A scoll of parchment paper. As it unfurls, you recognise the stamps – handprints of all shapes and sizes. Some are missing fingers; some are small and certain, some large and barely-there, delicate, their five fingerprints splayed carefully out to avoid covering up the smaller ones contained within. Some are the dark green of leaf-paste, others the russet colour of moistened clay, yet others faded pinks and palest yellows, the remnants of dyes from picked flowers.

There are thirty or forty prints in all.