A round-up of things that have been shaping how we think about the work right now. Not recommendations exactly — more like evidence of an ongoing conversation.

A book: a slim catalogue from a 1982 exhibition of Japanese craft that we found in a used bookshop. The photographs are badly printed by current standards but that doesn't matter. The objects are so good that even a muddy reproduction communicates what needs communicating.

A material: undyed linen, specifically in a weight we found last month from a supplier in Belgium. It drapes differently than anything we've used before. We have no plans for it yet, which is the most interesting state — material without commitment, potential without pressure.

A question we keep returning to: what does it mean for something to be "finished?" Not in the sense of complete, but in the sense of done-enough. There is a point at which more work makes a thing worse, not better. We are trying to locate that point more reliably.

The studio is smaller than people expect, I imagine.

Always. Everyone who visits says that. They have an idea from the work that there is some large operation behind it. In fact it's a room with a table and a lot of shelving and a very good lamp. The work is slow. That's on purpose.

Intentionally slow?

Yes. I got tired of speed. I worked in a way that valued how much I could produce, and then one year I produced a great deal and liked almost none of it. The slowness is corrective. When you can only make ten things in a year instead of a hundred, you make sure the ten are worth it. Sometimes I make only four or five things I keep. The rest are useful failures. You learn from them, you don't sell them.