“Don’t worry about it. Just draw the damn thing.” – Wally Wood
If you’ve ever stared at a comic page and felt your storytelling go a bit… flat, you’re not alone. Even legendary comic book artist Wally Wood hit those moments, which is exactly why he created his now‑famous 22 Panels That Always Work. Originally drawn as a cheat‑sheet for his team of artist, these panels are a compact masterclass in visual storytelling: dynamic angles, clever compositions, and simple tricks that instantly add energy, clarity, and drama to a page.
For new graphic‑novel illustrators, Wood’s panels are a brilliant tool because they show at a glance how many ways a single moment can be framed. They help beginners break out of the “talking heads in boxes” trap and start thinking cinematically. But they’re just as valuable for experienced creators. When you’re deep in your own project, it’s easy to become blind to alternatives. Wood’s 22 panels act like a creative reset button, offering fresh angles and storytelling solutions when you’re too close to the work to see them.
Whether you’re building your first comic or refining a complex sequence, Wood’s guide is a reminder that there’s always another way to tell the story.
Below is a PDF that I have put together on Wood’s 22 panels as a resource when I was teaching. I hope that you might find it an interesting approach that helps with your creative journey.
Watercolour is one of those magical mediums that everyone wants to try, but many people feel unsure about where to begin. My students often tell me they’re excited and terrified in equal measure. If that sounds familiar, you’re in the right place.
For illustrators, especially those of us who work traditionally, watercolour is one of the first tools we learn to master. It’s fluid, unpredictable, expressive, and endlessly surprising. Whether you’re just starting out or looking to expand your creative toolkit, understanding how watercolour behaves will transform your illustrations.
Here are some essentials to help you dive in with confidence.
Start With Quality Supplies
Good materials don’t make you a better artist, but they do make learning easier.
Paints: A basic 12‑colour Staedtler tube set (around $20 at Officeworks) is a great starting point. As you grow, you can explore professional brands like Art Spectrum, Holbein, Winsor & Newton, Schmincke, and my sentimental favourite, Daler‑Rowney, the brand I first learned with.
Brushes: Choose a few round brushes in small, medium, and large sizes.
Paper: This one matters more than you think (more on that below).
The difference between student‑grade and artist‑grade materials can be huge. Better pigment = better results = less frustration.
Understanding Water
Watercolour isn’t painted onto the paper, it’s floated on the water you add or that is already sitting on the surface.
Experiment with water‑to‑paint ratios:
More water = lighter, more transparent colour
Less water = deeper, richer colour
Learning to control water is the heart of watercolour. Don’t rush it. Play. Watch how the pigment moves across the page. The more you paly and watch how it reacts, the more the medium teach you.
Layering: The Secret Ingredient
Watercolour rewards patience.
Start with light washes and slowly build up your tones. Many of my illustrations, including those in Divi & Frey are made from multiple layers of colour, each one adding depth, texture, and atmosphere.
Endpaper, Inside front cover for Advance Australia Fare
Colour Mixing & Swatching
Remember primary colours from primary school? This is where those lessons finally pay off.
Mix colours on your palette to understand how pigments interact.
Explore secondary and tertiary colours.
Make test swatches, I do this constantly. You’ll often see them in the margins of my artwork
Swatches help you:
Preview the colour before committing
Track which colours you used
Understand how layering changes the final look
Once a painting is finished, it can be surprisingly hard to reverse‑engineer the colours you used. Swatches save you from that mystery.
Techniques to Try
Get comfortable with the basics:
Wet‑on‑wet: Soft, flowing blends
Wet‑on‑dry: Sharper edges and more control
Dry brushing: Texture and detail
The real magic happens when you start combining these techniques.
Choosing the Right Paper
Paper is one of the most important decisions you’ll make.
Weight
I choose to use a 300 gsm (140 lb) or heavier. Anything lighter will buckle under water. But you don’t need to go this heavy, especially if you are working to a smaller scale.
Texture
Cold‑pressed: Slight texture, great for washes and detail
Hot‑pressed: Smooth, perfect for fine line work (I use this for graphic novels)
Rough: Strong texture for expressive strokes
Cotton Content
My preference is for a100% cotton patter, it absorbs water beautifully and gives a vibrant finish.
Acid‑Free
Essential for longevity. You don’t want your artwork yellowing over time.
Experiment
Buy small pads of different papers and see what suits your style.
