From art to wear: Why I make scarves

I have never been very good at staying in one box.

Perhaps that comes from spending most of my professional life in advertising and creative communication. You learn very quickly that one idea is rarely the end of the story. You look at a problem, a possibility, a gap — and then you start asking: What else could this become?

That way of thinking has followed me into my art.

So when I started making scarves, it wasn't because I suddenly thought, Oh, I need some merch.

Quite the opposite.

I am not particularly interested in merchandise for the sake of merchandise. A square image slapped onto a tote bag has never really done much for me. I wanted to make something that could stand on its own — something beautiful, useful and considered, while still carrying my visual language.

A scarf felt almost obvious.

I love silk. I love the way it moves, catches the light and changes depending on how it is folded or worn. And I love the idea that an artwork doesn't have to remain fixed inside a frame.

On a wall, you look at a piece of art.

With a scarf, you wear it.

You fold it. Twist it. Tie it. Let parts of the image disappear and others appear. Every person wearing it creates a slightly different composition. The artwork becomes something moving, something personal — almost a little unpredictable.

And that is exactly what I like about it.

Art doesn't always have to hang on a wall

Not everyone wants to fill their home with art. I may find that slightly difficult to understand, but I respect that tastes differ.

But perhaps someone who doesn't want a large artwork on their wall might still want to carry a little piece of one with them. They might like my stories, or me, or neither — they might simply fancy the pattern and colours.

A scarf can be a much more intimate relationship with an artwork. It can become part of your everyday life rather than something you look at to complete your home (my view on the subject :)

And that matters to me.

I don't want my work to exist only in galleries, exhibitions and carefully framed rooms. Isn’t the thought of it travelling rather thrilling? Going to a dull dinner party. Sitting on a train with a broken heart. Flying somewhere to explore new cultures. Being tied around someone's neck or wrist after a long day at work. Becoming part of an outfit, a suitcase, a day.

My art can go places. Physically, not just in people’s minds.

The production matters to me

I do love a scarf myself, but there is another reason I chose scarves.

My scarves are made in Italy, where silk and textile production have a long history — particularly around Como, which is still known for its silk, printing and textile industry.

I like knowing where things are made. And I like that producing textiles in Europe means working within strong standards for both the people making them and the materials that come into contact with our skin.

Not everything needs to be faster, cheaper and made as far away as possible.

Sometimes, where something is made is simply part of the story.

This is the Old Stage Scarf, photographed in front of the Old Stage in Copenhagen. The scarf is an interpretation of an architectural ornament from the theatre, which became part of my artwork Stay Golden.

It doesn’t look exactly the same — and that was intentional. I simply couldn’t resist taking the beautiful shape and turning it into something new, beautiful and wearable.

Not every artwork becomes a scarf

For me, it starts with seeing which images have the potential to become a beautiful pattern — one that still works when it is folded, twisted, wrapped or only partly visible.

Sometimes the artwork already has what it needs. Sometimes I have to rework it to make it work as a scarf.

And that is really the point.

The scarf has to become something in its own right, while still carrying the soul of the original artwork.