There is a small lie at the centre of mass-produced macramé — the lie of uniformity. Two hundred pieces, each tied to the same diagram, each rendered identical by a factory floor designed to suppress the maker.
Hand-knotted macramé carries the weather of its making. A piece tied on a humid Tuesday holds a slightly different tension than one tied on a dry Friday. The cord behaves. The hands respond.
At Ketelier we don't iron those things out. We sign them. Every piece leaves the workshop signed and dated on the reverse — a small record of a particular afternoon in North Vietnam.
What follows isn't a list of defects. It's a list of signatures — the marks of a human hand, present in every Ketelier piece, and the reason a Ketelier macramé costs what it does.