the form of Ricky’s sprouting wings and beginning to fly.

The film shifts into another type of film at this point in time. It turns to a lovely hint of magic realism with a splash of allegory. Ricky’s ability to fly, depending on your point of view, can be a nightmare or a gift. How do Ricky’s parents cope? What will they decide to do? How can Ricky be pinned down?

The production values are top rate. From sensing the interior lives of these people to the wonder of Ricky’s flights are all top notch. This film transported me, for a very short time, to a terrific uplifting place. This film has legs – or should I say wings.

The trailer has been disabled so you have to click on the lower right to watch the trailer on youtube.

Acting: Alexandra Lamy as Katie is terrific as is Sergi Lopez as Paco. Little Mélusine Mayance as seven year od Lisa is marvelous. Arthur Peyret as flying baby Ricky is adorable.

Trivia: Sergi Lopez frequently plays unsympathetic characters such as abusive boyfriends, heartless con men, and psychopaths. His family was Republican during the Spanish Civil War, ironic as he played the pro-Franco, fascist Captain Vidal in Pan’s Labyrinth. In 2001 he won the César for his role in Dominick Moll’s “Harry, Un Ami Qui Veut du Bien.” This role came to define his mastery on villainous roles which continued in “Solo Mia” with Paz Vega as his battered wife, Stephen Frears’ “Dirty Pretty Things” with Chiwetel Ejiofor and Audrey Tautou as his scared pawns, and Guillermo del Toro’s “El Laberinto del Fauno” with post-Civil Spain as playground for his Vidal’s sadism.

Predilection: The idea of a flying baby was very interesting to me.

Critters: Birds

Food: Eggs and sausages and some chicken wings that looked very much like Ricky’s early sprouts.

Sex Spectrum: It is a French film.

Soundtrack: I cannot recall.

Opening Titles: All credits and title are at the end.

Visual Art: Terrific visuals

Theater Audience: It was only my sister and me in one of the new 35 seat theaters at the IFC. A terrific surprise private showing. We shared some holiday cookies and small chit chat without disturbances from anyone.

Weather: The film mostly seemed gray except when Ricky was airborne.

Sappy Factor: 0

Quirky Meter: 2

Squirm Scale: 0

Drift Factor: I was attentive throughout.

Predictability Level: Moderate

Tissue Usage: 0

Oscar Worthy: No

Big Screen or Rental: Rental would be fine. You could also rent Odon’s other fine films – Swimming Pool and Under the Sand.

Length: 90 minutes.

LOBO HOWLS: 7.5

In an effort to help a threatened species of moth, Butterfly Conservation is asking the UK public to enjoy a glass or two of English cider.

Experts say that the mistletoe marble moth is confined to a few sites, primarily cider orchards, where plentiful mistletoe provides a suitable habitat.

Source:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/shared/spl/hi/pop_ups/08/sci_nat_enl_1261410442/html/1.stm

Vientiane, Laos

A brown moth encountered on a wall in Vientiane.

My first and most important rule is – Buy universal but unique clothes that will suit you for at least one year. What’s universal for me?

Black black black and one more time black! It is good for every occasion -  evening party, business meeting or lazy day. My black mix for today:

Loose sweater Promod 2009

Cotton Scarf H&M (for man) 2009

Longsleeve Blouse Bershka 2009

Faux Leather Leggings by Bershka 2009

Chains H&M 2009 + a gift – little silver cross with black jewel

Ankle Boots by Zara 2007

Leather XXL Bag with studs Zara 2007

+ black eye liner and red lips!

I’ve got the bag from my mum for 18th birthday. It’s the greatest gift I have ever got. It’s inspired by Burberry Prorsum Knight studded bag. Well, the quality isn’t the best. As you can see – i’ve lost some of the studs and the zipper is broken too. Boots also have their story -  I’ve found them in Zara, they were so amazing! My size wasn’t available so I tried to forget about them. I was dreaming about having them! One day, few months later (!), 1 size too large, but the same, great shoes were waiting for me in another Zara store! I couldn’t stop myself. I took them in my hands (so that nobody else could get them), told my boyfriend to go to the cash machine and I bought them with a big smile on my face. They’re my favorite and most comfortable boots on high heels!

