What We Leave Behind

I think a lot about the objects we abandon — the jacket with a fraying cuff, the chipped bowl that once held morning light, the scrap of fabric that once meant something to someone. We part with things so easily now. And maybe it’s practical. Maybe it’s survival. But still, I wonder: what do these things carry when we let them go?

I sift through them — at thrift stores, at garage sales, in boxes left at the curb — not as a collector, but as someone looking for signs. Textures. Echoes. Evidence that beauty doesn’t end where convenience stops. I find bits and pieces, and sometimes I stitch them back into something else. Something new, but not new. Something that remembers.

Making With What’s Left

I’ve come to trust worn things more than new ones. The softness of threadbare cotton, the way a scrap of upholstery fabric folds like it’s been listening its whole life. They carry stories I’ll never fully know — and that’s part of the magic.

When I work with secondhand materials, I’m not just recycling. I’m collaborating with ghosts: past lives, old intentions, forgotten colors. I don’t want blank slates. I want textures that talk back.

Some pieces I find are broken in ways that make them better. Torn hems that turn into fringe. Coffee stains that become part of the palette. Plastic buttons, too gaudy to be taken seriously, suddenly shine when surrounded by restraint.

One of my favorite things I’ve made was for my dog — a giant, lumpy pillow stitched from panels of denim too far gone to wear. It’s not beautiful in any traditional sense. But during thunderstorms, he burrows down into it like it’s a fortress. Once he realized it was his, he claimed it fully. There’s something sacred in that: turning castoffs into comfort.

Creating this way slows me down. It reminds me that art doesn’t have to start with a fresh canvas. Sometimes the best place to begin is right where someone else gave up.

A Life That Remembers

We’re all leaving things behind, all the time. But maybe not everything has to stay gone. Maybe some things are waiting to become something else — to be held again, stitched into new shapes, repurposed not just for use, but for meaning. In the end, it’s not just about what we make. It’s about how we choose to care, to see value in the forgotten, and to build a life that remembers.