About Me

I’ve spent the last two decades immersed in the quiet, slow world of handmade clothing—working with my hands, and learning directly from the land. When my almost adult children were young, I was planting a garden on a patch of earth, curious to see what color lived inside the plants. That curiosity became a way of life.

Everything I make begins in the garden. My home studio sits beside an ever-evolving dye garden in beautiful Boulder, where I grow many of the plants I use—coreopsis, Japanese indigo, madder roots, and whatever else the seasons call in. I harvest mindfully and work closely with native, wild plants, learning how each one behaves in dye, how they shift with weather, soil, and time. Some of these relationships have taken years to understand. Others are still unfolding.

The process is slow, and I like it that way. I make my indigo vats and pigment extractions, layer color through eco-printing and overdyeing, and lean into the unpredictable nature of plant dye—because that’s where the real beauty is. Each piece of clothing I create holds the marks of the season it came from, the hands that made it, and the land it came through. No two will ever be the same, and I wouldn't want them to be.

I work only with natural fibers—fabrics that breathe, decompose, and feel alive against the skin. I choose each one with care, thinking not just about how it takes color, but how it moves, how it wears over time, how it supports the story I want to tell. This work is rooted in respect: for the plants, for the earth, and for the lineage of textile and dye knowledge that has come before me.

I’m also a wife and mother to three boys, and I carry that identity into everything I do. My family comes first. The rhythm of our home, the cycles of growth and change, the deep listening that parenting requires—all of it mirrors the way I approach my work.

What I create is more than clothing. It’s a quiet offering. A garden held in cloth. A way of remembering our place in the natural world, and honoring the beauty that comes when we slow down and listen.