My Own Workflow
Here’s how I use paper across a project:
Rough sketches: Cheap photocopy paper, great for pencil and ink, terrible for watercolour (it buckles instantly).
Project sketchbooks: Medium‑quality cartridge paper (around 180 gsm). Good for planning, not for final art.
Final illustrations:Arches 300 gsm, 100% cotton.
Cold‑pressed for picture books
Hot‑pressed for graphic novels and fine line work
You don’t need to start with premium paper. Build your skills on affordable cartridge paper (180–250 gsm), then move to watercolour paper when you’re ready.
Brands I personally recommend: Art Spectrum, Arches, Canson, Fabriano.
Final Thoughts
Watercolour is a medium that rewards curiosity, patience, and play. Don’t wait for the “perfect” materials or the “right” moment. Start small, experiment often, and let the medium surprise you.
There a load of you tube tutorials that will teach you the basic and some of the more experimental approaches to using and playing with water colour.
People often imagine that illustrators wake up with a fully formed idea, sit down with a cup of coffee, and immediately start producing finished artwork. I wish it worked like that, but the truth is far more interesting.
Professional illustrators rarely leap straight from idea to final art. There’s a whole bunch of steps in between: research, scribbles, false starts, visual problem‑solving, character exploration, world‑building, and a lot of playful experimentation. Every illustrator has their own version of this journey, and over the years I’ve learned to trust mine.
A few years back, I recorded a short video walking through my process. The tools and technology have evolved a little since then, but the heart of it hasn’t changed at all. Only the subject matter has. These days, that subject matter is Divi & Frey: two adventurous trouble‑magnets who seem determined to drag me (and my pencil) across deserts, rooftops, ancient stairways, and the occasional motorcycle chase.
If you’re curious about how these stories and illustrations begin — long before they become polished pages, this video is a snapshot of the creative messiness that makes may ideas come to life.
The process stays the same. The worlds and characters just keep getting more fun.
Japan has become one of my favourite places to explore, and this year I was lucky enough to return for my sixth trip. Each visit feels fresh, whether I’m wandering through ancient temples, weaving through neon‑lit laneways, or simply soaking up the rhythm of everyday life. This time, though, I travelled with a special creative focus: shaping the next adventure for my characters Divi and Frey.
Carrying a sketchbook changes the way you notice things. I found myself stopping at small details—a lantern outside a Hakone teahouse, the curve of a bridge in Nikko, or the steep steps of the old Takaido road. These everyday sights became sparks for story ideas. Divi and Frey thrive on adventure, and Japan’s mix of history, myth, and modern energy gave me plenty of material to weave into their next journey.
At the same time, another idea began to grow: a picture book series for younger readers. While Divi and Frey’s stories are full of twists and global escapades, the picture book concept is gentler, designed to capture curiosity and wonder in ways that younger children can connect with. I sketched objects and experiences from my travels—samurai armour, chefs flipping okonomiyaki, and lanterns (so many lanterns!)—and began reimagining them as part of a playful illustrated world for children to explore.
Looking back through my drawings, I can see how Japan’s textures and traditions have filtered into both projects.
A castle keep, mountain‑top temples, and samurai armour all find their way into Divi and Frey’s adventures, while simplified versions of these elements shape the picture book concept.
It’s a reminder that travel isn’t just about sightseeing; it’s about absorbing the atmosphere and letting it reshape your creative work.
Japan continues to inspire me with its contrasts: quiet gardens beside busy train stations, centuries‑old shrines next to futuristic towers. That balance between old and new mirrors the kind of stories I love to tell—ones that mix adventure with reflection, humour with heart.
As I refine these ideas, I’m grateful for the way travel feeds creativity. Whether it’s a grand adventure for Divi and Frey or a gentle picture book for younger readers, Japan has once again given me the spark I needed. And with six trips behind me, I’m sure there are many more stories waiting on the seventh.
As someone who often works on my illustrations in public spaces—whether it’s my local café, an airport lounge, or mid-journey on a train—I’ve come to expect a certain kind of conversation. People spot the sketchbook, the watercolours, the characters taking shape, and inevitably ask:
“Are you working on a book?”
Sketching on a train (2024) while travelling in England
When I say yes—usually a graphic novel or picture book—the next line is almost always:
“I have an idea for a book!”
