Isabel Willis

I make to remember.
I make to connect.
I make to honour hands I’ll never know, practicing knowledge in every stitch, every loop, every thread.

Each act of making is part of a longer conversation, one that spans generations. A quiet, invisible history held in muscle memory; a knowledge passed down from one pair of hands to another. Oral traditions made tactile. Repeated. Repeated. Again.

I return to old processes.
I return to slowness.
To careful hands. To thoughtful rhythms. To the comfort of repetition.

A motion repeated. Over and over. Again. Grounding. Repairing. Healing. Not everything handmade can be replicated by machines. Something is always lost: technique, care, the trace of the maker. The trace of us.

I mend to care.
I make to remember.
I stitch to stay present.
To connect.
To honour.
To hold.