You want some too? I’ve found a great mix in Topshop’s online store + some bags on Polyvore.

A couple of weeks ago, I spent a very intense Saturday afternoon.  It was just before Thanksgiving, and I went to see The Blind Side and Precious at my favorite little movie house here in Raleigh.  Both of these movies were fantastic movies.  These are some of the best performances I have seen this year, if not ever.  In fact, if I were to make a choice from all the movies I have seen this year so far, The Blind Side would most likely be my pick for Best Movie of the Year, and I would give it one of those little golden statuettes which they give out every year.  There was something important about both of these movies, though.  Both of these movies were based on books, and the books are real stories.  These books are the recounting of the events from the experience of the teller. 

About the same time, I discovered the existence of a venue in New York where there is a regular celebration of personal stories.  Known as The Moth, it is a place where people share their stories, without scripts or props.  The tellers are chosen by the organizers/managers, and are asked to keep the stories to a certain length and often are solicited around a certain topic.  From time to time, notable persons are invited to tell stories, as part of a focused topic.  You, playful follower, can get CD’s and podcasts of these events from their website.  For many of you who are lucky enough to live in a city where your local stations air The Moth Radio Hour, you can hear these stories broadcast to your very own ears.  Should you think such a program would not be entertaining, let me assure you of the contrary.

You see, in my experience of improvisational theater and through my practice of InterPlay, I have experienced the power of the personal story first-hand.  We have several forms of story-telling…side-by-side stories, big-body stories, DT3’s (a mixture of dance and story)…which involve the use of ideas proposed by individuals or an audience-at-large.  They can be allowed to run any length, or limited to a certain number of minutes, often three minutes.  I have been both a listener, and a teller.  Never have I been disappointed by a story, and what never ceases to amaze me is how powerful personal stories are.  So I encourage you, playful follower, to take advantage of a personal story every chance you get.  Get someone to share a story with you, or share your story with them – or do both.  Personal stories are a way to a deeper appreciation of life all around.

Incredible sculptures made with dust

Paul Hazelton might come to your home and it might be spotless by the time he leaves. Why? He likes taking dust, taking it home and turning it into sculptures.

Cool, maybe, Weird, meh, creepy, possibly. Mr Hazelton, who has been dubbed ‘the dustman’ and ‘human Hoover’, has created a humanoid, a briefcase and a moth from the waste matter.

The 43-year-old’s latest work is a bedroom complete with a television set, armchairs and a wardrobe, and some of his creations will even be on display at an exhibition in New York this Christmas.

“I think it all has something to do with the fact that I was brought up in an immaculate environment that was really clean,’ said Mr Hazelton.

It is a kind of recycling. The reaction of people when they see the art is one of incredulity.”

I think it’s cool.

Source

Like a moth to a flame

I walk in the warmth of whispering winds,
whispering words wanting to comfort
and it cools down this heat that I feel.

Like a moth to the flame,
I get closer and closer,

I know what awaits, I feel danger
as my surroundings get stranger
and it contains a certain appeal.

Like a moth to the flame,
I get closer and closer,

I walk on ice cold coal cast aside,
creating crescendos of warnings
and it heats up this fear, so very real.

Like a moth to the flame,
I get closer and closer,

I fear what awaits and I fear the danger,
my surroundings are getting less stranger
I’ve been here before, here I’ll never heal.

Like a moth to the flame,
I got way too close and my wings
are no more

So again I spin my cocoon of silk,
and I hide away till maybe one day
it would be a butterfly that emerge.

               Oh Dear! A moth on the windowsill..it better not chew the curtains!! x

I lay awake studying
the behavior of a moth.
How it got its kicks from
getting close to that light
and then reeling back
all over the place.
High as a goddam kite.

But always returning
once more promising
itself this time
would be the last.

Gradually the laboratory
of my mind decided
it would look better
with green eyes.
Or would be more
powerful when allied
to other insects with
similar interest in this light.