What follows is often an enthusiastic elevator pitch. Sometimes it’s a heartfelt personal story, sometimes a quirky concept with a twist ending. Occasionally, it’s accompanied by a generous offer: “If you like the idea, maybe you could illustrate it?” or “Could you take it to your publisher?”
I always appreciate the passion and creativity behind these moments. But I often have to explain that this isn’t how the publishing industry works. Generally, publishers prefer to pair a manuscript with an illustrator they believe can bring the text to life visually. They’re usually hesitant to take on projects from first-time authors and illustrators working together, as it can reduce the chances of the story being accepted.
So here’s the advice I always offer:
As interesting as a story idea may be, it’s not a story for publishing until you write it down.
Ideas are wonderful. They’re the spark. But they’re not the fire. A story doesn’t leap from your imagination to a printed book without that essential step: writing.
Tip 1: Start Writing
After talking with many authors and illustrators, it’s clear there’s no single “right” way to write. We’re all wired differently, and what works for one person might not work for another. But if you’re staring down a blank page and wondering how to begin, here are a few things I’ve found genuinely helpful:
Just start. Don’t wait for the perfect sentence or a fully formed plot. Begin with whatever’s in your head and let the words flow.
Forget the rules. Grammar, spelling, structure—none of that matters in the first draft. Your only job is to get ideas down.
Write without judgement. Don’t worry about whether it’s “good.” Just write. The more you do, the more you’ll discover what your story wants to be.
It’s okay to be messy. This is writing for your eyes only.
Back at uni, the HDR team used to run a session for master’s and PhD candidates called “Shut Up and Write.” And honestly, it’s great advice. Here’s how it works:
Set aside one hour of your day
Turn off distractions—no emails, no social media
Set a stopwatch for 15 minutes
Write like mad for those 15 minutes
Take a 5-minute break
Repeat the cycle three times
At the end of the hour, you’ll have a bunch of ideas written down. Some might go nowhere. Others might be the seed of something brilliant. Either way, you’ve started—and that’s the most important part.
Tip 2: Find Time and Build a Routine
I start every day with a coffee (or two) in one of my local cafés and draw for at least an hour. Throughout the day, I look for pockets of time that would otherwise be wasted—sitting in a waiting room, waiting for a bus. These are perfect moments to pull out a notebook or sketchbook and scribble for five minutes.
The simplest way to do this? Swap your phone scrolling time for scribbling time—or at least cut the phone time in half. You’ll be surprised how much you get done.
Tip 3: Match the Space to the Task
Not all writing time is about crafting perfect words. Different parts of the process need different environments.
I can work on rough sketches and notes anywhere. I always carry a sketchbook and plan travel sketchbooks to keep ideas from each trip in one place. But when I’m working through a manuscript and need to concentrate, I often wear noise-cancelling headphones at the café or work from home when it’s quiet.
Once the planning is done, I can work on final illustrations anywhere with enough space. I choose cafés where I’m less likely to be bumped or where the tables are large enough—especially when working on large-format illustrations.
Tip 4: Shaping a Story Is a Process
You don’t sit down and write a finished novel or picture book from the start. You’re beginning a process. Everyone writes differently, so it’s important to find what works for you.
Here’s What Works for Me
Personally, I use a mix of sketches, rough story maps, character designs, and text to generate a story. It’s not a neat, linear process. I jump between these tools as needed, letting the story evolve organically. Sometimes a character sketch sparks a plot twist. Other times, a rough map of the story arc helps me refine a visual moment.
Eventually, I need to bring it all together—especially when it’s time to present the idea to a publisher or plan it out for a book format. That’s when I shift into layout mode. I create storyboards and rough page designs to explore how the images and text will interact. I ask myself:
How do the images work together to form a visual narrative?
How do they flow across a page and through the structure of a book?
Where does the reader pause, turn, or feel something shift?
This is where the story starts to take shape—not just as a collection of ideas, but as a cohesive experience for the reader. It’s a dance between words and pictures, rhythm and pacing, emotion and clarity.
Stories Are Everywhere—But They Need You to Write Them
I love these spontaneous conversations with strangers. They remind me that storytelling is alive and well, bubbling just beneath the surface in everyday life. But if you want your story to grow beyond an idea—if you want it to live in the hands of readers—it starts with writing it down.
So next time inspiration strikes, don’t just tell someone about it. Grab a notebook, open a document, or sketch out your thoughts. That’s where the real journey begins.
