My process begins with a pencil drawing every single time. The starting point is usually something I have seen while travelling: an architectural detail, an antique textile, a carved surface, a landscape, or even a quick photograph of a flower on my phone. I collect references constantly, and sometimes the smallest detail will stay with me and eventually become the beginning of a pattern.

Once I have an idea in my mind, I begin sketching it out and thinking about scale. Scale is one of the most important decisions in my process because it changes the entire feeling of a design. A motif can feel delicate and decorative at one size, and much more architectural or dramatic at another.

From there, I decide on the medium. Sometimes the artwork wants to be a watercolor, sometimes collage, oil paint, charcoal, or something more textural. Once the artwork feels right, I scan or photograph it and bring it into Photoshop. I use the digital stage to work out the repeat, adjust the scale, and begin thinking about colour.

After that, I decide on the substrate. The final design might become a printed linen, a grasscloth wallcovering, a trim, or an embroidery. If it is an embroidery, I work with specialists who can translate the artwork into stitch. If it is a print, we send the final file to the mill or printer with Pantone references for each colour area. Then we begin the strike-off process. The mill sends back samples, often around a yard of each colour, and we go back and forth until it feels exactly right. Sometimes that process takes months, and sometimes it can take years.

‍What I love about drawing by hand is the imperfection. There is a softness and irregularity that you cannot really fake digitally. The little wobbles, overlaps, eraser marks, and changes in pressure are what make a pattern feel human.

I begin with pencil because I almost never get the perfect line right away. Part of my process is almost drawing with the eraser as much as the pencil. I draw, erase, redraw, and keep adjusting until the line lands exactly where I want it to be. Even when the finished artwork becomes more polished, I like that you can see the history of the design in the erased lines. I am drawn to patterns that feel alive, and I think that comes from allowing the human marks to remain part of the finished piece.

The drawing itself begins as a very private part of my process. I have to design alone. I need quiet, privacy, and no distractions. When I am drawing or painting, I get into a zone and can disappear into that space for hours at a time.

I love showing the finished artwork to clients because I think it helps them understand the story behind each pattern. In a world where so much imagery can feel instant or anonymous, I think it is important for clients to see where a design began and how much work went into it. For a luxury brand, that connection to process really matters. When a client sees the original artwork, the sketches, the color development, and then the finished fabric or wallcovering, they understand that the piece has a real history. It keeps them connected to the maker, rather than just the output.

Working by hand in a tech-forward world feels grounding. I know digital tools are incredibly useful, and I use them as part of my workflow, but I do not think they can replace the feeling of a hand-drawn line. There is something about the pressure of the pencil, the hesitation before a mark, the erasing and redrawing, that gives the work its character.

Technology can help refine, repeat, scale, and produce a design, but the originality of the idea begins elsewhere. For me, it begins with observation, memory, travel, and the physical act of making. Working by hand keeps the process connected to something human.

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This story is from Issue 9 of The Quarterly. Click here to see the full issue.