we’re good at making something from nothing, laying ideas on tables, working in primaries like children, while somehow group efforts urge pastiches of opposing bias.

stripes wave into jazzy ribbons of syncopation, stars dart toward black holes, patterns are no longer uniform and fragments of old glory fit ever-changing models.

using scissors, thread, presser foot and ingenuity, we piece together bodices of industry, sew languid sleeves that drift like weathered leaves through water, zip catches of years of frenetic aggression, let out waistbands from overindulgence,

craft new American identities from designer to knock-off, immediate and ready to wear.