Apples

Apple power.......  it won't ever start my car, but it does run a tiny light.

Sproutings

Come into my Kitchen.  (f)route-ways, by-ways, old ways, never one-way, right ways at every turn.  Growing in glass, mouldering, stewing, sweating, seeping......  sprouting.  Every sprout is a possible pear, plum, persimmon.  Apples and innumerable bees. Waxing, waning, but mostly waxing.  Bees go roaming but always make a bee-line home.  Every possible bee-line is a right way. A right-of-way.

Bee Lines

North, South, East, West.

Knowing these puts me at the centre, well earthed, wherever I am.  

Bees are very, very good at this.  And they are good at telling each other where they have been.  Body language of Bees.  We are surprisingly good at studying this, so we have a fair idea of how they tell the story of their latest luscious nectar find.  Dancing out the directions according to the position of the Sun.  A Sun Dance.

Impressions

Its the quiet places that stay with me.  Might be because that's where there is time and space to observe, secure in the feeling of being unobserved.

I have been trying to think of ways to record what is there with more that photographic images.  The textures, patterns and smells.  The gritty, prickle infestations and what grows around and about.  This beaut little home made press lets me emboss paper with the shapes of the flora, in a very small way.

Tiny impressions of shape and colour, linked with linen.