I usually start with a feeling, sometimes it's a character from a book, sometimes it's something I saw in real life, and sometimes it's just a moment that had a certain energy that I want to hold on to.
And then I try to recreate that feeling in my own way; this is where a piece begins.
The messiest part of making is translating what is in your mind to reality, because the moment you make something real, it might not look the way you imagined it, and then you have to navigate that.
You have to adjust, you've got to doubt yourself a little, and you have to keep going anyway. That's the messy part.
The most frustrating part, is the time I have to wait from when something is in my mind, to when it becomes reality. I hold myself back from being overbearing with the artisans because I know they're just trying to do an amazing job.
Because in my mind, the piece already exists, and I want it to appear immediately, but one thing making has taught me definitely is patience.
Another frustration is when artisans assume a very specific detail is a mistake. Sometimes they want to correct it because it goes against what they know as industry practice, but I have to explain (again) that the mistake is actually the point.
When a piece is ready, there is a familiar sense of harmony. A particular calm arrives, and it's a feeling that the object has received everything it needed from me, even the inconvenient parts.
When that happens, I'm ready to let go.
Time in my process is obsessive, tiny details matter. A few millimeters can change the entire personality of a bag.
What most people misunderstand about making is that it requires a tremendous amount of discipline.
A lot of restraint.
Guiding parameters.
A single detail can make or break the entire piece.
Zainab Ashadu
