home is what you carry.

I started this because I kept leaving. Not running from anything — just living in more than one place, a year here, a season there, and noticing that the idea of home had quietly moved out of buildings and into a duffel bag.

The things that survived every move were heavy, plain, and unbranded enough to belong anywhere. A hoodie that worked in a Lisbon stairwell and a Seoul winter. A tee that came back from every wash the same. That became the brief: make the short list of things you’d pack for a month, and make them properly.

So the catalogue is small on purpose. Four product types, in Inkwell and Salt. No seasons to chase and no countdown timers. Postcards carry the same working uniform into a place-specific volume, one place at a time.

The mark is a ring crossed by one low wave — a globe, and water carried across it. It’s stitched into the sleeve of everything I make, in thread you feel before you see.

I mark the clothes quietly. I’d rather you own one for five years than three for one.