The golden-horned goat, the Triglav flower, the dizzying power of mountain air. This rug is a spell for immortality, a reminder of the sacred and untamed. The story of Triglav — of the golden-horned ibex, of immortality and destiny.

Sojenice are three mysterious female spirits who visit newborns at midnight:
🌙 one foretells their joy,
🌙 one their sorrow,
🌙 the third whispers of death.

They are the triple goddess, representing three threads of time — like the three peaks of Triglav, where hikers look out over the valley and glimpse beyond their earthly fate. Beneath Triglav lives Zlatorog, the immortal golden-horned ibex. From his blood grows the Triglav flower, said to heal any wound. The hunter follows him, guided by the mountain fairies…

The mountains are wild, untamed, and powerful — yet they open a window to infinity, reminding us that destiny can be met with courage.

The Soča Valley holds a rich past of old beliefs, still wrapped in mystery — remnants of ancient Slavic mythology, much of which disappeared with Christianization.

The river is ever-changing — from still pools to roaring rapids, from clear mountain springs to moody floods. It is a mirror of life itself.

And hidden within these waters lives the dragonfly, a creature of transformation.

Dragonflies spend most of their early lives underwater as nymphs — fierce little predators. During this stage of its life, the nymph goes through a series of moults - stages of maturity in which it sheds its skin but still remains a nymph.

Until one day, an ancient impulse awakens: it climbs a stalk, leaves the water, and meets the sunlight for the very first time.

Then, the true metamorphosis begins.

The dragonfly cracks its final shell, and over several hours its four delicate wings unfold — fueled by the water of its old life, which is pumped into its new body to shape and strengthen it.

Only when all the water is used up does the dragonfly finally rise into the air.

It is reborn, transformed — ready for a completely new existence.

This river rug is my ode to the river and its journey — of trusting the process, and finally taking flight.

Let me tell you a story about Leshy — the forest spirit of Slavic mythology.
A guardian unlike any other, he lives deep in the woods, wild and mysterious.
They say the deeper you walk, the larger he becomes — a walking tree with a mossy beard and green-shimmering eyes, both protector and trickster.
He is huge within the forest, but outside, he grows small.
A shapeshifter, he can become an animal, a vine, a shadow — and if you disrespect the forest, he may lead you astray.
But he will always protect the animals, and the woodland.

This carpet is my ode to that gentle, tender wildness — fallen trees, soft decay, mushrooms rising from the damp, hidden deer peeking through.
Let them be untouched, wild. Let the forest keep its secrets.

Once, the sun was always high in the sky. It burned bright and watched over life on earth. But one day it grew restless and fell in love with a young woman, full of life.
The sun pulled her up into the sky — but the instant they touched, she turned to ash. The sun felt afraid and sorrowful, and from that day on, it began to set each evening and hide.
Its tears still shine in the grass each morning as dew.