| THE EPISTOLARIAN |

People sometimes assume that what I do—designing wax seals, teaching letter writing, creating beautiful objects from another time—is about escape. As if I’m running away from the modern world into some candlelit past, clinging to nostalgia.

But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

My work is about being here. Fully. It’s about presence.

When I write a letter, seal it with wax, or teach someone how to do the same, I’m not trying to disappear—I’m trying to arrive. To sink into the moment. To breathe, notice, and connect. These old practices, far from being outdated, are actually some of the most vital, grounding, and generous ways I know to be with the world.

I’ve written letters all my life. It started in childhood, when my grandmother, Neenie, showed me the beauty of writing cards and letters. Later, I wrote to friends at boarding school and abroad. When I was nineteen and traveling in Italy, I found my first wax seal. From that moment, something in me shifted. The slow ritual of melting wax, choosing a seal, pressing it into the envelope—it made the letter feel sacred. Like I was sending more than words. Like I was sending intention.

And that’s what I try to offer now: tools and rituals that invite us to slow down, reflect, and speak from the heart. My seals aren’t meant to merely decorate; they’re meant to anchor us in something symbolic, something that resonates.

When people tell me they’ve used my seals during a chronic illness, after a loss, or on letters never meant to be sent, I understand. Letter writing can be a form of prayer. Of release. Of reckoning. In those moments, a seal becomes a final gesture of care. A way of saying, “This mattered. I was here.”

The world moves fast, and it’s easy to numb ourselves with distraction. But I believe we’re starving for stillness—for meaning, for texture. There’s something quietly healing about sitting with a piece of paper and letting your thoughts unfold—words rising from the interstice between breath and intention, between silence and speech. It’s not about productivity. It’s about presence.

When I melt wax, I’m not trying to become someone else. I’m trying to return to myself—more aware, more open to life’s beauty and its ache.

I don’t make things for escape. I make them to help us stay. To stay with our joy. Our grief. Our wonder. To sit with it long enough that it softens. Maybe even transforms.

That’s what this work is for—not to flee, but to arrive.

In case you missed it - A New Floral Seal

In the language of flowers, bluebells symbolize constancy, humility, and gratitude. They bloom quietly in hidden glades, often where few others dare, carpeting the forest floor with a kind of silent devotion. In folklore, they were known as fairy flowers—believed to summon spirits when rung or even curse those who picked them, guarding the threshold between the seen and unseen. Their vivid blue speaks of sincerity, resilience, and the liminal beauty of things that ask for nothing but to be noticed.

This seal is a tribute to that quiet strength and steadfast love—a perfect adornment for letters of remembrance, renewal, or anything that deserves to be both soft and enduring.

Reproduction, schmproduction

The étui—French for “case”—has a history stretching back some two hundred years. Antique versions often held a tidy set of wax seals (which I call pennies) and one of which was left blank so its owner could engrave their initials. Today, we find these sets scattered and incomplete, piecing together their contents across collections like a historical jigsaw puzzle. As a collector, I’ve always found that charming. But what captivates me even more than the original contents is the unknown story in between: the intervening years. Who held these seals after their original owners were gone? Which motifs did they reach for most often—and why? What did their desks look like? What did they write, and to whom?

This curiosity has shaped the ethos of the Hastings Étui. While inspired by the past, I was never interested in reproducing it. Instead, I see my work as an extension of that lineage—part preservation, part invention. The Hastings Étui doesn’t aim to replicate the original form. It carries it forward. Each one begins with a few standard pennies, but the rest? Chosen by the steward. Personalized. Layered over time with meaning. In five years, no two collections will be alike. And in a hundred? What extraordinary biographies they will become.

This approach guided not just the structure of the étui, but the motifs themselves. The most recent penny contains two images: a bay leaf and a teapot. The bay leaf is steeped in history, its symbolism of loyalty unto death stretching back to the myth of Daphne and Apollo. The teapot, by contrast, is thoroughly modern. It speaks to where we are now—to intimacy, ritual, comfort. It was never about choosing between old and new. I wanted both. Because honoring tradition isn’t about sealing the past in amber—it’s about letting it breathe.

To me, the art of the wax seal isn’t about nostalgia or replication. It’s about participating in a long and unbroken conversation. We inherit more than objects—we inherit the opportunity to shape their meaning, to add our own line to the letter. We are not just stewards. We are co-authors.

This two-sided penny juxtaposes the warmth of daily ritual with the depth of enduring commitment.

The Pride and Prejudice Seal

This special edition seal evokes the moment when pride gives way to love, when language becomes a bridge between two stubborn, imperfect hearts. This larger-format seal holds one of the most unforgettable confessions in English literature:

"You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Not abbreviated. Not rushed. Just as Austen wrote it — full of formality, vulnerability, and overwhelming feeling.

There are just a few seals remaining for the collector's register.

Color of the Week: Amalfi

This wax is named after the Amalfi Coast, where I first discovered the art of wax seals in a small paper shop overlooking the sea. It was my introduction to this whole world—old stamps, rich colors, beautiful rituals.

The blue is inspired by the water there: clear, bold, and almost unreal in its intensity. It’s not just any blue—it’s that blue. The kind that stays with you.

- Kathryn