Garden change

I'm one of the lucky ones. I have access to a green place filled with fluff and stuff and blue and green and things unrolling and blowing about the sky.

Change is everywhere. I can see how the world moves within hours, day to night and sun to rain.

The garden is a companion of sorts, where I see change as a source of endless inspiration.

I love the colours that play in any garden within the layers of light and shade.

I try and fix those shifting moments in a book I stitch. I want your hand to move across brights to darks and through the shifting colour tones and tints between.

In the garden, there are so many tints and tones and hues and shades, and then the sun comes out, or the cloud passes. My inability to capture all those shifting shades must become a sort of celebration for me. Not so much managing my content with failure, as a reminder that change is all around us, it is us, and it necessarily is in the things we make.

I want the books in many ways to be transitory, ephemeral, and to be constantly changing in your hand.

One day it looked like this, and another day, after you added stuff, pressed flowers, slipped between the pages the handwriting of someone you loved, well it all became something else.

Change.