It all began many years ago, when I watched a BBC feature that quietly changed the direction of my life. It lold the story of Selena Francis-Bradenton, the artist and designer behind the painted, reversed coats featured in Sex and the City. Working under the label Franny B, she transformed shearling and fur coats into vibrant works of art from her stall on London’s Portabello Road.
There was something deeply moving about the way she reimagined familiar materials, revealing beauty where others might have seen only the ordinary.
As I watched, an image formed in my mind. I imagined turning one of those coats inside out so that the soft fleece, became a warm, protective sanctuary for my first shamanic drum. It wasn't a fully formed plan—just a quiet knowing. A possibility that settled gently within me and refused to disappear.
Like many dreams, it arrived long before its time. For years, the idea remained dormant while life unfolded in other directions. Yet it never truly left me. As a child, creativity had been as natural as breathing. I drew, painted and made things instinctively, without questioning whether I was good enough. But as the years passed, responsibilities grew, confidence faded, and those creative parts of me were quietly packed away. My brushes, paints and imagination found their way to the back of a cupboard, where they rested alongside other forgotten pieces of myself…
And then in 2020 the world fell still. In the silence of lockdown, I found myself reaching for a paintbrush again. At first it felt unfamiliar, yet my hands seemed to remember what my mind had forgotten. With every brushstroke, confidence returned. I rediscovered not only the joy of painting, but a deep love of transforming forgotten materials into something beautiful, meaningful and unique. The idea that had waited so patiently all those years finally found its moment. Vintage coats became protective homes for sacred drums.
What began as a simple idea became something far greater. It became a journey back to myself—to the child who loved to paint, to the artist I had hidden away, and to the quiet understanding that creativity had never truly left me. It had simply been waiting for me to return.
Today, I share this work with gratitude, trusting that everything created with care, patience and intention will find the person it is meant for.
THE PROCESS
Every drum bag begins long before the first brush touches leather or the first stitch is sewn. It begins with a conversation. When someone contacts me, I listen not only to their ideas, but also to the story behind their drum. We explore the practical details together—its size, the colours they are drawn to, the symbols that hold meaning—but beneath every conversation lies something less tangible. There is an energy, an intention, a quiet thread waiting to be followed. My role is to honour both the visible and the unseen, creating something that is as deeply personal as it is practical. From there, the real work begins. Over the years, walking a shamanic path has taught me that inspiration is not something I manufacture. It is something I receive. Before I begin designing each bag, I journey to ask for guidance—for the person who has entrusted me with this work, for their drum, and for the medicine it is here to carry.
These journeys often reveal images that become the heart of the design: animals, landscapes, colours, ancient markings or sacred symbols. At times I am guided towards particular crystals, runes or Ogham letters. Nothing is chosen for decoration alone. Every element has its place, carrying meaning that belongs uniquely to the person for whom the bag is being created.
By the time the journey is complete, the design already exists within me. I do not feel that I have invented it; rather, I have been shown it. My task is simply to give it form. Only then do I choose the coat that will begin its second life. Each vintage coat carries its own history. Before making the first cut, I spend a few quiet moments with it, acknowledging all that it has already been before inviting it to become something new. I remove the lining and turn the coat inside out, allowing the soft fleece to become a warm, protective sanctuary for the drum.
Then I reach for my measuring tape and my well-worn copper scissors. The first cut always feels like a threshold—a moment when an unseen vision begins to take shape in the physical world. Slowly, piece by piece, the pattern emerges. Layers of paint bring colour and depth. The leather begins to tell its story. Finally, each stitch is sewn by hand, patiently and with intention, until every part of the bag comes together as one.
I have never been interested in creating quickly. I believe that the time we give to making something becomes part of the finished piece. Objects made slowly carry a different quality. They hold care, presence and devotion, and they continue to offer those qualities long after they leave the maker's hands. When a drum bag is finished, I no longer see it as simply something to carry a sacred instrument. It has become a companion—a vessel shaped through craftsmanship, guided by spirit, and created to protect what is already sacred as it travels its own path.
One collection, Reflections in Water, beautifully illustrates the way these designs come into being.
Although the two drum bags share the same central image—a deer reflected in water—they are not variations of the same idea. Each emerged through its own journey, carrying a distinct message for the person it was created to accompany. The first is painted in deep blue tones. It shows a young fawn gazing into still water, where the reflection looking back is not its own, but that of a mature roe deer.
For me this image speaks of becoming. It reminds us that our potential often exists long before we recognise it ourselves. The reflection is not a fantasy or an illusion, but a glimpse of what is already present within us, quietly waiting to unfold. The water becomes more than a mirror. It is a place of stillness, purification and inner knowing, revealing not who we are today, but who we are growing into.
The second bag arose from the same creative process, yet carries an entirely different energy. Here the focus shifts from the individual to the grater whole. Earth is surrounded by liquid light-rain, flowing water and the gentle reflections of a rainbow. Rather then speaking of personal transformation, this piece speaks of relationship: the invisible threads that connect all living beings, the land beneath our feet and the vast intelligence of the cosmos.
Although their imagery echoes one another, their teachings are unique. One invites us inward, towards self-discovery, healing and quiet growth. The other opens our awareness outward, reminding us that we are part of something infinitely larger than ourselves.
This is how I understand the work I do
The symbols may appear similar, but their meaning is never repeated. Every design is shaped by the person who commissions it, the guidance received through journeying, and the conversation between spirit and material. No two bags can ever be the same because no two journeys are the same. Each one begins in the unseen before finding expression through leather, paint and thread. By the time it leaves my hands, it carries far more than the story I have painted upon it. It carries intention, prayer and the quiet hope that it will walk beside its owner for many years to come, protecting not only a sacred drum, but the journey it accompanies.
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