Newsletter Issue No. 4: On Craft Becoming Art...

Towards the end of my last career, I started to work almost exclusively with discarded fabric. It was my raw material of choice. I loved being able to customize colors and hand-dye things myself. I wanted to use natural dye, but quickly learned that the process was slow, expensive and deeply technical. If you truly master it, the craft itself becomes the art. I didn’t fully understand that then, but I’m really feeling it now. There was always a tension for me: so much to learn and not much time to do it. This is where I like to settle in so it was only a matter of time before I did. When I set the intention to show more of myself here, the unseen parts, I’m starting to see now how this business has become my craft, like making sourdough once was, and now that I think about it natural dyeing reminds me so much of making bread.

I tested natural dyes for a permanent piece I made for a private office, but when it failed the lightfastness test, I had to use acid dye instead. Someday, I told myself, I’ll figure this out. It was hard to let that go. 

In the midst of that project, a woman I met gave me a set of dye books from the 60s/70s after hearing about my experiments. She also handed me a small bag of dried bugs (cochineal) capable of producing the most beautiful red. They felt too precious to use. I tucked them away. That was almost ten years ago.

When I eventually circled back to reselling and decided to fully commit to it, I found myself collecting garments to dye later. That is my ultimate death pile. It feels more practical to refresh what already exists than to buy something new. That practicality is deeply embedded in me.

 It reminds me of a story about my father. In the 90’s my dad, Harry, decided to take my two older sisters skiing. And he most certainly did not go out and buy a bunch of new snow gear. He wore his worn-in denim and a soft brown leather bomber jacket he must have had for decades. He embodies “If it ain't broke, don't fix it.” I’m thinking now about his practicality and my mother’s ‘anything can be fixed’ mentality being more or less the bedrock of my business.

So recently, when someone told me my collection felt like it was craftsman style, I felt deeply seen, but it also really closed a loop in my brain. In the beginning of reselling, I had the niche there, but was encouraged to widen my net, to not be so “niche.” I fought this for a while and I am finally giving myself permission to be myself within this practice. 

I’m realizing that art isn’t separate from life. It’s how you move through the world. Every idea I’ve ever experimented with has passed through the same filter: Is it necessary? Is it wasteful? Does the world actually need it? Making art for me is rooted in practicality and I’m learning that is okay to embrace. 

I felt inspired by a moment of alignment with a friend I met nearly a decade ago, around the time I acquired the cochineal. One morning I spoke an intention aloud in my living room while deliberating consignment. The preference around consignment is alignment. A few hours later I had the most thoughtful message from my friend Danielle asking if I was interested in selling a few pieces she was ready to part with. The universe can be so funny like that. I laughed out loud and immediately invited her over. She showed up with her beautiful pieces lovingly folded in her Hulken. She took a seat and presented me each piece with so much love and appreciation. Sigh. She gets it.

When I was inspecting one of the sweaters by Baaba, a very thoughtful brand who creates long-lasting clothing, I had a realization. This is the perfect sweater to use the precious cochineal with. It was a light brown chestnut that felt maybe slightly faded. So I carefully removed the crisp white buttons and went down a rabbit hole for how to use these little bugs, that have been in that bag since the late 1960’s. It took me all day to really make sure I was doing it right. To be honest, I felt a bit chained to my kitchen in the same way that sourdough chains you. How beautiful it was that the sweater had a few spots with dried dough, since Danielle is a baker, and was a source of support when I first started my own starter. I’m delighted with the results. The dye deepened her and made her one of a kind. The color is a bit of a dusty rose, not quite a burgundy, not quite a red. Just its own hue. 

Next week, I plan to do some reflecting on how my sensitivity has led me to dress myself and even shaped what I sourced most of in the beginning. I am starting to learn how to be more expressive with fashion and look beyond my monochrome default.

I wanted to leave you with one final thought… if you could change the color of a beloved garment, would you consider keeping it? 

Until next time,

Quietly observing the characters at the thrift store…