I don't hope the pieces I make stay new.

I hope they stay close.

I hope they become part of morning routines, long road trips, celebrations, ordinary Tuesdays, and the quiet moments in between. I hope they appear in photographs almost by accident, not because anyone meant to photograph the cuff, but because it had quietly become part of who they were.

Leather changes with time. It softens. It deepens. It collects marks from places visited and moments lived. I think people do much the same. That's why I don't chase perfection. I create pieces meant to be worn, weathered, and woven into everyday life.

My hope isn't that someone remembers where they bought one of my pieces. My hope is that, years from now, they remember where they wore it.

The hike that left its first scratch. The vacation where it darkened in the sun. The coffee shop where they wrote the first page of a new chapter. The ordinary mornings when putting it on became second nature.

If, years from now, anyone picks up one of my pieces and remembers the person who wore it, then it has become far more than something I made.

It has become part of a story.