Fragments of the Earth

I, Moon, want to tell you about hands that learned to weave again.

I watched them arrive from across the ocean. They came from workshops where fashion is made fast, where fabrics pass through many hands without anyone knowing where they come from. But these hands were searching for something else.

I followed them to the mountains of Mexico. There they sat beside the weavers. They didn’t come to teach. They came to listen to the rhythm of the backstrap looms, to understand why each thread takes the time it takes, why each step has its moment.

I’ve watched them for years. I’ve seen how they work together: from shearing the sheep to spinning the wool, dyeing it with plants, and weaving it on the loom. They do each step slowly, carefully. Everything has its time.

I identify with them. I too follow cycles. I appear and disappear. I always return. They do the same with their garments: they create them to last, to be mended, to accompany the life of whoever wears them and transform over time.

One night, while illuminating a workshop, I heard a conversation among the weavers. They spoke about how clothing is born from somewhere. Always. From a land, from a climate, from specific hands. When a garment knows where it comes from, it tells a true story.

They’re right. I’ve witnessed civilizations rise and fall. I’ve seen how crafts are lost when no one tends to them, when haste erases them. That’s why I admire those who choose to weave slowly, work small, sustain what time and trends try to forget.

I love watching them work: they choose organic fibers, respect nature’s cycles, know every person who touches their fabrics. Without rushing.

I’ve illuminated many workshops throughout the centuries. But there’s something different when I see these finished garments. They shine in another way. As if they hold within them the care with which they were made, the stories of those who wove them, the memory of the land they come from.

Today I want to remind you that there’s another way to dress. One that honors those who make the clothing, that cares for the land it comes from, that understands true value lies not in novelty but in permanence.

Like me, appearing night after night, cycle after cycle, illuminating what deserves to be seen.

Process

Clothing comes from somewhere. Always.

The brand at the heart of our Collaboration 57, Traces, emerged in 2015 when its founder, Katerine Gutiérrez Villaverde, traveled to Mexico to learn ancestral textile techniques and rethink how fashion is made.

Trained in design in Amsterdam and Antwerp, with experience alongside Dries Van Noten and as a stylist between Amsterdam and Paris, she decided to build a project where design and consciousness would be inseparable.

Born in the Netherlands with Spanish and Latin roots, Katerine found in Mexican artisan communities a profound textile language, built on cultural memory and respect for the time each technique requires. “Traces is sustained by continuous learning, direct collaboration, and the value of ancestral knowledge,” she explains. “Each garment reflects who made it, how it was made, and where it comes from: from the sheep to the shearing, washing, hand-spinning, natural dyeing with plants, weaving on a backstrap loom, and final stitching.”

The brand also extends this philosophy to other textile cultures. A recent collaboration with artisans in India connects techniques, materials, and knowledge that complement Mexican production and enrich the project’s language. “Every collaboration we undertake is a bridge between territories, knowledge, and contemporary design,” Katerine affirms, “where garments are built through dialogue, not from a distance.”

“Clothing doesn’t come from nothing,” she says. “It comes from a land, a climate, hands, and specific knowledge. When a garment begins with its place and its material, it tells a real story.” For her, knowledge lives in people, and recognizing who holds it means recognizing its value, its time, and its history. “Working in a small, slow, and transparent way allows us to care for every step: quality, genuine relationships, and processes that can be sustained over time.”

Choosing the scale and pace of production, she tells us, isn’t a limitation—it’s a stance. “Working small means being able to look in the eye of the person weaving, dyeing with hands you know, understanding each material and each process without intermediaries,” she explains. “It means being able to answer for every decision and building relationships that go beyond a season or a collection.” For her, scale doesn’t define a project’s ambition; it defines its integrity.

“True value isn’t in novelty, but in permanence,” she states. “A garment that lasts, that ages well and can be repaired, accompanies the life of its wearer and gains meaning over time.” For Traces, getting dressed is an act of intention. They design for those who choose to connect with what’s essential, honor tradition, and leave a conscious impact through what they wear.

Each piece is also an invitation to rethink consumption. “It’s not just about buying less, but about buying differently,” says the founder: “understanding the origin, valuing the process, accompanying the life of the garment. When a garment has a story, caring for it becomes natural. Repairing it, transforming it, or passing it down stops being an exception and becomes part of its cycle.” In this way, the brand proposes a form of consumption where clothing isn’t discarded—it endures.

Traces works exclusively with organic fabrics, hand-spun and hand-woven, following traceable processes that respect nature. “The ‘how’ defines the project,” Katerine concludes: “the rhythms, the people involved, the impact. It’s not just the final result—it’s everything that sustains it.” Her mission sums it up: weaving a new future with threads of beauty that honor humans and the Earth.