Making as noticing

I sit in my small room, a space that was transformed into a creative studio only a little over a year ago. There is just enough room for a desk, piles of paper, and the two large steps of empty floor that often become an extension of the table.

I rarely simply sit down and begin creating.

Usually, it takes several rounds around the room (yes, the same two-by-two square metres of space), letting my eyes wander before something catches my attention. Surrounded by printed photographs, layers of paper, and the vintage typewriter, I carefully observe what my hands are ready to make today.

The process is rarely separate from everyday life. While my hands prepare to bind, to stitch, to type, my mind wanders.

Have I watered the plants?
What are we going to eat for dinner?
Do I even have enough time to finish one small piece today?

I notice how easily these thoughts pull me away from the work. I take a deep breath and return to the present moment.

My hands are still learning, stitching hole by hole, following imperfect lines, making mistakes along the way. I undo, adjust, and begin again. The returning, the patience, the conversation between hands and materials become a part of the process. Not everything is created in a straight line. I’m learning to stay with the moment, one stitch at a time.

I've come to realise that these paper objects and books become my way to preserve something far more fleeting. The feeling of light passing through a window on a warm afternoon in Italy. The texture of handmade paper beneath my fingertips.

We remember through touch, texture, sound and the physical world around us. And these small sensory moments often stay with us long after the details have faded.

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Many of these moments have found their way into small artist books, concertina books and printed matter. You can explore them in the shop.

Every purchase helps me continue making, writing and sharing this work. Thank you for being part of the journey.