On a frozen day, I nip into the garden looking for flotsam and jetsam – stuff on the soil, leftovers, things blown in on the wind.
Snails have left their shells, a chance to marvel at them. Each unique, all whirl and mark and ridge, drawing them I notice that they have a lip, like something thrown on a potter's wheel. I've pulled out a soft piece of old sample board, cotton in texture. The watercolour will sink in so I use a candle for wax resist.
While looking, I spot a small harvest, of baby chard and spinach leaves, richly-quilted, complex so I layer watercolour, watercolour crayon and white fineliner; fennel leaves (I use a bit of kitchen scourer for those) and some scraps of pot-grown parsley.
On the face of it, these are all scraps, but they're riches too, of colour, texture and flavour.
Ballpen, watercolour, fineliner, household candle, watercolour crayon on waste and handed-down paper.
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