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photo by Annie Martin

I was twelve when I used a sewing machine for the first time. It was an old, metal machine that my mom had brought with her from Germany and had inherited from her mother who had gotten it as a young mother in the 1960’s. The Swiss-made machine was a prized possession of hers, as it was for my mother as well.  I started with a pillow case. Glamorous, I know. I had been sewing by hand for awhile and was impatient for something more exciting. Getting the hang of the machine was no easy feat, as elaborate visions quickly turned lopsided and thread-tangled. Nonetheless, I was hooked. Next up were pajama pants. Then a skirt, and then tops and dresses and bags and pouches and so on and so forth. The sewing machine became a permanent fixture in my room, and my living space shifted to accommodate a dress form and a growing pile of fabrics, zippers and random recycling soon to be reborn.

In high school were homecoming and prom dresses and photo shoots in the alley behind main street. A phase of studded collars and ripped back pockets and bleach pens and dye buckets and fray on the bottom of the shorts just so. Many unearthed sketchbooks full of croquis wearing girly dresses and exaggerated bell bottoms - among other not-so-fresh silhouettes.

But just as much as I want to rid the past and celebrate the progression, I also feel tenderness for this younger self. Then, the dream of turning this passion into a livelihood felt so indescribably far, and the future so obscure. But in the simple fact of believing it to be possible, I was, already then, planting the seeds.

Many years have passed since then and the present keeps moving these memories deeper below the surface. All this time, I was sustained by the trust that this was my path; that this was the work I was meant to do. Then, all of a sudden, it was gone - into the Covid shaped hole that brought notions of apocalypse from far to near. On one hand, the pandemic, on the other, the horrific extractive reality of the fashion industry.

What matters when everything we thought to believe falls away? 

A line from a poster by a friend and brilliant artist, Anna Fusco, says to “take yourself out of the equation sometimes”. And that I did. I left my job and set out. Via motorbike, ferry, car, plane, bus, train, thumb and foot. Across Europe and back to the US and south into Central America. Making new friends and finding old friends and practicing self sufficiency. Walking and running, sitting and pondering, letting it all go to see what the wind would blow back.

In this process, the pieces I turned over in my mind were: what I love, what I’m good at, and what I see missing in the world (ikigai). Fibers, colours, cultures. Making things. Connection to community, to ancestry, and to the land we stand on. What had become complicated became simple again, and I realized the skill I was most passionate about - transforming cloth and imbuing discarded material with new life - would be the vessel to convey the values I want to exchange with the world around me.

Clothing is a part of our culture and integral to living in the world. Clothing is a way of communicating. It has endless potential for transformation. It allows us to become invisible or to be the center of attention. We can feel empowered or we can slip into a supporting role. We can live out our endless multiplicity or find comfort by slipping into a routine. This was the magic that drew me in ~ the possibility to change the way we see ourselves, and through that, change the way we see the world. 

What we put into our body affects how we relate to our living environment. What we put onto our body, has no less of an effect. The current systems of textile production are obscured from view, but the journey of the fiber is worn on our skin. Each piece has passed through countless hands, weaving together an expansive tapestry of stories and lived experiences. This layer of material that we put on our bodies each day can bring us more than warmth or a compliment, it can evoke a feeling of being cared for, and connected.

This is my vision. 🌱