I'll admit it. I have a collection of wooden flying things. Yes. I. Do. I'm obsessed with them. I have a flying cat over the fireplace. There's a flying egyptian lady and a flying frog over my desk. In the corner swings a flying naked cherub. A miniature flying cat dangles from the lamp. And I just added a new flying wooden thing to my collection: the flying giraffe. And he's a beaut. So beautiful, in fact, that I had to draw him. I think I'll document the rest of them at some point when I run into some free time.

I don't know why I like these things as much as I do. Is it the colorful strokes of paint that decorate them? Is it the aged patina? Is it the fact that these animals are not born with wings, but have them all the same? Maybe it represents freedom. Having wings...wouldn't it be lovely?