What Stays in the Seam

Stitched each one on days when the sky was unsure of itself — neither grey nor blue, just soft. The kind of weather that makes fabric feel like it has something to say.

The base was cut from thick sateen — structured, weighty, with a quiet sheen that catches light like a withheld secret. It held its form even when I asked it to bend. And I liked that. There’s a kind of strength in materials that don’t yield easily — like people who’ve lived through their own reshaping.

Inside the lining, I used muslin, gentle and plain. It reminded me of early experiments, of schoolroom smocks and curtain backings. It doesn’t pretend. It simply holds. I stitched into it a small patch with embroidered initials. Not mine. Not anyone’s really. Just letters that came to me while threading the needle: L.M.

Maybe they belong to a girl in a different time who once carried lavender and loose change in a bag just like this.

This is how I design. I don’t sketch. I gather. From textures, moods, small aches. From music and mending. I hold the fabric and wait until it tells me what it wants to be. Sometimes I whisper back, sometimes I just sew.

(Canvas works by Anna Dimitriou)