I’ve always been a maker. I took a Singer sewing class at age 12 and never stopped sewing. (Kudos to all the sewing teachers out there!) There’s profound power in creating with our hands.
When Michelle Obama took up knitting, she called it “the power of small,” saying: “It’s the idea that narrowing your focus into a small, seemingly insignificant task can remind us of our own agency. It shows us our own ability to build, create, and succeed.”
I know how life-saving sewing is. This is why I do my best to bring inspirational fabrics, products and projects into the world. A former National Park Ranger concerned about our planet, I made sure our fabrics are PVC-free, PFAS(Forever Chemicals)-free, food safe and nontoxic.
As a kid, one of my favorite outings was to the hardware store. I’d roam the aisles looking for something that sparked interest and opened my mind to what I could make out of it. I believe this was where my creativity was nurtured. I still use the skill for opening my brain honed in those aisles when I’m trying to solve a design problem. I love a good design problem!
Making things was an escape. Growing up, our home swirled with crazy family drama. I found peace in my quiet room, drawing and creating.
I fell in love with repeat patterns in college, studying art, design and silk-screening at Stanford with Matt Kahn. He taught me critical thinking and excellence. I sewed there too, making my clothes, tent and backpacking gear. I dreamed of my future studio: a white room filled with color.
At 54, I wondered if I was “done” with big new projects. I’d worked as a scale model maker, and had a kids’ clothing line, purchasing lots of fabric designed by others. I’d taught art and sewing in Seattle Public Schools. I’d rebuilt a few houses and gardens, and mosaic tiled a lot of surfaces. But I was ready for a new challenge, even as I feared being too old to start again. I asked: What would I do if I wasn’t afraid?
Design my own prints, of course! How hard could it be? Two full years of research later, I found a mill where I could order my unique fabric, make things out of it, and still make some profit. My first few 3,000-yard printings were designed by the amazing Christine Joly de Lotbiniere. I had no digital skills, nor concept of the process.
I’ve conquered Photoshop, Illustrator and Procreate well enough to make them conform to my wishes. Now, I’ve designed most of our line’s 32 prints!
My fabric designs find me: I become obsessed with an idea. I create artwork in service of my vision. I start with my iPad, block printing and sketching — whatever it takes to develop the imagery I see in my head. I use Illustrator to get the repeat, scale and colors. What does it go with? What is the vibe of this print? What’s missing in the line?
New prints must fill gaps in our collection, using a new color, theme or style. The most important thing about a print is that I have to feel a chill. If I don’t feel it in my gut, it may need work or need to be abandoned.
Take our Kale print, aka “Food Fight.” I wanted a foodie fabric and drew all the fruits and veggies I love (and some I don’t). I added black outlines to mimic old block prints and tossed them about in Photoshop. It didn’t work — until I realized I could place them in rivers of color across the fabric. I had almost given up. The mill let me try 10 different colorways for my first test prints. I narrowed it to three, and Kale instantly became a runaway bestseller.
I love being in my hidey-hole with a view. I finally have a place for personal creative exploration, where I give myself permission to be in my zone. It takes physical space to make the mental space to create.
My art desk is often littered with paint swatches, feathers I’ve found, or some flowers I want to draw before they wilt. I’m surrounded by books about pattern and art, block prints and paper-cut art.
I draw with a plain old pencil, a thin Sharpie and my ultra-minimal watercolor compact kit by Art Toolkit. I also often draw on my iPad. My best inspirations come while I’m out and about. I do plein-air art — in the car, on the train, or during a hike. Then I come back to the studio to fine-tune. I have a stack of block printing carvers and blank blocks. I play with small squares first. It loosens my brain by starting small. I scan my images and play with them in Illustrator, building a repeating pattern until I get something irresistible.
I’m inspired by folk patterns, old blankets, rugs and all kinds of woven, painted and crafted patterns from the past. When I was a park ranger in the Southwest, I studied Anasazi pottery. I also grew up walking on lovely threadbare Oriental rugs. They took me to places in my imagination and provided the backdrop for hours of play and drawing.
Like a handmade rug, my fabrics often have a flaw or a surprise — a stray pixel, a gecko hiding, a broken tile, or bunny poop in the grass.
I honor knitting, sewing and embroidery in my prints. Currently, I’m working on:
- A quilt design with Maria Shell, a modern improv quilter
- A design using my grammy’s embroidery
- A classic gingham for our new collaboration with Missouri Star Quilt Company
- A collaboration with Nicole of MOD Home Ceramics
We release three to five fabrics a year, with four to five queued up for later. My goal is to sell more fabric so I can make more fabric. (Thank you all for helping!)
How do I know what will sell? Some prints, languish for years while I redesign, rethink, recolor and go down rabbit holes. I print patterns out to scale (multiple passes through 8.5-by-11-inch paper in my printer) and tape them together like a sewing pattern. I walk by randomly, seeing them out of the corner of my eye. When other people see it and catch their breath, that visceral connection tells me it’s worth pursuing.
I struggle to communicate color. Even with Pantone, the way the print looks on fabric is different from my paper print or computer screen. It can be a many-month process back and forth with the mill to get the colors to work. It doesn’t even have to match my paper — it just has to make my heart sing! If I love it enough, my customers will too.
When my grammy died, the only thing I really wanted were her pillows. She taught me embroidery. She was a maker. I’m making an embroidery fabric to honor grammies who inspire us to become makers.
I draw what she stitched and see her sitting in front of the TV, in her 80s, leg flung over the arm of her floral easy chair, cat at her side and methodically stitching, as women have done forever. I can feel her hands pulling the floss through the cloth.