Maybe if they combined
wealth they could build
a bridge to the sun or
even better fly out
to Times Square.
Then they’d be sorted.

But then I killed it
because it had begun to annoy me.

by Carl Strang

Winter is a time when we slow down and become introspective. Sitting and staring into the fire, we ponder the big questions. If you have been following this blog, you know that the focus here is science, science that can be done simply in outdoor settings. But we are more than scientists, and science has well defined limitations that need to be understood by everyone who does science or studies its findings. This winter I am using one post per week to develop my own viewpoint and biases, in particular sharing my take on the relationship between science and spirituality. In part this defines for me what these two realms of human experience are all about, and also develops the separate methods used for inquiry in each realm. I plan to place this paragraph in front of each entry in this series, so that those who are interested only in natural history or in scientific practice can skip these posts.

What Are the Senses, Really? (part 2)

Our senses are by no means the only ones that exist. Each kind of animal has its own senses, and its own range of sensitivities. Many mammals hear beyond our hearing range at both the high and low ends. Some insects and birds can see colors in the ultraviolet energy levels, higher than our range. Bats are amazing in that they can reconstruct the 3-dimensional world based on reflected sound. They scream, and the reflections of each ultrasonic (to our ears) scream give them information about nearby objects. It’s a connect-the-dots world view, however, with spaces between the screams. Moths, which are important prey to many bats, can hear, but their high-frequency hearing range does not overlap with ours at all. The only reason moths can hear is that this allows them to detect approaching bats. When a moth hears something, this is bad news, for it is picking up the high-frequency sounds of a bat’s screams. The moth goes into a power dive with an unpredictable course, which sometimes successfully squeezes the moth through the holes in the bat’s connect-the-dots world. In addition, male moths can “smell” with their antennae, but they can smell only one thing: the pheromones released by females of their species. When a moth smells something, this is good news, for he can follow the scent trail to an advertising female.

Stranger yet are senses totally different from ours, for instance the electromagnetic field detectors of certain fish that live in large, muddy tropical rivers. They cannot see, but they can create an electric field which is disturbed by nearby objects with greater or lesser conductivity than the surrounding waters. The fish can interpret this information and do the things necessary for survival.

Ethologists (behavioral biologists) use the term Umwelt to refer to the world as perceived through the limited senses of a particular species. Our Umwelt is dominated by vision, with sound also significant and other senses rounding out the picture. It cannot be regarded as giving us the “true” image of the Universe, any more than does the Umwelt of an electric eel. This is the strange conclusion that science has discovered for us, and it adds to the irony when some scientists so confidently judge what is and is not “real.” One suspects that, when they were children, their monster-under-the-bed sensors didn’t work at all.

Our sensory organs filter the information coming in to them. Organizational cells within the retinas of our eyes exaggerate edges and otherwise edit what we “see.” In a similar way our ears edit the complex combinations of incoming sound vibrations into just a few dominant perceived sounds. Some of the richer but more confusing reality can be measured with instruments, but is left out of what we notice.

Our brain takes this incomplete, edited information and uses it to manufacture a cohesive, sensible model of our surroundings. One example of the brain’s work is its compensation for the blind spot, a small area in the retina of each eye which contains no sensory cells. We do not notice any holes in our visual field because the brain fills them in. Our brain also fabricates a continuity that fills the gaps when we blink.

An important implication of this tendency of the sense organs and brain to sharpen the edges of sounds and sights, to fill in gaps and selectively organize a sensible model of the world, is that we have an exaggerated understanding of the separateness of things. There is more connection, more oneness, to the Universe than we perceive.

Friday October 2nd, 2009

Dunno what these gardens are called but they’re near the ‘G. 8:02pm.

Saturday October 10th, 2009

A bird on my clothesline. 5:15pm.

Friday October 16th, 2009

Moths. 6:40pm.

Tuesday October 20th, 2009

A bee who was waiting for a train at Prahran. 5:04pm.

Friday October 30th, 2009

Big storm. Sometime around 11:30pm.

