komorebi

sunlight, leaf-scattered

Shot at seven in the morning, when Vilnius belongs to no one. Light came through the linden trees and printed itself on the fabric before we ever touched a needle. One garment came home with us. There will not be another.

sumi

ink, still wet

Berlin in February is a city drawn in ink. We dyed this piece the way the streets dye themselves — slowly, in layers, never quite drying. Wear it and the line keeps moving.

hinomaru

one red circle

Tokyo taught us restraint: one mark, placed once, is enough. A single red circle, stitched by hand over eleven hours. Everything else on this garment is silence.

ukiyo

the floating world

Seoul at night floats — neon doubled on wet asphalt, everything twice as bright and half as real. We cut this jacket from that reflection, for moving through cities that never hold still. Catch it before it drifts on.