As an illustrator and storyteller, I’ve always been drawn to the wisdom handed down by creative legends—those rare individuals who manage to distil complex ideas into deceptively simple truths. Whether it’s Wally Wood’s iconic “22 Panels That Always Work”, the foundational Elements and Principles of Design, or Pixar’s 22 Rules of Storytelling, these are the tools I come back to time and time again. They’re not rigid rules—they’re creative compasses.
I love detail. I live for it. The texture of a cobblestone street, the folds in a costume, the way light falls across a scene—these are the things that make a world feel real. But I’ve learnt (sometimes the hard way) that detail without purpose can muddy the story. It’s a balancing act: knowing when to go wild with intricacy and when to pull back for clarity.
Rule 5 reminds me that storytelling is about intentional choices. Every character, subplot, and visual flourish should serve the narrative. If it doesn’t, it’s a detour—and while detours can be fun, they can also lead readers away from the heart of the story.
Wally Wood’s Panels and Visual Economy
Wally Wood’s “22 Panels That Always Work” is a masterclass in visual storytelling. It’s not about drawing more—it’s about drawing smart. His panels show how composition, contrast, and framing can convey drama and emotion without cluttering the page.
When I’m sketching panels for Divi and Frey, I often think of Wood’s work during the self-editing phase. I ask myself:
Can I say more with less? It’s not about stripping everything away—it’s about identifying what’s essential in the frame.
Is this detail enhancing the mood, or is it just me having fun? I don’t cut out the details I love to draw—I refine how I use them. Detail should support the story, not distract from it.
My old ceramics lecturer, Rynne Tanton, once challenged us with the question: “What is a cat?” The idea was to distil the essence of a feline form into as few lines as possible. Once you’ve nailed that, you can build back up to the version you want. That same thinking applies to illustration.
I used this approach in Designing the character image for Frey.
The real Freya is a shaggy, Multicoloured bundy of joy (pictured above on the beach in Tasmania). When I looked at first looked at drawing her, I was trying to capture her long hair.
Then I realised the the essence of Frey was not her long fur. It was her movement and attitude.
Applying Rule 5 to Illustration
In my own work—especially in Divi and Frey—I’ve found Rule 5 applies just as much to drawing as it does to writing. When designing a scene, I ask:
What’s the emotional beat here?
What are the characters trying to do or say?
What visual elements support that?
What can I strip away to make the moment land?
Sometimes I go full tilt with detail—a cluttered room might reveal a character’s personality, or a dense jungle might heighten mystery. But I’ve learnt to be ruthless in editing. If it doesn’t serve the story, it’s out.
Principles Meet Storytelling
The Principles of Design—balance, contrast, emphasis, rhythm—are storytelling tools too. They guide the eye, shape emotion, and create narrative flow. When paired with Pixar’s storytelling rules, they become a powerful framework for crafting immersive, emotionally resonant experiences.
Final Thoughts
Rule 5 is a personal challenge, but also a creative liberation. It forces me to ask: What’s essential? What’s noise?
And in that tension, I find clarity.
So if you’re just starting out in illustration or looking to sharpen your storytelling, my advice is this: simplify, focus, and tell stories that work—whether through words, panels, a well-placed shadow, or a glorious explosion of detail that serves your story.
One of the most common questions I get asked is, “Where do your ideas come from?” Like many illustrators, I stay open to inspiration in everyday life. But for my graphic novel series Divi & Frey, I had to take that to a whole new level—turning daily moments into full-blown adventures.
To create the Paris-based story with Egyptian sections for Book 1, I spent time as an artist-in-residence at the Cité des Arts in Paris and travelled for three weeks through Egypt. These experiences filled my sketchbooks with moments that would later shape the story.
For this first ‘Behind the Scenes’ post, I thought the Chapter 2 banner (image above) would be a great example of how a moment and a sketch evolve into a finished illustration.
Step 1: The Idea Spark
Inspiration often begins with a fleeting moment—a place, a smell, a story, or a feeling. I jot down notes or sketch in my A5 landscape sketchbook to capture the mood and explore the subject. I also take reference photos to help fill in the details later.
The Pyramids of Giza (December 2024)
Step 2: Rough Sketches
Sketching by the Pyramids (December 2024)
This is one of my favourite stages. I sketch fast and loose—sometimes dozens of versions of a character or scene. It’s messy, experimental, and often only makes sense to me. I treat it like casting actors, testing wardrobe, and scouting locations for a visual story.
