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Discovering Print: Mental Blocks

Writer's picture: Sophie HollandsSophie Hollands

Updated: Nov 6, 2024

To start, I took inspiration from the fishing ropes I’d researched earlier. I tried translating their textures and shapes into a print design. The outcome wasn’t terrible, but it didn’t feel right for the brand or for the direction I’m going in. It was a bit too busy, and it didn’t align with the overall aesthetic I’m working toward. The challenge with prints, for me, is that they don’t always match the minimalist philosophy I’m trying to implement. Simplicity, clean lines, and quiet details are important, and prints—especially bold ones—often feel out of place.


I tried creating an abstract representation of shells in my sketchbook, thinking that the organic shapes might lend themselves well to a print. The results weren’t great. The print didn’t look as refined as I had hoped, and it just felt off. I then took these designs into Photoshop, attempting to add texture to give them more depth. But that experiment only made things worse—the prints looked even more chaotic, and I found myself more frustrated than before.


At that point, I realized that prints weren’t the right solution for my collection. Instead, I decided to focus on something simpler. I looked at the Brenton stripe, a classic design I felt more comfortable with. I spent some time researching its history and experimenting with its proportions. The simplicity of vertical and horizontal lines felt more in line with my design principles. I started playing with the placement of these stripes on garments, using them more sparingly as part of the garment construction rather than as a dominant print. This approach felt more controlled and aligned with the aesthetic I’m trying to create.


While I initially intended to explore weathered prints, I realized I could achieve a similar effect by weathering the fabrics themselves. I experimented with a few different methods, using sandpaper, coffee, salt, and even knives to distress the fabric and create a worn-in, textured look. This process felt far more natural to me and more in line with my personal style. The weathering process helped me realize that texture works better with minimalist motifs like stripes than a full print would. It’s more subtle, more tactile, and more fitting with the overall feel of the collection.


On a more personal level, the idea of weathering garments connects to something I’ve always observed in my dad’s approach to clothing. He wears his clothes until they’re almost falling apart, with holes and fraying edges, I really admire this about him, he is so stubborn and doesn't give in to social norms. He doesn’t replace them for the sake of it; he wears them until they’re truly worn out. This approach to clothing ties into my interest in durability—the concept of creating garments that last, that evolve over time rather than being discarded. It’s this sense of longevity that I want to translate into my own designs.

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