On the backs of the envelopes my grandfather saved for me, I would scribble his farm animals.
On rainy school days, I huddled with my best friend on the rough playground concrete, under the steps of our 1953 portable, pressing raised texture bouquets from our favorite crayons onto squares of toilet tissue, pilfered from the girls’ lavatory.I threaded ribbon to hinge together scallop shells, with collaged worlds of pressed seaweeds and remnants of tiny tidepool creatures between them, beachcombed from the summer.
In 1993, I spied my nine-year old son (then an aspiring ninja) tiptoeing through the streets and Shintō shrines of Yashiro.
Such are the memories that echo inside as I watch children play make-believe, ready to catch the loose threads of possibility and weave new worlds… It is these ephemeral moments of play and adventure that I hope to distill into my illustrations.
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For selections of my professional history, please read my curriculum vitæ.
Contact: hansengarden at gmail dot com.