Inspiration doesn’t always arrive on command.
This rose set began with absence—no image, no color story, no clear starting point. Normally, I receive a fairly complete vision early on, most often beginning with the chasuble. From there, the details of the design unfold naturally: fabric choices, colors, proportions, techniques.
This time, nothing came.
I wandered fabric shops trying to force the issue, hoping a color or texture would spark something. But it felt like making a call where the connection goes through… and no one answers. The line was open, but the other end was silent.
And then we visited Sagrada Família in Barcelona, Span…
The moment we stepped inside, everything changed.
The basilica – Antoni Gaudi’s unfinished masterpiece—does not whisper. It sings. Colour pours through the stained glass and moves across stone like living light. The architecture is dense with meaning, yet organic and joyful. Columns branch like trees. Ceilings bloom into layered geometries. Nothing is flat. Nothing is static.
What struck me most was the layering:
- Shapes stacked upon shapes
- Texture against texture
- Color filtered, refracted, softened, intensified
The space feels grown rather than built.
I began pulling inspiration directly from what surrounded me—the radiant blues, greens, golds, and rose tones; the intricate patterning that never repeats exactly; the natural forms translated into sacred structure. Tree-like columns, leaf-shaped vaults, starbursts of light. Geometry softened by nature.
Still, I hesitated.
A rose set is worn only twice a year—during Advent and Lent. These are penitential seasons. Could a rose set really hold this much colour? Could joy live so boldly in restraint?
The answer came through theology rather than design.
Those two rose Sundays have names: Gaudete and Laetare. Both mean the same thing.
Rejoice!
Rose is not muted purple. It is interruption. It is light breaking into waiting. A reminder that joy is not postponed—it is promised.
Seen through that lens, the colour was not excessive. It was faithful.
This rose set draws directly from that experience: from Gaudí’s fearless use of colour, from natural forms translated into sacred art, from the layering of texture and meaning that invites contemplation rather than demands attention.
It is a set rooted in penitence, yes—but also in hope. In joy held gently, but unapologetically, within the season.
This is where the work began.
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