Sati is not the maker.
She is the muse.

This space was born in memory of my mother — a woman whose hands never stopped creating beauty and whose love quietly shaped the person I am today. She has passed from this world, but her presence is woven into every thread of my life.

My mother, Sati, embroidered wildflowers and mountains onto simple cloth, turning fabric into poetry. She wove carpets in the ancient Silk Road tradition, filling them with color, patience, and grace. Between her duties as a wife, a mother, and a friend, she always returned to art — pouring her gentleness, her strength, and her joy into each creation.

I carry only a few of her masterpieces with me — treasures I dream of one day evolving into a museum gallery where her spirit and the artistry of her generation can live on. But for now, I share her legacy through the works of other women: friends, artisans, and craftswomen from Central Asia, Mongolia, the Caucasus, and Afghanistan.

Though these pieces are not made by her hands, they are chosen in her spirit. They carry the same warmth, the same quiet resilience, the same beauty she carried within her.