I ventured along to compete, or make up the numbers, at my first moth worlds along with another Aussie ex-pat in Singapore Mark Robinson (Head of Hi Performance at Singapore Sailing). Having bought the moth a year ago based on cool videos that I had seen on the internet, I really wasn’t sure what I had put myself into. But going to a famous windy sailing venue in these crazy fast boats seemed like a good idea to learn how to sail these boats to their potential.

The venue was amazing.  Sailing on the Columbia River where the wind is thermal off the Pacific Coast and sucked up to the desert to the east meant 15-25 knots each day.  Certainly not what I am used to in Singapore. I spent the 2 weeks there really feeling like a passenger on the boat as it didn’t really need any encouragement from me to take off as I learnt how to sail these boats fast and try keep them in control.

I spent 2 weeks in the US doing the US Nationals or warm-up regatta first, followed by the Worlds.  There were 47 entries from over 10 different nations ranging from UK, Switzerland, UAE,  Japan and Australia. The quality of the entry list was high and included the recent winner of the 49er worlds Nathan Outteridge, Quantum Racing TP52 tactician Morgan Larsen, Kevin Hall is tactician about Team New Zealand and an Olympic Finn rep, as well as a host of other well known dinghy sailors.  To list them all is just too long!

But does show that the top sailing guys are jumping across to the moth and paying their own way just because the boats are challenging and a heap of fun, but the main thing is, they are just fast.

For me, the racing wasn’t really racing but just getting around the course.  My starts were awesome though and somehow I managed to control the boat in 20 knots and hit the line with pace and in clean air.  It would all fall over at the first tack when I would somehow end up standing on the centerboard cursing at myself trying to get back upright and going again.  Not a good or fast look at all.

From then it would be a case of getting around the course, minimizing the crashing but still going fast.  I certainly had some interesting moments for sure.  Notable was getting ready for a gybe, the rudder foil ventilating causing a big nose dive, somehow saving the nose dive whilst a huge wall came over the boat, the vang somehow getting uncleated, contacts getting washed out making me blind, and a shoreline rapidly approaching as I got back under control.  Completing that race and the next without contacts in 20 knots was certainly, ummmm, interesting…

Overall my results weren’t great finishing 40th.  Had a lot of gear breakages which were rather frustrating causing lots of alphabet scores.  But the aim was to learn how to get the most out of the boats and how to sail them, and I think I achieved that and know what to do and practice back here in Singapore.  Next worlds are in Dubai in March, so plan to overhaul the boat and make it bulletproof, and then trade hard in the NE monsoon.

If anyone is interested in moths, then give me a buzz.  The past 6 months my boat and the other Bladerider have based ourselves out of Mana Mana as there is less shipping traffic and things to run into.  But will most likely bring it back over to CSC for the NE monsoon.

They are an amazing boat to sail and like nothing else you have ever sailed on before.  And if you think you are too old, well a 60+ yr old was getting around the course at the worlds plus a few others in their 50s.

James Cole

One papery moth fell into Walden Pond and his will to live sent furious furrows skittering across the water’s brow.

(photo: D. Cheng)

While busy with my last hour revision for my last paper the other day, I’ve got such a sweet visitor who keepd me company throughout the night, a gigantic moth. I am lucky that I manage to get few closed-up shots of it, here’s one of ‘em

Giving up sin is really hard. When you feel tempted, and you choose not to give in to it, it can be disorienting. You just want Christ to vanquish the difficulty, eliminating it in one easy step. But he doesn’t do that. He lets me struggle out of it, like a moth struggles it way out of a cocoon because that is what will make the moth, aka: me, strong. I am becoming a moth and I must follow Christ out of here.

I am walking to the train for my weekly salsa-lesson. The rain is falling, it is soft and beautiful.
I look up towards the streetlamp, lo and behold: a silly moth is playing suicidal games as it is zigzag flying in the rain.

I try to catch it, but no.

I suspect the moth will reach the light of its choice one way or the other.

There are plenty of cockroaches here in Uganda. At night when I go to the jacks, I open the door and shine the torch in. I catch a glimpse of a few black things scuttling away into the dark corners. But I’m relaxed as I take my slash as they don’t attack humans… OR SO I THOUGHT!!!!

