Every year I pick up one of this flowers (they grow in my grandmother’s garden) to make a sketch. Years ago it was a sort of challenge (am I able to draw this?); then it became something like: “am I better then last year?”. Now it’s simply an habit. I love the shape and colour of these flowers, yet I hate their smell; perhaps that’s strange: my grandfather loved them expecially for their smell! I often remember him when I see calycanthus flowers. Maybe I keep picking up and drawing them because they are strongly linked to my grandparents and my childhood.