So - is this the end? No, almost certainly not. But I'm not sure what direction to take this in tomorrow - one year and one alphabet on. I'm not promising daily continuity - but not promising silence, either. The only thing that I know is that after a year, my drawing hand is getting twitchy and hopeful. I'm not sure whether a year's determined photography has acted, in the end, like a kind of aversion therapy, driving me back to pen and ink and paint (and a drawing I came across in the attic, of an unknown man reading the TLS on a train between London and Oxford in 1975, worked as a very sharp reminder that once upon a time, I thought of myself as a graphic artist, not a photographer). So the Zebra, by way of being a transitional object (in the non-psychoanalytic sense), is here photoshopped out of its verisimilitudinal plastic existence into a mock etching form. Time, I think, to experiment with Solarplate printmaking (anyone out there willing to compare working with Solarplate by comparison with traditional etching, which I've not done for far, far too long a time?).