My creative practice didn’t begin all at once — it grew slowly, stitched together over the years. I taught myself to sew well before any formal training, spending long hours experimenting, unpicking mistakes, and trying again. As a teenager, I worked in a fabric shop, surrounded by cloth, patterns, and conversations about making. Later, I studied textile design and fashion at college and then university, building on what I had already been exploring on my own.

House of Quinn was born out of this foundation, but it didn’t come easily. Starting a business from an art practice meant making sacrifices: working long nights after other jobs, giving up weekends, and at times missing out on time with family and friends in order to make it work. That persistence shaped the practice into what it is today.

Alongside the technical skills, what stayed with me most was an understanding of how textiles hold memory, identity, and possibility. Over time that curiosity grew into quilts, artworks, and eventually into teaching — another way of sharing what I’d learned and opening up space for others to find their own path with cloth.

One of my first every workshops at Port Eliot Festival in Cornwall in 2018

Teaching has always been an important part of my practice. I see it as passing on skills and approaches — not as a way of saying this is the only way to do it, but as an invitation. Since 2018 I’ve taught workshops in many different settings — at festivals, online with Selvedge magazine, and in person with places like Ray Stitch, Kindred House, and Merchant & Mills. I’ve also been invited to lead sessions at pop-up events with Pophams and with platforms such as Tatter Blue in New York. Wherever the setting, my aim is the same: to give you tools you can carry away and make your own. A stitch, a fold, a way of layering or composing — these are starting points, not finished outcomes.

At one point, I paused teaching as much as I had before. Not because I lost interest, but because I noticed something that gave me pause: elements of my work and aesthetic being repeated without acknowledgement, and even workshop descriptions being lifted almost word-for-word from my own. Teaching, for me, isn’t about reproducing my work in someone else’s hands; it’s about helping people build their own voice. Stepping back for a while gave me space to rethink how I want to teach, and ultimately strengthened my belief in sharing skills in a way that encourages originality.

In the front of my book, I write about the people and traditions that came before us — the ones who shaped the space we make in today. As we learn and grow, it’s just as important to acknowledge those who influence us now. It’s no different. None of us make in isolation. We all learn from someone, somewhere. And acknowledging that lineage doesn’t weaken your work — it strengthens it. It places you in a wider conversation, it shows respect, and it honours the people and practices that made your own possible.

What excites me most is not seeing my work reflected back at me in someone else’s hand. It’s seeing someone take a process I’ve shared and carry it into unexpected places — colours I would never choose, compositions I’d never imagine. That’s when it becomes truly yours.

If you’re learning and looking to develop your own voice, here are some approaches that can make the journey more rewarding:

Look widely. Absorb influences from many places, not just one.
Experiment. Allow yourself to fail, rework, and shift direction.
Notice your patterns. Pay attention to the colours, textures, and forms you return to naturally.
Credit your influences. Saying where you’ve learned something doesn’t diminish your work — it gives it roots.

It’s worth remembering that the people you learn from — whether teachers, mentors, or peers — are part of the picture too. They notice how ideas move and evolve, and acknowledgement is one of the simplest ways to keep that exchange open and generous.

I’ll always keep teaching in some form, because I believe these skills are too important not to share. That’s why I’ve been working behind the scenes on a new series of online quilting courses. They’re designed to give you structure and guidance, but also space to explore — to find your own rhythm, your own language with textiles.

If you’d like to be the first to know when they launch, you can sign up to my newsletter for updates.

On Teaching, Learning, and Finding Your Own Voice

Inventory | Curated Objects for Home & Ritual