Story

“My dad (on the right) moved to this country with $50 dollars in his pocket and a dream.  He liked to tell me that at the time it cost a nickel to ride the subway and that he lived on hot dogs and Cream of Wheat until he landed his first job.  He worked for others, until he started his very own textile company in the Garment District, overlooking Bryant Park.  I vividly remember visiting his office as a child.  I was fascinated by it all.  The bountiful spools of textiles.  The scent of fibers that would cling to my clothes.  The library of art and fabric books 20ft high.  A rolling ladder to get to the tiptop.  Everything categorized and numbered with round colored stickers.  He was Swiss after all… I could spend hours touching and sifting through the pages of pasted swatches, mesmerized by color, design, and texture.  Delighted by the graph paper filled with tiny, shaded-in boxes, representing the weft and weave of the fabric.  There were no computers then.  He designed everything by hand.  I have some of his books still and every so often the round colored sticker will catch my eye... He would get excited about things like mixing fibers.  “You choose each fiber for its merits and have the best of both worlds— for example, the comfort of one, the washability of the other.  It’s like a good marriage.  If both partners are too much the same, there can be problems.  If they are different, that adds spice.”  I loved the way he would explain things to me like I was his equal…  I moved to Woodstock to make a change in my life.  To start something of my own.  I didn’t know what that was or what that meant…  but I had to do something and Woodstock would give me the gift of a little more time to figure it out.  I’ve rolled around a myriad of ideas.  Spent a year developing one even… but none really clicked until now.  I like to think my dad would be proud of the steps I’ve taken.  I like to think that he knows I carry much of him with me in this new venture of mine.”