With a single seam and a stitch,
To show restrain in a world flooded with noise,

 

To remain within the limits of the cut,
To guide one’s movement by the twist of the weave.

 

To cut back, not to add more.
To play with intention, and to take up space with silence.

 

One needs to pattern the fabric from the very fabric one is made of,
so to speak.

 

These hands know only this way,
and for this, there will never be an apology.

 

Within each irrevocable puncture with needle and thread,
Where hands worn with time run the full length of the fabric,
Garments embody the body that made them.

 

This is the offer.
Nothing more,
Nothing less.
 

Sartorial respect laced with quiet progression.

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Words by Borjan Milinkovic

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