Design Notes on Lace-Inspired Pearls in the Seed Collection
A closer look at seed pearls, their delicate character, and the craftsmanship behind working with these tiny natural forms.
The Language Of Lace
Our Seed collection, made from hand-strung seed pearls, began with a longstanding fascination: lace, crochet, and the far older history of knotting and netting that both grew out of. The further we pulled at that thread, the more it unraveled, becoming part of a much larger continuum of making.
Translation Through Pearl
We rarely know in advance where a material will lead us, but what we found when we began digging through archives of historic lace, knotting, and crochet was the same language, repeated across different hands, centuries, and contexts. Together they illustrate what we make out of necessity, what we come to value, and what knowledge we work hardest to preserve. It's bigger than technique; it's our shared humanity.
The Seed collection carries that feeling into seed pearls, investigating how we can interpret the same qualities of softness and intricacy into something that was already precious and singular by nature.
Before It Was Named
The oldest evidence of humans deliberately turning a single strand into pattern comes from two techniques. Interestingly, they appear in the archaeological record at almost exactly the same moment. The first is hair: small carved figurines close to 28,000 years old show heads covered in a repeating, woven motif, some of the earliest evidence of ornamental pattern-making.
The second is knotted cord, where archaeologists found impressions of cords and nets pressed into clay, dating back roughly 25,000 years.
Braiding and knotting are close relatives, both turning a single strand into structure by hand. For most of history they served practical uses: catching fish, carrying food, building shelter. The string bag alone shows up across cultures, from bilum bags in Papua New Guinea to dilly bags carried across Australia to netted bags found in southwestern Texas. Different continents, different centuries, arriving at the same answer.
Hand To Hand
In 1809, a machine maker named John Heathcoat built a lace machine by studying the exact hand movements of a working lacemaker, then engineering a mechanism to replicate them. Within decades, machines could copy nearly every kind of lace ever made by hand.
By 1900, the handmade lace industry had all but disappeared as a commercial trade, but it didn't happen without a fight: in England, skilled workers responded by smashing and destroying the machines themselves.
Despite industrialization, the knowledge of the craft moved forward through printed pattern booklets instead, passed hand to hand: instruction detailed enough to preserve the intricacy of the technique, and precise enough to keep the craft alive at a community level.
Lace As Luxury
Lace evolved out of these same knotting and openwork techniques, but with a difference in purpose: pattern cut into linen purely as ornament, made for the sake of beauty.
By the early 1500s, most of this ornamental knotting was concentrated in Europe. The labor required was staggering: a single meter of fine lace could take a skilled lacemaker the better part of a year to complete, and a single lace cravat could cost four and a half times a working person's annual wage.
Countries banned foreign lace outright, or taxed it heavily, but neither stopped demand. Smuggling became common: lace hidden inside loaves of bread, sewn into the lining of coffins, tucked into parasols and books.
Pearls are organic and porous, and chemicals can damage their nacre and change their color. To clean, wipe pearls gently with a soft, dry cloth after each wear to remove oils, lotion, or perfume residue, which can dull their surface over time. Avoid soaking or using jewelry cleaner (even kinds safe for gemstones).
The Archive Worn
Shop [16]Utility, then luxury, then automation. What comes after that is the question this collection tries to answer, piece by piece. Worn close against the skin, these pieces keep that lineage alive the only way handiwork has ever really survived: through use, not display.