pages from the studio.

When I was little, I loved those giant Richard Scarry books. You could spend hours with them, always discovering something new. A tiny mouse hurrying off to work. A rabbit carrying groceries. A dog fixing a roof. Every time you turned the page, there was another little story waiting to be found. I imagined those little worlds everywhere. Even my pet parakeet had one. While I was at school, I was convinced he slipped away to his own tiny village. There was a little ice skating