Description
Carmina grew up in a house that bordered the vineyards, where every September the landscape turned the color of ripe grapes. Her grandmother taught her to catch the exact moment when the must released its first sweet scent that meant “celebration is coming.” “Listen,” she’d say, “color makes its own sound.” From then on, Carmina linked crimson to those fleeting seconds when life quietly promises something good.
As an adult she worked in a small workshop that used natural dyes. She loved staining her hands with cochineal and watching the red seep from bowl to silk like a secret changing hands. Every piece that left her table carried a trace of harvest time and a hint of reassurance. “Wear it when you need courage,” she would tell people. Through these simple routines, Carmina turned red into her way of being present—subtle, warm, always ready to remind you that the heartbeat goes on.
