A Snowy Day at the Studio

This morning the world feels quieter.
Snow softens the fields, hedges blur into pale outlines, and the usual sense of urgency seems to fall away. The landscape looks as though it has paused to take a breath, and it feels like an invitation to do the same.

Days like this change how we move through time. Everything slows, not because it has to, but because it wants to. I notice it most clearly in the studio on mornings like these — the sound of footsteps crunching outside, the warmth inside feeling more pronounced, the kettle going on earlier than usual. There’s something deeply reassuring about knowing the day will unfold gently.

Winter stitching has its own rhythm.
It isn’t about speed or production; it’s about settling in. Cloth feels different in the colder months — more tactile somehow — and the act of stitching becomes a companion rather than a task. It’s the sort of making that suits small pauses, quiet concentration, and the comfort of familiar movements. Needle in, needle out. A breath between stitches.

The studio feels particularly welcoming at the moment. There’s tea ready, cake not far away, and space to simply look and think. I often notice how visitors linger longer in winter, standing a little closer to the work, asking thoughtful questions, letting ideas percolate. Snow outside seems to give permission for that — to take time, to be curious, to sit with inspiration rather than rush past it.

Currently, I have a selection of work by Cat Nash on display in the studio. Her pieces are beautifully constructed and quietly confident, with a sense of balance and intention that reveals itself the longer you look. They’re not demanding works; they don’t shout for attention. Instead, they invite it. Many people find themselves drawn back for a second look, noticing new details each time.

If you’d like to visit and see the work in person, you’re very welcome. The studio is open by arrangement at the moment — just let me know when you’re thinking of coming so I can make sure I’m here to welcome you. There’s something about seeing textile work in real life that photographs can never quite capture: the weight of the cloth, the subtle changes in texture, the way light moves across a surface.

Winter also has a habit of steering us towards smaller, more intimate projects. Pieces that feel achievable and satisfying, even when the days are short. There’s comfort in making something you can hold, wear, or return to — work that fits neatly into a slower season. It’s often at this time of year that people rediscover the pleasure of focused stitching, without distraction.

With that in mind, there are a couple of workshops coming up that feel especially well-suited to winter making. Angie Hill’s brooches are tiny but full of character — small enough to feel manageable, yet rich in detail and expression. They lend themselves perfectly to careful, mindful stitching. The button collar workshop with Cat explores structure, texture, and wearable creativity — a piece that grows steadily, layer by layer, rewarding patience and curiosity.

There’s no urgency here, and no pressure.
Just an open door and an open invitation.

If the snow has you longing for a warm space, thoughtful making, and a bit of conversation over tea and cake, the studio is here. Winter has a quiet way of bringing people together — and sometimes, simply sitting with cloth, thread, and a shared moment of calm is exactly what’s needed.