I think I might have accidentally recreated one of my favourite Sulamith Wulfing illustrations on my shelf, with a doll, a fern, and a pickle castor.The tableau evolved over a course of 6 weeks as my fern grew around the doll, gradually enshrining her in a cascade of delicate, green fronds. Then, one day I looked at it, and noticed something familiar about it, like I'd seen it somewhere before and only just remembered it. And then I had it. It was Der Garten, by Sulamith Wulfing, of course.

It made me wonder how many other images I observe and then subconsciously internalize, appropriate, incorporate, and recreate into my own work on daily basis? Little fragments of information gathered up from a myriad of sources, coalescing into one form...How much of it is my thought, and how much of it is a book I read when I was five, or an oil painting I saw when I was seven, or a film I watched when I was 10?... How much of our identity comes from external influences, and how much of it is intrinsic? How much of Enchanted Doll is made up of my first impressions collected over the years, and how much of it was me?

I don't know.