I think about ideas a lot.

Sometimes I wonder where they come from.

An image will appear in my mind and stay there. A shape. A feeling. Something I see for only a second but somehow keep thinking about days later.

And eventually I make it.

I used to think that meant the idea was mine.

Now I wonder if ideas belong to anyone at all.

Maybe they’re just moving around, waiting to be noticed.

Sometimes I think an idea comes to you because you’re supposed to do something with it. And if you don’t, if you keep putting it off, convince yourself it’s silly, decide you’re not ready, maybe it keeps moving until it finds someone who will.

I don’t know if that’s true.

I like believing it is.

So I try to listen when something keeps returning to me.

Making has become a kind of listening.

I follow what I’m curious about. I follow what makes me uncomfortable. I follow the things I can’t quite explain.

And somewhere in the process, I usually find myself.

That’s probably what I love most about making things. I can begin with one question and end up somewhere I didn’t expect. Sometimes I make something because I understand it. More often, I make it because I don’t.

I think the making is how I begin to understand.

I’m interested in the space between intention and intuition - the moment when you have an idea of what something should become, and then the work starts telling you something else.

I want to pay attention to that.

I want the things I make to feel intentional. Not necessarily perfect, or even completely understood, but like there was a reason they needed to exist.

Maybe that’s what Lunefemme is.

A place for the things I can’t stop thinking about.

The little things I make.

The little things I find.

The ideas I don’t want to let pass through me.

And whatever comes next.

These are the things that find me.

I make them so they have somewhere to stay.