My studio isn’t only a leather studio, it’s really a creative space and it reflects me more than anything else.
There’s my working space, which is part atelier, part office, part thinking room. And then there’s the workshop, which sits in the production hub where the pieces are actually made.
When people walk in for the first time, what they usually notice is that it isn’t just one thing, it's a kind of complexity in the air. Different energies, different objects, different materials, all living together in the same space.
A normal day in the studio has me moving constantly between examining and experimenting. I’m usually looking for harmony inside a collection. Trying to understand how materials and ideas flow together, sometimes that means giving a piece space so its authenticity can emerge on its own.
Design is always a marriage between practicality and beauty; Function and feeling. My job is to stay integrous to the piece, to where the material comes from, to the problem we’re solving, and to what feels true.
The sounds of the studio are very ordinary.
Me humming.
Me tapping on the keyboard.
Me sketching.
Me talking to myself. (haha)
Conversations with the team.
Pens tapping, pages turning.
On my work table there’s usually incense or palo santo burning, my handbag with all my little comfort things inside. Notebooks everywhere, art books stacked around the table.
People are sometimes surprised by how warm the studio feels. It’s very unpretentious. Cozy even, it’s a place where things are allowed to unfold slowly.
Being inside the studio makes me feel inspired. It makes me feel aligned. Sometimes it even feels like I’ve caught up with the woman I always had a quiet sense I would become.
There’s a kind of power in that. A sense that the space itself is evidence of loving myself properly.
The moment that gives me the most satisfaction is when the whole team gathers in the studio and we begin exchanging ideas. When something clicks and we all agree on the direction and move forward together.
If the studio could speak, it wouldn’t say something direct.
It would say something cryptic,
Something poetic,
Something wise.
Almost like the wind speaking.
Zainab Ashadu