Quiet moments in a winter studio

Yesterday slipped past in one of those soft, unhurried ways that winter days sometimes do. I had meant to sit down and write, but instead the hours were filled with small things — making tea, trimming threads, watching the light change on the frozen pond outside the studio window, and stitching quietly while the wind rattled through the bare branches.

The studio felt especially hushed. Even when the machines are running, there are days when everything seems to slow down and take on a more reflective rhythm. I think winter does that. It invites a different kind of attention — one that notices details, listens more closely, and allows space for small, thoughtful making.

Over the last week, that feeling has found its way into a new little collection I’ve been working on, which I’ve called The Quiet Companions.

They are small embroidered needlebooks and bookmarks, each one featuring a tiny wildlife character — a fox, a robin, a heron, a stag, a squirrel — stitched here in the studio using my own artwork and digital embroidery. I didn’t set out to make a big range or a large stock. I simply wanted to explore what it felt like to create a handful of small, gentle pieces that could keep someone company while they stitch.

What I hadn’t expected was how people would respond to them.

It’s been unexpectedly touching to see the first few already find their homes. The Robin and the Fox have now both gone, which feels rather fitting somehow — those two always seem to be the ones people connect with first. I made just a small number of each, so when a character goes, they really do go for a while.

What I’m discovering is that people don’t seem to choose these as objects. They choose them as characters. A quiet little presence to sit beside their sewing basket or travel in their project bag. Some people are fox people. Some are robin people. Others are drawn to the calm watchfulness of a heron or the quiet strength of a stag.

I love the idea that these tiny stitched creatures are now scattered out in the world, sitting on tables, tucked into drawers, or travelling in handbags — each one keeping someone company as they sew, mend, or simply pause for a few moments of creative calm.

The remaining Quiet Companions are still here in the studio for now, resting on the shelves and waiting to be chosen. I’ll keep sharing them as they come and go. It feels a little like watching a small wildlife population appear and disappear across my worktables.

Alongside all of this, winter continues its gentle hold over Eau Brink. The pond outside still glimmers with ice in the mornings, the trees are bare and etched against the sky, and inside there is always the warmth of fabric, thread and conversation. Even on days when the weather keeps the doors closed, the studio remains a place of making — of slow, careful work that doesn’t rush or shout, but simply exists.

If you’d like to meet the Quiet Companions, you’ll find them quietly waiting in the online shop, alongside all the other pieces made here in the studio. And if you’re local, they’re here in person too, perched on the shelves and ready to be held, opened, and looked at closely.

Thank you, as always, for being part of this stitched, gentle world.