Welcome to my dollmaking journal. I write doll stories, share tips on this creative journey and so much more. Hope you enjoy your visit!.

What are dreams made out of?

By the snowdrops, Fig&me.

Questions like these occupy most of my doll making hours. Pondering, digging, always analyzing my motives, the things I do, the things I say. It is no secret that to me, doll making is a path for reflection and self discovery. That I find life purpose in what I do, that I give thanks for the chance to do it, that I cherish my experiences as much as I cherish the dolls I create. 

Dreaming dolls, and then creating them, is usually the process around here. Things don't always work out the way I see them, inspiration strikes; the creative light fluctuates and then I am blessed with moments like this: in which I pause and I feel nourished, replenished, blessed, and happy. Oh so happy! that these poor hands, which barely have any nails left due to anxious bouts, that ache and look ten years older than they should, these two hands made that. That above. I did. Can you believe that?

Dreams are made of hope, by Fig&me.

Her sweet face, by Fig&me

Dreams are made of hopes and secrets, things we wish we could muster, do, achieve. I put dreams inside my dolls, because in the very beginning they are nothing but that: just a dream. A faint notion that a little being is about to come to life, to bring me stories, to fill my life with wonder, to allow me to play with fabrics and buttons, to make my life so full of smiles and side glances, they bring secrets of mine of things I wish to achieve, they come to feed my soul. Every time I am confronted with the idea, of making a doll, a part of me dreads the process while the other part starts clapping uncontrollably. Anticipation is good for me, to see them come to life slowly, by these two hands.

She sits on the other side, by Fig&me

Sweet Bea, by Fig&me

Some dolls are very elusive, and they don't let me get a hold of them. They struggle, or more properly, I struggle to see them well, clearly. I have to gently coax them out of me, to let them know I am patient, and I  have no rush. To whisper games, and bribe them to come out of their shell. Once their face looks at me from the fabric, then I know who they are. I really know who they are. It is so magical, so special, that I wish everybody could experience it the way I do. I wish you could be inside me when it happens, and you would sing, just the way my heart sings. 

In her beautiful tulle dress, by Fig&me

She walks through Spring, by Fig&me

Walking away, by Fig&me

And then the dreaded time comes, when I have to say good bye. I do struggle with this part, as much as sometimes struggle to bring the dolls forth. But it always help to think that I am only a vehicle of creation, not permanence. That there is another pair of hands, on the other side, who will receive my children and welcome them, and take care of the little part of me that I have put inside them. That my dreams will also nourish them, and bring happiness and joy. That perhaps healing will happen by playing with a doll, or maybe a spark will emerge and creativity will follow: stories, writing, photography, sewing, even just appreciating nature is an act of defiance and creative nourishment. That I do wish for, that my dolls bring with them positivity wherever they may go.

At the sunset of a beautiful day, by Fig&me

Making my garden pretty, by Fig&me

In her silky shawl, by Fig&me

I know Bea is loved already. Not because I'm told, but because I can feel it. And to know that what one creates with an open heart, following a secret and a dream, is so cherished and so welcomed, is part of the soul food that keeps on giving. Keeps the fire burning, the light so bright.

Thank you for allowing me the time and the chance to see her come to be. For giving me memories to work from and plenty of room to breathe. Thank you for letting me be who I love being, a doll maker. Your support and trust has fed a part of me, and now is my turn to send the nourishment back to you.

Much love, Fabs.

She moves with the mist.

Little Boy Blue and his sheep.