I’ve been going back through my sketchbooks, remembering times that I was inspired to draw. It’s amazing how many memories my drawings bring back to me. I don’t know why, but for some reason I look at a sketch and I can remember that specific moment in time – the weather, the sounds, the ants crawling across the stone in front of me, the birds rustling in the branches. I think it’s why I consider it my version of mindfulness. When I draw, I subconsciously seem to soak up everything around me.
These vines were growing under a verandah in my parents’ garden in Queenscliff. Even in a drought that garden seems to thrive. It is always lush and green with surprises popping up around each corner. The story is that at one time the cottage was used by a butcher, so the soil is full of blood and bone thrown in there over the years. It means that every type of plant seems to flourish and grow to amazing heights.
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