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high-quality-artistic-grid-wrapping-paper-mix-in-soft-pastel-and-neutral-colours
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premium-orange-green-paper-for-wrapping-gifts

WRAPPING PAPER "SOMETHING ABOUT A GRID"

CHF 30.00

PAY WITH TWINT

In a drawer lined with faded velvet, in the basement of the natural history museum, someone once arranged the world by colour and weight. The compartments run in neat rows and columns, a grid built to hold what might otherwise scatter. Shells from the Mediterranean lie numbered, side by side. Three ceramic vessels from Athens, fourth century BC, provenance unknown, stand slightly apart from everything else, as though still waiting to be placed. A botanical drawing of Citrus aurantium, hand painted in ink and wash, Florence, 1743, its colours still true, lies flat beneath glass. Beside it, a dried citrus branch, the fruit still attached, brittle now as paper. Citrus peel, curled and hardened with age. A pressed sprig of bitter orange blossom, its petals gone the shade of old paper.

We built our own version of that drawer for "Something About a Grid," and filled it with sage and moss. A tangerine branch traces its own line across the paper. Shells curl into the corners. The grid holds them all in place, the way the drawer once did.

Long before this drawer was built, someone else kept a version of it on her desk. Maria Sibylla Merian, born in Frankfurt in 1647, learned to paint from her stepfather, a still life artist, and turned that eye toward something almost no one studied then: insects. Her studio held rows of glass jars, each one holding a caterpillar mid change, light falling across her worktable from a window she kept angled just so. Beside the jars, cuttings stood in shallow water, roots trailing pale threads beneath the surface, flowers open at every stage from bud to drop. She ground her own pigments. She mixed her own inks. And she returned to the same jar day after day, sketching each moult until the moth broke free, always beside the very plant that fed it.

Among the sketches she kept pinned above her desk, one image was said to return to her again and again, though it would not be painted for another century: a girl tying willow fronds into a bundle for Palm Sunday, headscarf burning orange against green. When Kanuty Rusiecki finally set that scene on canvas in 1844, titling it Lithuanian Girl with Palm Sunday Fronds, sage and moss and the deep shade of fern under low branches, he painted the same devotion Merian gave her insects and roots.

Maria pins the last sketch to the wall, closes the drawer of dried specimens, and turns down the lamp.

PAY WITH TWINT

In a drawer lined with faded velvet, in the basement of the natural history museum, someone once arranged the world by colour and weight. The compartments run in neat rows and columns, a grid built to hold what might otherwise scatter. Shells from the Mediterranean lie numbered, side by side. Three ceramic vessels from Athens, fourth century BC, provenance unknown, stand slightly apart from everything else, as though still waiting to be placed. A botanical drawing of Citrus aurantium, hand painted in ink and wash, Florence, 1743, its colours still true, lies flat beneath glass. Beside it, a dried citrus branch, the fruit still attached, brittle now as paper. Citrus peel, curled and hardened with age. A pressed sprig of bitter orange blossom, its petals gone the shade of old paper.

We built our own version of that drawer for "Something About a Grid," and filled it with sage and moss. A tangerine branch traces its own line across the paper. Shells curl into the corners. The grid holds them all in place, the way the drawer once did.

Long before this drawer was built, someone else kept a version of it on her desk. Maria Sibylla Merian, born in Frankfurt in 1647, learned to paint from her stepfather, a still life artist, and turned that eye toward something almost no one studied then: insects. Her studio held rows of glass jars, each one holding a caterpillar mid change, light falling across her worktable from a window she kept angled just so. Beside the jars, cuttings stood in shallow water, roots trailing pale threads beneath the surface, flowers open at every stage from bud to drop. She ground her own pigments. She mixed her own inks. And she returned to the same jar day after day, sketching each moult until the moth broke free, always beside the very plant that fed it.

Among the sketches she kept pinned above her desk, one image was said to return to her again and again, though it would not be painted for another century: a girl tying willow fronds into a bundle for Palm Sunday, headscarf burning orange against green. When Kanuty Rusiecki finally set that scene on canvas in 1844, titling it Lithuanian Girl with Palm Sunday Fronds, sage and moss and the deep shade of fern under low branches, he painted the same devotion Merian gave her insects and roots.

