Les Feuilles Mortes No.4 - Shawl
Hand-dyed featherweight blanket shawl woven in ultrafine linen & silk, golden brown.
142cm x 142cm (second photo shows entire design of our featherweight blanket shawls), Brendan Joseph signature woven into lower right hand corner, giving visual interest when worn as a scarf, and disappearing entirely, depending on how you wear it. Woven and Handmade in Ireland.
New York in the Fall. A train ride out from the city.
SilkWe pass through the woodlands amidst the falling leaves.
Each one drifts, unique like a snowflake, glowing, backlit in the Autumn sun, the orange and terra cotta tones give way to glimpses of green, the last dance of the season, giving life to the soil.
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle
Tu vois, je n'ai pas oublié
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle
Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi
Hand-dyed featherweight blanket shawl woven in ultrafine linen & silk, golden brown.
142cm x 142cm (second photo shows entire design of our featherweight blanket shawls), Brendan Joseph signature woven into lower right hand corner, giving visual interest when worn as a scarf, and disappearing entirely, depending on how you wear it. Woven and Handmade in Ireland.
New York in the Fall. A train ride out from the city.
SilkWe pass through the woodlands amidst the falling leaves.
Each one drifts, unique like a snowflake, glowing, backlit in the Autumn sun, the orange and terra cotta tones give way to glimpses of green, the last dance of the season, giving life to the soil.
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle
Tu vois, je n'ai pas oublié
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle
Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi
Hand-dyed featherweight blanket shawl woven in ultrafine linen & silk, golden brown.
142cm x 142cm (second photo shows entire design of our featherweight blanket shawls), Brendan Joseph signature woven into lower right hand corner, giving visual interest when worn as a scarf, and disappearing entirely, depending on how you wear it. Woven and Handmade in Ireland.
New York in the Fall. A train ride out from the city.
SilkWe pass through the woodlands amidst the falling leaves.
Each one drifts, unique like a snowflake, glowing, backlit in the Autumn sun, the orange and terra cotta tones give way to glimpses of green, the last dance of the season, giving life to the soil.
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle
Tu vois, je n'ai pas oublié
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle
Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi
