I always made clothes but somewhere in between a thin red line happened. Somewhere in between paper and fabric, there was a lot of maylar, drawings of maps, houses, roads that lead to other houses or other paths leading nowhere in particular...
This time of 'artificial landscapes' came and passed, and I dedicated all my time to sewing, making dresses again, and I forgot about these prints. But not all together, because the thin red line still follows me faithfully.
Even when we feel like we're doing nothing valuable just making things, anything, still it somehow leads us back to the place where we feel comfortable with our work again. The in betweens might be filed under research, and we're back home again...
