“The waves awoke her in the limpid hours and churned her butter thoughts to soft peaks.”

Abra Hunt from The Waves, the Waves.

For as long as Abra and I have had this project in mind I have had its opening lines meandering around my head, sometimes beating out a steady but unobtrusive rhythm, sometimes running with some urgency round and round, like a song that won’t leave no matter what tricks you try. I’ve been told singing the Pink Panther theme tune through once is a sure way…but can this really be true?!? And in any case, this perhaps useful piece of advice doesn’t help when it comes to wandering lines of prose. I have, however, finally managed to free the trapped passage, maybe unsurprisingly, with pencil and paint, ink, paper and brush. In other words, the tools of my trade. It seems timely too, that there should be another illustration to show you as there has been a sorry lack in recent months while I went into creative hibernation. Now I have emerged from my own limpid hours and begun, as seems right, at the beginning.

“The waves awoke her in the limpid hours and churned her butter thoughts to soft peaks.”