I've been photographing found gloves where they lay for quite a while now. I'm not sure what it is that first attracted me to them, perhaps the human (dis)connection or maybe the odd places they came to be. How did they get lost? No one really cares about where work or rubber gloves end up, but there's an odd sadness when a well-knitted kid's mitten is left all alone. Here in Fiskars Village I've been collecting gloves as I find them. I inscribe a drawing into a plastic sheet in preparation for printing a drypoint in the coming couple of weeks. Stay tuned to see how they progress.