The idea of progress, with all its plastic and convenience, failed to lure me into the realm of screens and machinery. I love all that is old and dusty, full of history and halfway forgotten – be it word, supplies or techniques.

This led me first to old stories – not just the greco-roman tales of shape shifting gods and philosophical  punishments, but the wonderful world of folk-lore, the stories of the people. From the fearsome Yōkai in Japan to the traditional Sidhe of Ireland, I loved reading the unusual, often absurd tales of heroes who didn’t know their path. Their encounters with characters and mystical beings who, at first glance, seemed completely beside the point of the story, bring forth a richness of narrative sorely lacking from so much of the content we have nowadays.

I can’t tell you if it was through these readings or not, but I can say this: what followed was a deep rooted interest in the lost bits of human soul one finds in creation with a purpose. The unique feeling of making instead of buying, or knowing the talented hands behind a tool or material you couldn’t make yourself.

The sense of identity in crafts that survived cultural bleaching and have been carried on for centuries.