A Winter Walk, Curated

Please don't turn me in to the owners.

I went back for the one on the right later (needed some scissors).

Moving studios is a great big pain, but one benefit of the change of scene has been, well, the change of scenery.  I have had the pleasure of getting to know three neighborhoods of Richmond beyond my home in Jackson Ward.  First there was Church Hill and the Lab 307 studio, where a walk along steep cobbled alleys practically as old as the Civil War itself was performed with both eyes on the ground (for the lovely view of worn stones as much as watching one's step).  Then there was Mayo Island, with its constant nature show unfolding outside my windows as the creatures of the river and its banks treated our vast neglected parking lot as an extension of their habitat.  Now, deep in the Fan at Cary Studio, I find myself among human animals and historical houses squeezed tightly together onto leafy brick-lined blocks.  Restaurants peek out from unexpected places and cultivated plant life replaces the wild weeds of my river studio.  I am happy to be exploring this new neighborhood: just yesterday I discovered that everyone's well-tended hydrangeas and all sorts of bushes and trees I won't try to identify are in a great variety of wintertime states from hibernation and decay to early (optimistic) growth.  Seed pods have dried and cracked, and with no leaves to hide them they stand out starkly on their branches.  Flowers, stiff and crispy-tan, are revealing their forms without their distracting spring plumage.  Walking along Floyd street, I realized that the more I looked, the more interesting shapes and arrangements I found.  Luckily I had my camera: I took plenty of photos of what will most definitely become patterns and motifs for new scarves.  And obviously I couldn't help snatching a physical sample or two or seven (it's for reference, OK?)  Nobody chased me out of their yard, either (though they might be watching for me, come summer.)