Our work with color began at the mixing table. We mixed pigments in small batches, then painted them onto vintage linen and hemp, building layers and watching how the fabric responded. A color that looked promising in the tub could become something quite different on the cloth. The weave, the weight and the color already present in the fabric all had a say.

Painting by hand allowed us to decide where a color gathered, where it thinned out and where another tone entered. We could follow a seam, emphasize a change in texture or let a wash spread across a larger area. Those decisions gave us compositions we couldn’t have arrived at through a single, uniform dye bath.

Today, our palettes come less from swatches than from the Mediterranean itself: sun-bleached stone, weathered timber, oxidized metals, limewashed walls and the shifting colors of the landscape throughout the day.

We don't choose colours to make a statement. We choose them because they feel like they already belong.

We also worked with hand-dyeing techniques, including shibori, and developed our own way of making dye paintable. Each approach offered a different degree of control. Sometimes we wanted to place a mark precisely; sometimes the most interesting part was seeing what happened when the material took over.

That experience continues to inform how we use color in paintings, furniture and rooms. We pay attention to the surface carrying it and the colors beside it. An old textile taught us early that the same color can behave very differently depending on what you put it on.