HAND AS PEDIGREE
[THE RECIPE IS SIMPLE: SOME SILK, SOME THREAD AND A COMPETENT NEEDLE. QUINTESSENTIALLY, ENDEARINGLY: ANALOG.]
The French have a word that doesn’t translate directly to English when describing the environment to which a wine is born… "terroir."
It’s the idea that the wine isn’t just the product of soil and sun, but also of the wind and rain and the hands of the farmer himself. Something greater than nature alone; the indescribable intersection of Nature and Man.
We feel much the same way about our silks and even have a similar, intangible word: "hand."
It’s how the fabric moves, how it bounces, folds and unfolds. Romantically, it’s how the fabric captivates and how it seduces. Anytime you fold or bunch or ruffle the fabric you leave a little memory of yourself buried within. A good silk absorbs a little of your energy, a little of you. It remembers. That is hand. That is something special.