I found the first one on a dirt path. It was an old garden glove, rough and weathered, half-folded in on itself in a way that suggested it wanted to hold pages. That single glove became a book, and then a question I couldn't stop asking: what else could a glove hold? Since then I've bound books into vintage leather gloves, lace gloves, gloves worn thin at the fingertips and gloves stiff with age, each one arriving with its own history already stitched in. A glove is never a neutral cover. It has held things. It has released things. The later books in this series lean into that directly, taking the hand itself as subject: what it carries, what it remembers, what it witnesses through touch, what it holds onto, and what it finally lets go.

Mixed Media Book

2025