A loud scuttly buzzing sound wakes me up in the middle of the night. It’s pitch black and I can’t see a thing. I listen to the buzzing scratching sound to try to pinpoint where it is and calculate it’s size and species, daredevil style. I can’t tell if it’s inside or outside my mosquito net, but it’s definitely close. It sounds too heavy to be a mosquito so I’m not too worried about malaria. Maybe it’s a moth in distress or something. It has probably caught it’s leg or wing in the net somehow. I don’t mind moths, so I try and go back to sleep. After a few minutes the buzzing and scuttling seems to be getting closer. I’m having a hard time trying to get some sleep, so I think about maybe getting up and grabbing a container of some sort to trap it and throw it out. It’s also starting to freak me out a bit because it no longer sounds like a moth. I can hear a hard shell and scuttly legs. So I’m lying there when suddenly a horrible heavy hard leggy wingy thing lands on my temple just by my ear and I JUMP LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER OUT OF THE BED, scrambling through the mosquito net as if I was trapped in a cobweb. I’m rubbing my hands all over my head trying to get the thing off but there doesn’t seem to be anything there. I turn on the light, and I can still hear the scuttling and buzzing. The fecker is there beside my pillow… moving around… a big dirty cockroach. I grab a little lunchbox and move stealthily towards my bed, begging the filthy cockroach not to go hiding under my blankets or down the back of my bed… he seems to be relaxing a bit, he’s just scuttling his legs around.

BAM! I cover him with the lunchbox and I can see him jumping and flying around inside. I slip a piece of paper underneath and place him on the floor and just watch the horrible thing being a big dirty cockroach in my lunchbox. I check my phone, it’s like 3am. The doors in the house are solid metal and they make an awful clatter when they open, I don’t want to wake everybody while throwing the roach out, so I decide to leave him at the other side of the room until morning.

I walk back towards bed and look at my bag on the floor. It’s wide open, exposed to the elements, exposed to the cockroaches. I don’t know if I was hallucinating out of tiredness or what, but I was sure I could hear more scuttling in my bag… I got back into bed, hoping that I was only hearing things, but at the same time making a personal note to smash every pocket and sock with a thick book before putting them on in future. I tuck the mosquito net into the sides of my bed and then check around with a torch for any stowaways. All clear. I head to sleep to the sound of scuttling. Hopefully that’s just the guy in the lunchbox.

Let’s look at the Tomato Hornworm!

The Tomato Hornworm

This big green caterpillar LOVES tomatoes! It’s a big green caterpillar with these cool shaped markings on its side and has a black horn on its rear.

Imagine how this little creepy crawler affects farming, and your local grocery store. They are so hard to spot because of their green colour. They hide right under branches close to the truck, commonly attacking tomato, eggplant, pepper and potatoes.

One way to reduce the population of tomato hornworms is by planting Marigold flowers!

The Tomato Hornworm

Did you know?

Pupa. Don’t call your friends this, but a pupa is basically the life stage of insects that undergo TRANSFORMATION! They go through 4 stages: from the embryo, larva, pupa then imago (adult stage).

These guys, morph into a HAWK MOTH! Yes a HAWK MOTH. Hawk moths are sometimes mistaken for hummingbirds. Some are capable of flying at over 30 miles an hour!

This isn’t the right time to be feeling so nihilistic all of a sudden, the past week as a been a hell of self-indulgence and binges on anything that has been going, six days in a row I have drank stupid amounts of drink and consumed little food compared to the things I am not brave enough to mention that has been facilitated by a outside member of our wasteful troupe of actors and writers and directors and artists within the institution that we call home – for now. We all know this is going to end in mourning, for advertisements on television warn of one in five contracting these such illnesses that cannot be cured and our affirmation into the lifestyle we have chosen does nothing but welcomes the maddening sick. A bottle of water by my side as I retell the story of the past week with guilt and a soft sad tone, no one is around now but me, the walls are a white wash stained yellow from the now dispersed smoke and outside the window the rain falls and its dark. The time is 13:46 as I write this and sun never rose to set but permanently stayed in bed for it feels how I do today.

