My view of the moon is usually through trees or clouds. In the hot tub on the deck, at my kitchen table, or upstairs in the studio or in bed, I see it through a lacy screen of branches and leaves, or a veil of mist and vapour.
The lake ripples in long streaks, like the bands of light and dark in the sky. Everything is made up of strata and movement.

As I walk around the yard, wherever I look there are things unfurling. Leaves, blossoms, ferns and grasses open up their spirals of new growth, infinitely complex. Especially down by the lake, exotic-looking plants hide under bushes and other growth, tiny universes in themselves.
Pollen and seeds float in the water by the shore, turning in ever-changing eddies, destined for new growth wherever they touch.
My thoughts drift gently with them.

One of my favourite sketching exercises is to make two or three bold lines…which I think of as vectors…and make my characters and objects fit into them. For this little painted book, I decided to use watercolours on the primed pages, filling my large shapes with colour. Using various markers, I used patterns to create texture and shading.
Filling in certain areas with unlikely patterns, such as the scales on the character’s body and the watery stripes in the sky, creates a sort of mysterious tension that I enjoy immensely. Often on my walks I am surprised this way; a leaf will be mottled like a rock, or a tree trunk will be scarred with dots and dashes. These unusual patterns make me pause and look again, enchanted.