Step 3: Refining the Composition
Once a rough sketch feels right, I refine the lines, adjust the layout, and add background elements. I think about how the illustration will work with the text. Then I storyboard the sequence—mapping how each scene connects and how the reader’s eye moves across the page. It’s like choreographing a silent dance.
Step 4: Final Sketch and Paper Prep
I prepare a final sketch at the scale I’ll be drawing. For Divi & Frey, I work at a 2:1 ratio for most illustrations and 1.5:1 for 3D illusion scenes. I sketch on photocopy paper, then use a light pad to trace the final outline onto watercolour paper.
Paper choice matters. I use cold-pressed 100% cotton for picture books and hot-pressed cotton for Divi & Frey to support finer linework. I stock up in bulk—30 to 40 sheets at a time—to ensure consistency across the project. Book 1 will include over 1,000 individual illustrations!
Step 5: Colour, Ink, and Final Washes
I begin with base watercolour washes, building layers gradually to create depth and texture. I focus on lighting, colour harmony, and character mood. Once the colour is about 95% done, I ink the final linework, then add shadow washes to ground the characters and unify the composition.
Step 6: Scan, Format, and Layout
Once the illustration is complete, I scan it at high resolution (usually 400 dpi or higher). Depending on your publisher, they may handle scanning and layout, so always check your contract for delivery requirements, file formats, and colour profiles.
For Divi & Frey, I place the scanned artwork into my rough layout using Adobe InDesign, positioning it alongside text and speech bubbles. This is when I truly see if the image works—cropping, framing, and flow all come together. It’s incredibly satisfying to watch a sketch come to life on the page.
Final Thoughts
Illustration isn’t just about drawing—it’s about thinking visually and chasing the story behind a moment. So next time you see a finished page in a graphic novel, remember it probably started as a scribble in the corner of a sketchbook.
Paris is often described as magical. For me, it was creatively catalytic.
Rosamond McCulloch studio building, Cité Internationale des Arts, Paris (Dec 2023)
In early development for Divi and Frey and the Curse of Anubis, Book One of the series, I lived and worked at the Cité Internationale des Arts as part of the University of Tasmania’s Rosamond McCulloch studio artist-in-residence program. Unlike the whirlwind of a tourist sprinting between monuments, I had the rare luxury to be still—to absorb the place fully and let Paris slowly sketch itself into my imagination.
The staircase in the Rosamond McCulloch studio building, Cité Internationale des Arts, Paris (Dec 2023)
Inspiration in the Bones and Canals
From wandering the halls of the Louvre to drifting beneath the Bastille through the canals of Saint-Martin, Paris unveiled layer upon layer of history and story. The catacombs—oh, the catacombs! I had expected to feel solemn reverence, maybe even quiet awe. What I got was that plus a moment of unexpected hilarity.
As we moved through tunnels adorned with carefully stacked bone and skulls arranged in pattern —a young family followed a few steps behind. The parents issued the standard warnings: “Be careful.” “Don’t touch.” And then… a clunk in the dark. A child’s voice echoed: “Whoopsy, Daddy!” Cue an avalanche of imagined disaster—bones tumbling, curses activating, Frey having to dodge a femur trap.
Les Catacombes de Paris (Dec2023)
Of course, it was only a loose stone kicked down the path. But the moment stuck—this humorous little spark inside such a haunting place. These are the small moments that became woven into the fabric of Divi and Frey. Moments of unexpected playfulness that bring characters to life in unexpected way..
Rosamond McCulloch studio, Cité Internationale des Arts, Paris (Dec 2023)
Living, Drawing, Discovering
Paris wasn’t just the backdrop; it was like having a collaborator. Living as an artist in residence gave me something deeper than a checklist of sights. I sketched crepe preparation techniques at café Montpamasse, marveled at how effortlessly a waiter turned batter into golden spirals with a flick of the wrist.
La Coupole, how to make a Crepe Suzette, Montpamasse, Paris (Dec2023)
I wandered medieval alleyways imagining how Divi might get lost there… or escape something ancient and cursed. That immersive experience helped me breathe life into this graphic novel—a story that blends Egyptian mythology, Paris, and a cinematic adventure brough to life on the page.
