Recently I have been exploring the possibilities of cramming a story about birds into space made inside old books to try to get across that sense of birds living with us yet inhabiting their own world. You can see some of the stories I’ve told so far on the Gallery page. You will find a small, flowery person inhabiting some of the books. This is Polly. She used to live inside my head but increasingly she is telling her own stories. She has some very odd ideas about birds.
Stories belong in books, and books should be old, cloth bound, well-thumbed and beautiful. The books I use are about to be sent to landfill or I rescue them from boot-sales and charity shops, and generally those that have had print runs in their millions. I fill them with shapes made from paper, old wellies, cocktail sticks, sweet-wrappers, old gardening magazines and the pages I have removed from other books. It took me a long time to take a knife to a book, and although my conscience isn’t entirely soothed, it does help that the books I’m re-using are not now in a tip somewhere.