Designed by Katarina Protsack, Raha reflects on her time in Morocco, where she explored the paradox of coziness and heat. This theme inspired the angular elements of the collection, drawing from Moroccan architecture and textiles.

Some of Raha’s pieces draw inspiration from traditional Moroccan shepherd’s garments, reflecting Katarina's passion for versatile designs. The collection emphasizes sustainability, incorporating materials like Tencel and Merino wool, as well as one-of-a-kind upcycled handbags that blend handwoven wool with vintage leather.

Aryana

Blue Nude collaborates with emerging artists each season—how does this interdisciplinary approach enhance the storytelling of your collections? In what ways does it help you stand out in the market while also supporting the work of these artists?

Many of the artists I’ve worked with were people I knew, which inspired me to partner with them. I was frustrated by industry injustices, especially in music, where artists sometimes don’t receive royalties. My dream is to create an alternative revenue stream which is replicable, with a structured profit split. For now, we agree on a flat rate, but I want to help artists engage with fashion and textiles, making it both accessible and financially viable.

Sustainability is key—I needed to feel like I was changing the system, not just adding more consumer products.

I often sense an artist’s personality through their work, linking it to certain cultures. Even if they haven’t been there, they recognize the connection, making it meaningful to explore from afar.

I haven’t been to Morocco, but I really connected with your approach—going to a place, experiencing it, and drawing from that. It feels universal. My painting and textile work come from observing nature and plants. I’m not natively British, but that’s the environment I found myself in, and it shaped my practice.

Instead of gatekeeping nature, it should be open for all to experience and form deep, meaningful connections with.

Aryana

I think it requires someone who’s very humble, not egotistic, qualities that are rare in the fashion industry, to do what you do. It’s not easy. A lot of people who start their own brands, especially in fashion, are very protective of their vision. It’s like their baby, and they don’t want anyone to influence or change it. So, it’s really inspiring to hear how open you are to learning, to others’ thoughts and visions, and how you make it all work together.

Now that we’re talking about this, I want to ask you, Chisara—your work has entered the fashion space through Blue Nude, as you mentioned. Do you think wearable art changes the way we interact with artistic meaning compared to traditional gallery settings or other typical spaces? Does the fact that people will be wearing your pieces change the art, or does it not change it at all?

I think it’s exciting, to be honest. When my mom heard I was doing the project, she said, “I always knew you were going to do fashion.” I’ve gotten that feedback a lot, especially since I work in watercolour and sewing—people often say, “That would be perfect for something I’d wear.” So, getting the chance to work with fashion and create something new from that starting point allowed me to see my work differently. It’s not just something that has to be on a wall for observation, but something that can be interacted with and felt. This shift has changed how I want to move forward, I’m already exploring new ways to combine textiles with my painting practice. I probably wouldn’t have considered that if I hadn’t taken the leap into something completely new.

Studying curation made me realize how the art world often treats art as something isolated, especially within the European tradition of placing art in museums or white cube spaces. Sometimes, when I visit museums and see objects from my culture, like a tool or a wine jar, displayed in glass boxes, I laugh. These were everyday items, not meant to be revered as rare artifacts, yet they’re presented as if they were, which feels disconnected from their true purpose.

I really resonate with that. I make a lot of patchwork and embroidery, and these pieces aremeant to be tugged, pulled, and used. But then they get hung up and left there forever, whichtakes the life out of them. Keeping that life force in them helps retain their roots and howthey were originally created, almost like living objects that have lived with you.

By giving someone a bag like this, you’re sharing a piece of your heart, your emotions, your story. It goes with them on their adventures, carrying all of it with you. I think that’s an experience people in the art world often overlook. They don’t value it because they see fashion as less worthy than fine art in a museum, viewing it as a lower-class form of expression. But it’s changing. Even in the art world, they’re starting to embrace new experiences.

The music industry has perfected that, because music is like the most shared art form.

It started with paintings in caves, where people gathered around a fire, and the art was part of that shared, lived space. It’s such a recent development that art became objectified in the way it is now.

That leads me to my next question, Katarina. Small batch production is central to your ethos. How do you think this approach can inspire larger fashion brands to rethink their mass production practices?

In global planning for the luxury industry, I saw a mentality I disagreed with producing products people wouldn’t buy for themselves, hoping customers would. Now, with small batch production, it’s about understanding your customer and aligning supply with demand. I once had fabric scraps lying around and a buyer told me tote bags were her top sellers. I designed the Enso bag—a durable, stylish, and versatile tote made from leftover fabric. It’s about making the most of what you already have and focusing on thoughtful design.

Big companies have plenty of resources. They just need to break out of their routines and rethink how they approach production to make better use of what they already have.

Aryana

I’m surprised all your pieces are made in London—it’s so difficult, especially with labour laws and costs. In places like Copenhagen, small designers face the same challenge. It’s hard for sustainable brands to stay sustainable with high production costs. Your commitment to local production enriches the community and counters the trend of outsourcing, offering an inspiring model for other brands.

I’m happy to say I have personal relationships with every studio and seamstress that makes my pieces. I know their names and faces, and some I’ve worked with for five years. I even drop off materials and pick up finished products myself, which is super eco-friendly. There are so many advantages, like being able to produce a new item in four weeks without shipping costs. If there’s a problem, I can easily take it back for quick repairs.

Chisara, I wanted to ask, how do you maintain a spiritual connection to nature through your craftsmanship in this collection? And why is that physical quality so important to you in a world dominated by digital design?

It’s central to everything I believe in and enjoy in life. The ability to start something from the very beginning of the process and experience it firsthand makes it feel more lived and something to be cherished. Whether it’s hand sewing, machine embroidery, or painting, the act of creating is so meditative. In those moments, I feel like I can tap into the same wavelength that plants and animals communicate on—where we don’t need words but communicate through feeling. I believe that craftsmanship, especially when done by hand, opens a doorway to that sacred space.

Aryana

That's very inspiring to hear. I've never heard someone say that. I got to go think about that tonight for a very long time. And my last question, if you could live inside one of your art pieces, which one would you choose, and why?

One painting that comes to mind is of an Amanita mushroom, with a horse emerging from it and clouds filled with mushrooms in the background. It came from a walk in one of my favourite forests, Epping, with a dear friend. Every year, we visit to take pictures of the mushrooms in season, and that whole experience is captured in the painting. It feels like we were breathing in the forest’s essence and becoming one with it. It’s quite magical during those two weeks when the mushrooms are abundant. That painting holds so much meaning for me—it's tied to memories of the friend, the place, and the time. I would never sell it. It’s also rooted in a childhood dream of seeing clouds on the ground, which felt like how I experience the forest now—mixing memories and emotions into one.

Well, I can't wait for the mushroom collection.