The Hunt for Future Homes
Now that Book One is on its way, I am always on the lookout for other places that might shape future Divi and Frey adventures. If you run a creative residency and think your location would suit a bit of mythical mischief, please get in touch. There might be a chapter waiting to be set in your part of the world.
In November 2023, I took a journey through India that changed everything.
India and Nepal were more than just travel destinations—they became living sketchbooks that whispered stories into my hand as I drew. From the vibrant pulse of Chennai to the layered history of Kathmandu, every moment was a collision of colour, culture, and character. I wandered through Kochi’s coastal calm, Ahmedabad’s architectural rhythms, and Hyderabad’s fragrant street markets—each place leaving its mark not just in ink, but in imagination.
This trip wasn’t simply a travel log—it was a catalyst. The people, sights, sounds and tastes of India didn’t just inspire—they helped shape the core concept of Divi and Frey, my long-developed graphic novel series. I watched the adventure unfold in real time on the page. Ideas that had been dormant sparked to life as I sketched street scenes, temple interiors, and chance encounters with locals who shared stories as vibrant as the saris they wore.
Mango Seller, New Dehli.
What started years ago as scattered thoughts in notebooks and storyboard sketches truly began to breathe during my travels through India and Nepal. This trip marked a pivotal shift—from loosely formed ideas to fully realised narrative threads. Immersing myself in the rhythm of daily life across cities like Ahmedabad, Kochi, and Hyderabad, I came to understand something fundamental: to authentically create, you must be immersed.
India didn’t just inspire me—it challenged and elevated my storytelling lens. The kaleidoscope of experiences, from temple rituals to conversations with chai vendors, offered a sensory depth that no textbook or screen could replicate. I realised that ideas grow richer when you give them roots in real places, with real people.
While the first Divi and Frey book is set in Paris and Egypt, and those locations have their own magic, the true starting point for the series—the emotional and creative ignition—was India. It was there, sketchbook in hand, that I saw how travel could transform intention into narrative.
This post features a selection of sketchbook pages that capture the spirit of my travels—snapshots of moments that helped guide Divi and Frey toward its future.
Raven on the fence of the Gate of Idina, Mumbai.
Though I managed to explore much—Bengaluru, Mumbai, Chandigarh, New Delhi—I barely scratched the surface. And so, I’ve planned a return to India in 2027, intent on uncovering the legendary sites I missed the first time around. There’s still so much to draw, to feel, and to learn and a whole new adventure to write.
Stay tuned for a fresh wave of adventure posts in 2026, as I gear up for my next expeditions. Divi and Frey continues to evolve, but the heart of it will always beat with the energy of the journeys that shaped it—starting with Japan, Borneo and India.
I lucky enough to stumble across an original ink drawing in an antique shop recently. The image was in a tatty old frame with no artist listed on the work(image below). On closer inspection, I could just make out the faint remains of the pencil sketch work in places and see the ink nib marks, it had all of the hall marks of an image in the created around the same time and a using similar techniques to that of Sir John Tenniel (19820 – 1914).
So $50 and some research later, I found out the artist was Frank Reyonlds, (1876 – 1953) and the etching created from this drawing appeared in the January 1920 edition of Punch magazine.
The slightly deaf footman (Reynolds, 1920)
I love this style of illustration and the work of Reynolds more famous contemporaries, such as E.H. Shepard (1879 – 1976)
Drawn from life (Shepard, 1962)
And Sir John Tenniel (1820 – 1914)
John Tenniel – self-portrait.
The discovery of Reynolds illustration reminded me of a number of images that I have created using a similar style of line work in recent years. Inspired I set about creating a range of new images both for the pure pleasure of using such a rich illustration style and also to understand the style more deeply.
Here are some of the results;
Miffy the Samurai (ink, watercolour and pencil on paper), 2019
Shinobi Pug (ink, watercolour and pencil on paper), 2019
Cooking with an octopus (ink, watercolour and pencil on paper), 2019
Just in case your interested and have managed to read this far, here is the print version (as appeared in Punch, Jan 1920) of the illustration that I purchased.
See if you can spot the differences between the original drawing and the finished work.
The slightly deaf footman (Reynolds, 1920)
Miffy the Samurai (ink, watercolour and pencil on paper), 2019
Shinobi Pug (ink, watercolour and pencil on paper), 2019
Cooking with an octopus (ink, watercolour and pencil on paper), 2019
Divi & Frey 