There’s a shop in Queenscliff, Victoria, that has an enticing walk-through entrance full of overgrown plants in aged moss-covered terracotta pots. It’s the kind of courtyard garden I would love to be able to cultivate, but lack the particular type of green thumb that allows selective neglect to metamorphose into a harmonious, established mess of leaves. The courtyard walls are covered in ivy that has extended around the corner to take over this apartment block, transforming the very ordinary bricks and signage. I particularly like the way the letters appear to be emerging from their camouflage.

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