hen my vistas are brown and dry, the result of too little rain and too much reality, I need look no further than Peaches’ pastoral, paper oasis to renew my spirits.

There is a lawn that can truly lay claim to having zero impact on the environment (unless you count the paper it was drawn on), fruit-bearing trees and a small body of water of some description in case you’re in the mood for an imaginary dip. Intermittently, the paper rabbits tucked in amidst the scenery are joined by coiled, pipe cleaner creatures in pink and white. I’m not sure what they are. When Peaches has tired of moving them around her set, she returns them to a box and shuts the lid tight.

“I thought, ‘What’s the point of having all of these pipe cleaner animals if they don’t have anywhere to live?'” she told me.

Peaches explained that those paper bunnies are only intended as food for her pipe cleaner lions, and the mysterious coiled pink creations, plates.

I’ve seen plenty of Peaches’ patented landscapes—primarily populated by cats doing the things that cats are known to do—but this pop-up world serves as its own invitation into itself. The space between objects can be perceived as depth as well as length, room into which one might imagine oneself moving through. It is a dynamic drawing, a habitat with dimensions sufficient to house the verdant, outdoor imaginings of a girl who works in paper and a mother who doesn’t draw.