The workshop sits at the edge of a beech wood, and most mornings start with a walk before the kettle finishes boiling. What comes back — a curled frond, a seed head, one violet — goes into the pressing book.
Weeks later, flattened and pale, these findings become drawings, and the drawings become wire. A fiddlehead becomes a coil. An umbel of cow parsley becomes a cluster of pearls on fine chain.
We never copy nature exactly. Wire has its own opinions. We just try to keep the feeling of the walk in the finished piece.