Paranoia sweeps down except for the hours of seven in the morning until ten when I arrive for a lecture or if it has been cancelled that is when it begins. The use of the internet has made everything too easy, so instead of hard work routing through dictionaries and encyclopaedias and books on referencing the art you are making. The art I’m making is sparse, sporadic and just as self-indulgent as the debauchery. I am a selfish person. I have selfish wills and will do in fact close to anything to get what I desire at this point in time before the time counts down and the new year is upon us with great dissatisfaction to the previous year that has ended, now only existing in memory and digital images upon your Facebook page. The death student comes as a quick genocide every June. When thousands strip themselves of youth and enter a world unknowing and cruel, where time costs more than space, space is harder to find than that beautiful girl you once saw on a bus who flashed you a smile as you walked past her and had to double take because that smell of white chocolate and the glow of ethereal purity could only have been a momentary lapse, a déjà vu because she then goes onto resemble first love in its entirety – a sweet drop of sweat from the forehead during a summers morning embrace. These realizations left me without a hope for the future but more of a direct drive to find the hope to spur on the grand gesture of life outside of education – the journey into the wild cities where nights of talk with Mike about the evolution of beauty: the evolution of the peppered moth during the industrial revolution to adapt to the new changes in global discolouration to escape the advances of the great tit sums up how the in the ever changing public persona of myself must make a defining less gradual change of myself to escape the advances of becoming the deadly artist or actor or performer. The holiness of the moth being able to do this give faith in myself as a higher being (figuratively) to change to fit my surroundings in a social and political state, but isn’t this just the life of an actor anyway? I pretend to be someone else to escape my own inferiority within different circumstances of a show, taking upon a different set of idiosyncrasies to fit criteria handed down by the power above whoever that is.

This brings me onto my second point: The process I go through in order to perform is much like that of other artists I have read about but for obvious reasons not able to obtain first hand: I as a member of the human race have an hereditary emotional resonance with everything and nothing. Through my construction as twenty one year old male living in this time I can connect with things in my time and times past and imagine what a future self would do and using these as grounding to levitate myself into the shoes of a character, contorting to fit: bodily language, internal thoughts, given points in task as if I know to enter at this point and exit at this point. It is through the public task of audience to decipher my true function within the piece, where as within myself I only do as I am told and bringing the basic emotional gestures to show – like a dog doing tricks. This however does not deter from the work I create, for I create work out of a love of going through the ‘motions’ whether they be through a barrage of a task based study of theatre itself or an internalization of characters or caricatures who enter and exit with reasons and not presence.

So I conclude that life itself is a busy bustling one that must not be handled with care and too much thought because the thought itself is a saddening thing, it’s the face value tactic I approach with carefully with a hope that the next hand I shake would be full of love and the next set of daggers thrown are my own for practice. This all stems within weeks of thought upon how relationships change within the shadows for better or worse with the slightest of grievances aimed towards my relationship with performance itself. Yet writing never lets me down, I can say what ever I would desire and not feel the need to show off using concise grammar and spelling, without real respect for prose and more just the stream-of-conscious thoughts and feelings armed with spell check, coffee and an unmentionable. The words pour from my head like a tin of paint splattering onto a canvas just to drip off again due to a nonchalance way of looking at the art your creating the creating it itself is the art and the action the performance so with everything a performance or a piece of art is it then devalued? Same with relationships with people: if every one is free willed to do what they want, talk to who they would like does that then devalue an already outstanding relationship with another person if the relationship intertwines like every song you have ever listened to sound tracking your life on shuffle? My experiences are now shaved nerve endings filling my eyes with that sharp bite of pain you get reminiscent to tooth ache. Bah.

I am working on some butterfly/moth + flower images this week, this is the one closest to being finished.

I’ve been experimenting with encaustic and layers of vellum and paper, I love how the vellum resists ink, gathering it up, making the image even more translucent. The ones that turned out best had pale colours and a limited palette.

Time is limited because I’m getting a lot of small pieces ready for a show, so back to the bugs…