Hans Walty

A bulbous mushroom rises from the page, its gills and stem rendered with precise, delicate lines. The earthy tones suggest damp forest floors, the quiet decay where fungi thrive. It’s both scientific and strangely alive, as if plucked straight from the undergrowth.

A cluster of Boletus ustulatus mushrooms rises from the page, their caps burnished like old copper. Gills fan out beneath, precise as lace. The engraving renders each fibrous stem and subtle shadow with quiet intensity—as if these fungi might dissolve back into the forest floor at any moment.

A cluster of Boletus luteus mushrooms rises from the forest floor, their golden caps glowing against the dark earth. Delicate gills and sturdy stems are rendered with scientific precision, yet the image hums with quiet vitality—as if these fungi might dissolve into the soil at any moment.

The red-cracked bolete emerges in precise ink strokes, its cracked cap revealing pale flesh beneath. Delicate gills fan out like folded paper, each line a testament to nature’s intricate design. This mushroom’s quiet beauty unfolds on the page, its scientific detail softened by the artist’s hand.

A bulbous mushroom rises from the page, its gills precise as folded paper. The stem curves slightly, weighted by the cap’s dark underside. Every line is deliberate, as if the fungus pressed itself into the paper to be studied.