my story →
my story
hello →
I’m the person on the other end of the envelope. I write the letter, print it, stamp it, walk it to the post box. one desk, one window, one kettle.
painted, winter
winter
from the sketchbook
before the press runs
the long version →
how this
started.
for a long time, the best thing in my week was a letter from a friend who’d moved away. we’d send each other small parcels — a postcard, a pressed leaf, a sketch on the back of a receipt. nothing important. important enough.
after a while I started making the letters I wished arrived. printed on paper that felt good in the hand, written slowly, sealed with a stamp the colour of the month. one a week, at first, to one person.
word travels through the post — slower than the internet but further, somehow. her friends asked to be added. then friends of friends. then strangers I’d never met, who’d found my work and wanted something in their mailbox that wasn’t a bill.
the slowpost is that habit, opened up. one envelope a month, made at my kitchen table, walked to the post box, sent to wherever you are. no inbox, no algorithm, no push notification. just paper and a stamp and the slow magic of the post.
“A letter is a particular kind of gift — the only one that comes with the sender’s handwriting still warm on the page.”
— from the studio
somewhere a postcard is already on its way.
