old mahogany furniture, brass ornaments of animals, natural ware on the side of well adored trinkets, somebody's jewels, plaques on benches dedicated to lost loved ones. I love to think of who things belonged to or who someone once was, reeling around this planet to their own accord - a full life scantily handed off to the local charity shop, overgrown in a graveyard, somewhere someplace.
there is a magic in old, there is magic in memories and impressions of time before, the past enthrals me and eats away at me, for good or for bad remembrance will drive creation within me.