Naledi Mokoena
Founder and head dyer
Started the studio in a Woodstock garage with one indigo vat and a borrowed gas burner. Keeps the dye notes for every batch, including the ones that went wrong, because those are usually the most useful.
Four people keep the studio running: dyeing, knotting, teaching and the slow admin that holds commissions together. Between us we have spent years learning which fibres take colour well and which ones fight back.
Founder and head dyer
Started the studio in a Woodstock garage with one indigo vat and a borrowed gas burner. Keeps the dye notes for every batch, including the ones that went wrong, because those are usually the most useful.
Macrame and commissions
Handles the large wall panels for restaurants and guesthouses. Works out knot density per square metre before a quote goes out, so the finished piece hangs straight instead of sagging after a season.
Workshop lead
Runs the Saturday sessions for eight people at a time. Teaches knotting basics, dye-bath prep and finishing, and has a quiet talent for rescuing a tangled cord without making anyone feel slow.
Fibre sourcing and studio door
Tracks down hemp, linen and cotton cord from suppliers who can say where it came from. Also turns offcuts into the small plant holders sold at the studio door, which keeps waste close to zero.
We are not a production line. Every dye bath is mixed by hand, every knot is tied by one of us, and the studio still smells faintly of onion skin on dye days. If you want to see how a batch is going, the door on Maree Street is usually open on weekdays.
We started in a Woodstock garage with a bucket of onion skins and a length of hemp cord that nobody wanted. The point was never to make a lot of things quickly. It was to prove that a wall hanging, a plant hanger or a basket can carry the whole story of where its colour came from.
Onion skin, madder root and indigo do the work here. No synthetic dye pots, no shortcut to a repeatable shade. Each batch is logged by hand, and if the madder comes out closer to brick than rose, that is the colour we knot with. Clients who want a set that matches exactly tend to leave with something better: a family of tones that sit together.
Saturday sessions cap at eight people because knotting is learned with hands, not slides. We cover the basics, how a dye bath is prepped, and how a piece is finished so it holds its shape on a wall for years. Materials are included and whatever you make goes home with you.
Offcuts from larger commissions become small plant holders sold at the studio door. It keeps the waste bin light and keeps a steady supply of small pieces for people who want to start with one thing rather than a whole wall.
What we hope you take from a piece made here is not just an object, but a slower relationship with it. Textiles dyed with plants change over time, soften, and settle into a room. That is the effect we are after, and it is why the studio still runs on small batches and long afternoons.
Every piece here started as a length of undyed hemp, linen or cotton cord and a question from someone about a room, a wall or a table. Some went to guesthouses, some to a restaurant that washes its linen twice a week, and a few came out of a dye bath that surprised us. The notes below are the honest version of how each one was made.
Commission
Three metres of square-knot grid, dipped in three separate indigo vats over two weeks. The blue moves from near-black at the top to pale sky at the fringe.
Commission
Twelve linen covers pulled from one madder bath at staggered intervals, so the set reads as a family. French-folded seams, hand-stitched closures, built for a commercial laundry.
Commission
A small run that came out closer to amber than mustard. We knotted the offcuts into plant holders and shot them against lime-washed walls and raw oak.
Longer write-ups, dye notes and the occasional failed batch live on the studio journal. If you want to see the current dye batch in person, the studio door is open on Saturdays.