Petals & Memory
Still blooming
A collection about memory, inheritance, and the quiet ways we carry home with us. Illustrated faces and florals, shaped slowly by hand between Ecuador and the Netherlands.
The beginning
Before this collection had a name, there were my grandmother’s hands.
She was always making something for the home. Sewing cushions and tablecloths, knitting flowers, creating small gifts for her children and grandchildren. Her house was built with care. Not decorated, but made. Every object carried time and attention.
Sometimes she sold her handmade pieces or took small commissions. Creating was simply part of who she was. An instinct. A quiet form of entrepreneurship, long before calling it that. Without realizing it, I grew up watching what it meant to build a home with your hands.
With my hands
Years later, I found myself doing the same. Drawing. Sewing. Painting. Shaping objects slowly in the studio. Designing textiles and pieces meant for everyday use. What I do now doesn’t feel like starting something new.
It feels like continuing a gesture that began long before me. Sometimes the process feels almost meditative, like translating emotions into materials. Stitch by stitch. Brushstroke by brushstroke.
With my hands
Years later, I found myself doing the same. Drawing. Sewing. Painting. Shaping objects slowly in the studio. Designing textiles and pieces meant to be used every day. What I do now doesn’t feel like starting something new.
It feels like continuing a gesture that began long before me. Sometimes the process feels almost meditative, like translating emotions into materials. Stitch by stitch. Brushstroke by brushstroke.
Light & place
Living between countries changed the way I see color and light. In Ecuador, the sun is intense and direct. Colors feel warm and strong. In the Netherlands, the light is softer and lateral. Quieter. Everything feels muted and calm.
These two atmospheres slowly found their way into my work. Tulips carry the softness of the North. Roses carry the warmth and strength of my Latin roots. Between these two lights, I recognize myself.
The portraits
The faces in this collection are not specific women. They are calm, neutral, and almost anonymous. Soft, but never fragile.
Sometimes I think of them as flowers with a human presence. Or women quietly growing into petals and stems. They hold both tenderness and strength. Stillness and resilience.
The portraits
The faces in this collection are not specific women. They are calm, neutral, and almost anonymous. Soft, but never fragile.
Sometimes I think of them as flowers with a human presence. Or women quietly growing into petals and stems. They hold both tenderness and strength. Stillness and resilience.
With my hands
Years later, I found myself doing the same. Drawing. Sewing. Painting. Shaping objects slowly in the studio. Designing textiles and pieces meant for everyday use. What I do now doesn’t feel like starting something new.
It feels like continuing a gesture that began long before me. Sometimes the process feels almost meditative, like translating emotions into materials. Stitch by stitch. Brushstroke by brushstroke.
What we carry becomes home
Over time, I understood that home is not only a place. It is something we build from what we carry with us. Memories. Textures. Gestures. The knowledge stored in our hands.
Each piece in Petals & Memory is created in small batches in my studio, allowing time and imperfection to remain visible. These objects are not meant to feel manufactured. They are meant to feel lived with. Held. Kept. Passed on. Just like the ones my grandmother used to make.
