Where We Are

September 4, 2017

We love the concept of Moon Lists, a monthly interview forum that asks artists of all kinds a set of questions. Originally formatted by Sam Abell, this set of questions is aimed at helping us to remember the recent past. 

Leigh Patterson, the project's curator, writes:

"In his words: "Every full moon, my wife and I construct something we call the Moon List, and the Moon List is about 25 questions that have evolved over 10 years or so to reconstruct the past 30 days since the last full moon."

I wrote to Abell, requesting to see the other questions on his list...and for permission to recreate them through the perspectives of different contributors.

Each month I ask three different women to respond to the questions, loosely chosen based on some organizational principle that's been of recent interest: geography, palette, skill, idea...

I have found it interestingly difficult to remember what has happened in the near past; consider the idea a sort of checking in with how time is spent, recalled, reflected on."


Here we make a Moon List of our own. 



I can only tell you where Thomson, GA is by relation. Drive 115 miles east on Interstate 20 and you’ll be there. Drive east 30 more miles and you’ll arrive in Augusta, then Columbia, SC, and then you’ll hit the Atlantic Ocean, at Charleston. Or, drive south-east 150 miles and you’ll hit the ocean again, this time Savannah.


On a quick google search, I find the name of an almost-unknown artist whose work is astonishing.

Zebedee Armstrong (1911-1933), an “outsider” artist, untrained, was born and raised in Thomson, and worked his whole life here in a box factory. In mid-life, he had an angelic vision about the end of the world, and consistently made doomsday clocks, or time-keeping devices, as he called them, until his death.


I’m so excited for a prototype of a new piece we’ve been working on for several months now. All of us have tried it on, and all of us are obsessed.



The train is always a surprise, some sort of time-keeping device for a sleepy little town. Thomson was originally established in 1837 as a depot on the Georgia Railroad, and the train runs right through the heart of it; without that surprise, it wouldn’t exist. A train whistles to alert people, for safety, but it’s also a sound of pride. And the railroad should be proud: food from here to there, the American West, and Thomson, too.



The Ladies. That’s what we call them. But their names are Ms. Mary, Attis, and Mattie. They sew every smock in their homes and in their free time. Without them, we would be lost.

It’s something we didn’t see coming, this impact on local economy, and on lives, and their lives on us. Four years ago we lived in Brooklyn, had one intern, and worked out of a studio apartment. Today we have nine employees, a studio space downtown, and are holding our space in this community, only growing. That feels important.



Margaritas and karaoke at El Kiosco.



Riding bikes along the Savannah River, three generations all together.



A slow day in the studio painting, or rearranging my house for the 15th time.


On Thursdays, all of us are together in the studio. These days are full of inside jokes, creative energy, ideas, and full-blown love fests.


Handmaid’s Tale. Under his eye.


Designing our upcoming Winter Collection has been one of the most taxing and enriching experiences of my design career. And we’ve done it all from this big studio, in this tiny little town, in the middle of nowhere.