Every Puzz story begins with a real story.

Newspapers cut into strips and rolled into beads. Bottle caps melted into sheets of colour and cut into shapes. Small groups — mothers and their children, around an ordinary table.

What we did not expect was how little explaining was needed. Nobody had to be told that the newspaper had been rubbish ten minutes earlier. They could see it.

One of the Puzz went to a child. He did not put it on a shelf, and he did not carry it home inside a bag. He clipped it to the outside of his bag, there and then, and walked out with it.

That small difference is the whole thing, and it is why the Puzz Journey posts all end the same way:

He didn’t take Puzz home.
He took Puzz with him.

Nobody asked them to. Children who had met Puzz started drawing their own — different faces, different colours, and set down next to the real ones for comparison.

We think this is the clearest sign the idea landed. A character children want to copy is a character they have accepted. And every drawing is somebody deciding, without being asked, that a thing can be given a face and a name.

A beach walk, a bag, and two children filling it with what the sea had brought in. Look closely at the bag — a Puzz is still clipped to it.

Nobody ran a workshop that afternoon. This is the part we cannot teach and cannot stage — it either happens later, on its own, or the whole thing was just an afternoon of craft.

We started composting at home and posting about it, and it looked at first like a different subject. It isn’t.

Puzz asks whether something on its way to the bin has really lost its value. A compost bin asks whether the peelings are really rubbish. One goes waste → art; the other goes waste → soil → life. Neither is about changing rubbish. Both are about changing the angle you look at it from.

Nothing is truly waste when we see its next purpose.