Moments of Vision

Fields of Necessity started from that noticing, not from a plan. I wanted to make clothes for the version of a day I actually have, London mornings, changeable weather, not the version clothing usually gets designed for.

Most of what shapes my eye comes from outside the studio: the North York Moors in winter, fields near where I walk every day, the way British light changes every few minutes without asking permission. I look for that same honesty in materials, corduroy that shows its own texture, cotton twill that creases the way it’s meant to, wool that gets better with wear rather than worse.

The first collection was made slowly, with people I know, sample after sample sitting on a table until I trusted them enough to keep. I’d rather work with people who care how a seam is finished than people who care how fast it ships.

I’m drawn to things that were made before anyone thought to call them timeless, a coat handed down rather than replaced, a jumper worn thin at the elbow and mended instead of binned. I think about that kind of object more than I’d like to admit, usually when I’m deciding what to keep in a collection and what to leave out.