Like many families, there are broken lines.
Lines that take generations to heal—lines woven with silence, loss, and longing.
My grandmother, my mother’s mother, was the first to try and mend them. It took her most of her life to reach that moment—the moment she looked into my mother’s eyes and said she was sorry. That one word held generations. And in her own way, she began walking my mother back toward the old ways: the Navajo teachings, the ceremonies, the stories we once carried like breath.
But that walk was cut short. She passed before she could finish it.
So now, I continue it. Stitch by stitch. Line by line.
Navajo rugs are not just pretty patterns. They are stories, teachings, memory held in wool.
Some rugs show it clearly—images of animals, plants, ceremonies.
Others are abstract, their meanings hidden in geometry or carried by color.
But always, they are alive.
To make a rug is not a solo act. It’s a family rhythm.
Someone raises the sheep.
Another shears.
Someone spins.
Someone gathers plants for dye.
And someone weaves, using the hands of those who came before.
This lash collection is my loom.
It’s how I honor the women in my life—those who broke cycles, those who carried culture, those who could only go so far.
Each lash style in this collection is tied to a weaving tradition, but it’s also tied to healing.
To my mother.
To my grandmother.
To me.
So when you wear these lashes, I hope you feel more than beauty.
I hope you feel legacy.
I hope you feel story.
And I hope you know that you, too, are part of the weaving.