I’ve always been a maker. I took a Singer sewing class at age 12 and never stopped sewing. (Kudos to all the sewing teachers out there!) There’s profound power in creating with our hands.
When Michelle Obama took up knitting, she called it “the power of small,” saying: “It’s the idea that narrowing your focus into a small, seemingly insignificant task can remind us of our own agency. It shows us our own ability to build, create, and succeed.”
I know how life-saving sewing is. This is why I do my best to bring inspirational fabrics, products and projects into the world. A former National Park Ranger concerned about our planet, I made sure our fabrics are PVC-free, PFAS(Forever Chemicals)-free, food safe and nontoxic.
As a kid, one of my favorite outings was to the hardware store. I’d roam the aisles looking for something that sparked interest and opened my mind to what I could make out of it. I believe this was where my creativity was nurtured. I still use the skill for opening my brain honed in those aisles when I’m trying to solve a design problem. I love a good design problem!
Making things was an escape. Growing up, our home swirled with crazy family drama. I found peace in my quiet room, drawing and creating.
I fell in love with repeat patterns in college, studying art, design and silk-screening at Stanford with Matt Kahn. He taught me critical thinking and excellence. I sewed there too, making my clothes, tent and backpacking gear. I dreamed of my future studio: a white room filled with color.
At 54, I wondered if I was “done” with big new projects. I’d worked as a scale model maker, and had a kids’ clothing line, purchasing lots of fabric designed by others. I’d taught art and sewing in Seattle Public Schools. I’d rebuilt a few houses and gardens, and mosaic tiled a lot of surfaces. But I was ready for a new challenge, even as I feared being too old to start again. I asked: What would I do if I wasn’t afraid?
Design my own prints, of course! How hard could it be? Two full years of research later, I found a mill where I could order my unique fabric, make things out of it, and still make some profit. My first few 3,000-yard printings were designed by the amazing Christine Joly de Lotbiniere. I had no digital skills, nor concept of the process.
I’ve conquered Photoshop, Illustrator and Procreate well enough to make them conform to my wishes. Now, I’ve designed most of our line’s 32 prints!
My fabric designs find me: I become obsessed with an idea. I create artwork in service of my vision. I start with my iPad, block printing and sketching — whatever it takes to develop the imagery I see in my head. I use Illustrator to get the repeat, scale and colors. What does it go with? What is the vibe of this print? What’s missing in the line?
New prints must fill gaps in our collection, using a new color, theme or style. The most important thing about a print is that I have to feel a chill. If I don’t feel it in my gut, it may need work or need to be abandoned.
Take our Kale print, aka “Food Fight.” I wanted a foodie fabric and drew all the fruits and veggies I love (and some I don’t). I added black outlines to mimic old block prints and tossed them about in Photoshop. It didn’t work — until I realized I could place them in rivers of color across the fabric. I had almost given up. The mill let me try 10 different colorways for my first test prints. I narrowed it to three, and Kale instantly became a runaway bestseller.
I love being in my hidey-hole with a view. I finally have a place for personal creative exploration, where I give myself permission to be in my zone. It takes physical space to make the mental space to create.
My art desk is often littered with paint swatches, feathers I’ve found, or some flowers I want to draw before they wilt. I’m surrounded by books about pattern and art, block prints and paper-cut art.
I draw with a plain old pencil, a thin Sharpie and my ultra-minimal watercolor compact kit by Art Toolkit. I also often draw on my iPad. My best inspirations come while I’m out and about. I do plein-air art — in the car, on the train, or during a hike. Then I come back to the studio to fine-tune. I have a stack of block printing carvers and blank blocks. I play with small squares first. It loosens my brain by starting small. I scan my images and play with them in Illustrator, building a repeating pattern until I get something irresistible.
I’m inspired by folk patterns, old blankets, rugs and all kinds of woven, painted and crafted patterns from the past. When I was a park ranger in the Southwest, I studied Anasazi pottery. I also grew up walking on lovely threadbare Oriental rugs. They took me to places in my imagination and provided the backdrop for hours of play and drawing.
Like a handmade rug, my fabrics often have a flaw or a surprise — a stray pixel, a gecko hiding, a broken tile, or bunny poop in the grass.
I honor knitting, sewing and embroidery in my prints. Currently, I’m working on:
- A quilt design with Maria Shell, a modern improv quilter
- A design using my grammy’s embroidery
- A classic gingham for our new collaboration with Missouri Star Quilt Company
- A collaboration with Nicole of MOD Home Ceramics
We release three to five fabrics a year, with four to five queued up for later. My goal is to sell more fabric so I can make more fabric. (Thank you all for helping!)
How do I know what will sell? Some prints, languish for years while I redesign, rethink, recolor and go down rabbit holes. I print patterns out to scale (multiple passes through 8.5-by-11-inch paper in my printer) and tape them together like a sewing pattern. I walk by randomly, seeing them out of the corner of my eye. When other people see it and catch their breath, that visceral connection tells me it’s worth pursuing.
I struggle to communicate color. Even with Pantone, the way the print looks on fabric is different from my paper print or computer screen. It can be a many-month process back and forth with the mill to get the colors to work. It doesn’t even have to match my paper — it just has to make my heart sing! If I love it enough, my customers will too.
When my grammy died, the only thing I really wanted were her pillows. She taught me embroidery. She was a maker. I’m making an embroidery fabric to honor grammies who inspire us to become makers.
I draw what she stitched and see her sitting in front of the TV, in her 80s, leg flung over the arm of her floral easy chair, cat at her side and methodically stitching, as women have done forever. I can feel her hands pulling the floss through the cloth.
