Liam.

Before he had his own workshop, Liam started as an assistant to Earl, the most seasoned brewer in the city. One day he changed one of his recipes without permission: fifteen percent more hops. Earl tried it, looked at him, and said: "It's good. But it's not mine. If you want to make your own, find yourself a place." He didn't fire him: he opened the door for him. Since then Liam doesn't touch anyone's recipe without being asked. I created him head-on, with no backdrop: on a backpack you take him in at a glance.

The black bear moves through huge ranges, tens or hundreds of square kilometers, that overlap without turning into invasions. Liam goes foraging in the Pisgah, more than two hundred thousand hectares of forest twenty minutes from home, which he knows by heart. A backpack is made for that: carrying your day on your back with your arms free, moving from one place to another without hauling things in your hands. On the front he carries his calm face; his whole story — where he comes from, what he carries — is in his biography.