This old footage of Matisse making his paper cutouts is mesmerizingly beautiful. He appears so free and loose, cutting through the paper like a seven-year-child might. It’s humbling to remember that behind ever great masterpiece is an artist who practiced, played, persevered and respected the process. “Don’t try to be original. Be simple. Be good technically, and if there is something in you, it will come out.”

My home is filled with weird and wonderful things that I collect on my walks –– rocks, shell, lotus pods, cuttlefish bones and mini acorns –– everything comes home in my pockets. A whale vertebrae that I found In Greece, and a perfect sand dollar that someone gave me on the west coast of Florida are two of my favourite treasures. Julie Nelson‘s breathtaking ceramics are inspired by natural objects hidden in sand or mud or underneath a pile of Autumn leaves. Her vessels are stunning, and in some cases they look to be made of bone. Inspired by the shells and stones she collected in the seaside town she grew up in, Nelson’s work could just as well have sprung from nature itself.

Becky Patterson’s monochromatic botanical prints caught my eye this week. They’re simple and bold, and in the case of her line drawings, brimming with childlike freedom. The only way most of us could draw something like Poppy Seed Head is if we let our opposite hand lead the way. It’s beautiful. As are these lino prints, hand-painted on rag paper.

“Blue color is everlastingly appointed by the deity to be a source of delight,” said the British art critic, John Ruskin. It’s why the Chinese painted their porcelain with cobalt oxide, why the Peruvians used indigo for dying textiles, and why Yves Klein dedicated his creative life to the pursuit of the perfect blue. There is no colour as universally adored as blue. “Blue has no dimensions. It is beyond dimensions,” said Klein. It is the sky, it is the sea. It is this beautiful piece of sea glass.

Wonky shapes, rough edges, smudged glazes –– I love to see all three in ceramics. Unless they’re my own. We’re so much less accepting of such things in our own work. Which is why I am so full of admiration when I see them in someone else’s. Around the smudge is acceptance. Beyond the rough edge is freedom. That’s what I see as much as the vessel itself. Brenda Holzke‘s work is wonky and crude and raw, and I love it. “My goal is to lose control,” says Holzke. “The intention is to communicate through my heart and not my head.”

They’re so lifelike and intricate, that at a glance, you might think Laurence Aguerre’s flowers are real. Crafted from textiles, wire, beads and thread, her floral sculptures are delicate and alive. I can’t imagine how much thought and focus goes into each one. Grouped together, they look like wildflowers that just sprang from the earth. And I love the contrast of the dainty flower with its hard, concrete base. They have a magical quality, to be honest. Much like the blooms that inspired them.

I don’t know if you ever used a spirograph kit as a kid, but these thread drawings by Tel Aviv artist, Sharon Etgar remind me of the drawings I used to make with mine. Of course, Etgar’s are made with thread, which makes them much more intricate and textured. Her designs range from loose and abstract to playful patterns, and some are more densely sewn than others. I find them beautiful, messy and intense.

Christopher Wynter‘s paintings make me think of a jigsaw puzzle where the pieces don’t quite fit. There’s something oddly alluring in the confusion of mismatched shapes and colours. Some are more densely composed than others. Without titles, we’d have no idea what we were looking at, like 653 puzzle pieces in a cardboard box. And that’s what’s so exciting about abstract art, that so much of what we see is up to the viewer.