Karton met witte strook kant, aaneengeschakelde ruiten gedecoreerd met acht bloemen rond een cirkel c. 1920

This lace trim, author unknown, now resides in the Rijksmuseum, and it's like a whisper of something ancient. I imagine the hand that crafted those tiny stitches, each one a deliberate act, a meditation in thread. The lace is a dance of diamonds, each one cradling eight delicate blossoms around a central circle. It's a symphony of repetition, but not monotonous, far from it. Look closely, and you’ll find each flower has its own personality, its own little quirk. There’s a softness to the cotton, a creamy, natural hue that speaks of time and gentle wear. It reminds me of Agnes Martin's grids but with a tactile twist, a human touch that softens the geometry. I wonder what the maker was thinking as they worked, each stitch a tiny question, a tiny answer. Like a painter layering brushstrokes, they must have felt a conversation with the material itself, a push and pull between intention and chance. Artists have always found inspiration in the crafts, in the quiet, repetitive acts of making. And like painting, lace-making creates its own space for inquiry, a space where the hand, the eye, and the heart come together in a beautiful, tangible way.