WOVEN RIBBON PURSES

Finishing dates: May 2025 onwards.

Audre Lorde writes: “Poetry is not a luxury”. That poems can become experience, distilled, making what we feel something real, because, articulated, the experience can be shared.

Is this where beauty enters the struggle? Articulating that which is worth fighting for – not only what needs to be fought against? Different means of meeting in what we long for, find meaning in, sharing experience. Poems, but also: Figurative art, music, slow and patient craftsmanship, stories that take us beyond control into wonder.

Not that anyone needs to fight for hand-woven ribbon accessories. In 2025, I wove a lot. Ribbons that turned into purses. Frivolous, in the grand scheme of things. Beautiful, all the same. Especially presented together like this.

A kind of poetry, to be held and to hold. Crafted from thread, hands and patience. A quiet, but lasting message.

I gave one of the purses to Natalia and photographed her with it on a very sunny summer’s day. She was pregnant at the time. She was not anymore once I got around to writing about it. Those things have a tendency to come out after a while, making the photo embarrassingly out of date when I posted it in January 2026. By then, she had a healthily chubby baby boy. AND a pretty purse. She is such a lucky lady, that Natalia.

As a kid, one of my favorite things to do while at my grandma Lilian’s was to go through her button collection. It was huge, organized into small boxes and jars. I loved how many there were, colors, materials, textures, sizes, shapes. I loved looking at them, organizing them. It was so satisfying.

When we emptied my grandparents’ house after my grandpa died, I inherited the button collection. I still have it in small jars and boxes, and have used some for my own pieces – in the transition cardigan, the linen sailor’s jumper, the Bolivia cardigan.

My friend Cecilia’s daughter Selma, 2 in January 2026, already showed similar tinkering tendencies. The brain of a handicrafter – because, not surprisingly, mum Cecilia has hands itching to tinker, too. So when I turned one of my woven ribbon purses into a small handbag for Selma, I filled it with leftover ribbons and a small purse with buttons from Lilian’s collection. She takes it out sometimes, when baby brother Nic (still in his eating-everything-phase) isn’t around. Organizing them according to color, size, material. Just like I did.