When Chapters Change

Life has a quiet way of shifting around us.

Sometimes the change is gradual — almost unnoticeable — and sometimes it arrives as a moment where you realise that what once fitted no longer quite does. This feels like one of those moments.

After a lot of thought, I’ve decided that the NEC in March will be my last big show. It hasn’t been an easy decision, and it’s certainly not one made lightly.

For many years, the big shows have been a huge part of my creative life. I will genuinely miss the preparation and planning — the lists, the samples, the quiet excitement that builds long before the doors open. I’ll miss the buzz of setting up, that shared energy in the halls as everyone works around each other with cups of tea balanced on crates and music drifting from nearby stands.

Most of all, I’ll miss the shows when they’re open: meeting visitors, chatting about fabric and thread, teaching, explaining processes, and seeing people connect with making in their own way. The organisers have always been incredibly supportive, and the sense of community among traders is something special. There’s a generosity there — advice shared, help offered, encouragement given — that I will always be grateful for.

What I won’t miss is easier to say out loud.

I won’t miss the long drives around the country, the physical exhaustion of loading and unloading the van, the stocktaking that never quite ends, or the time spent in hotels when I’d rather be at home. All of that takes a toll, even when you love the work itself.

And that’s really what this decision comes down to.

Life changes. Circumstances change. Priorities shift.

Stepping away from the big shows means I can be more present with my family — and that matters more to me than anything else right now. It’s not about giving something up so much as choosing something else.

I’ll still be out and about, just closer to home. I’m planning to attend more local events, where the pace is gentler and the travel shorter, but the conversations and connections are just as meaningful. It feels like a better fit for this stage of life.

I’m not disappearing, and I’m not stopping. My work, my teaching, and my love of textiles remain at the heart of what I do. This is simply a change of pace, a reshaping of how and where that work happens.

I’m deeply thankful for every show, every conversation, every shared laugh across a trestle table, and every person who stopped to chat, learn, or just browse. Those experiences have shaped me more than I can easily put into words.

So this isn’t an ending — it’s a turning of the page.

And for now, that feels exactly right.