Maria pins the last sketch to the wall, closes the drawer of dried specimens, and turns down the lamp.

Maria Sibylla Merian - Metamorphosis

DETAILS

SET

3 rolled sheets

A1 594 x 841 mm

A2 420 × 594 mm

A3 297 × 420 mm

SIZE

PAPER

100 g/m², uncoated offset

FINISH

Matte

PRINTED IN

Germany

  • FREE WORLDWIDE SHIPPING ON ALL ORDERS

    Orders are usually shipped within 2–3 working days, and international shipping is available.

    Please note that customers may be subject to customs duties in their respective countries, which are their responsibility.

    You can also pay directly via TWINT.

    You’re also welcome to pick up your order directly from the studio in Meilen. Important: Please call or text ahead to arrange a pickup time. This ensures I’m at the studio and have your order prepared.

  • Handle with clean, dry hands to keep the print looking its best. Store flat in a drawer or re-roll and secure with a ribbon, not with tape. Keep away from direct sunlight to preserve the colours over time.

    Read more here

GREETING CARD GREETING CARD
GREETING CARD "HELLO"
CHF 7.00

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When we started looking for a way into this card, we kept coming back to the word hello. It is younger than you might expect. Only about 150 years old, invented for the telephone, a practical solution for a new and awkward device. Nobody knew what to say, so someone decided. Hello.

What interests us is how much it can carry. The hello shouted across a car park. The one that arrives after years of silence. The one said quietly to a new colleague on their first morning, before anything between you exists yet. One word, doing completely different work each time.

A hello doesn't need to be glamorous. Cleopatra ate pickled cucumbers daily, convinced they were the source of her beauty and her strength. Not roses, not gold, not anything particularly glamorous. A cucumber. It is simply the most unlikely thing to put on a greeting card. Nobody chose it for beauty or symbolism. It is just ... there. A bit awkward. A bit odd. Completely unbothered about being on a greeting card.

Not only did she love pickled cucumbers, we like to think she had dogs too.

There is an old belief that the souls closest to us find each other again. Not always as humans. Sometimes as something else entirely. These two knew each other once, in another life, as something other than a spaniel and a hound. And that one ordinary day, on an ordinary walk, they turned a corner and there the other one was.

Just: hello.

PAIRS WELL WITH

GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS GIFT TAGS
GIFT TAGS
from CHF 10.00

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For most of human history, birthdays belonged only to kings and saints. Ordinary people were born, grew older, and said nothing particular about it. Most didn't even know their exact date. It wasn't recorded, wasn't kept. It wasn't until the industrial revolution that birth dates began to be written down for everyone. And once written down, they could be celebrated.

The candles came much earlier. In ancient Greece, people brought honey cakes to the temple of Artemis, goddess of the moon, the hunt, and of childbirth itself. The cakes were called amphiphon, meaning shining on both sides. Round like the moon, with candles placed all around the edge. It was not just a wish. It was a thank you. For the birth itself.

We kept the candles. We kept the wishes. We added the gifts. And somewhere along the way, we added the gift tag.

It is the last thing you do. The gift is chosen, wrapped, ribboned. And then you sit down with a small piece of paper and a pen and try to find the right words. Not many. There is no space for many. Just enough to say what you mean, in the handwriting that the other person will recognise before they have even read it.

It arrives first. Before the gift itself. The smallest part of the whole gesture. Written last, read first.

POSTCARD MIXED SET POSTCARD MIXED SET POSTCARD MIXED SET
POSTCARD MIXED SET
CHF 20.00

Five postcards, endless possibilities. Send a spontaneous hello, a note of gratitude, or a small surprise — no occasion required. Each card adds a touch of charm and joy, whether mailed or tucked into a wrapped gift.

Select a single design to receive 5 identical cards, or enjoy variety with the Mixed Summer or Mixed Winter sets.

Details
– Set of 5 postcards
– A6 size
– Printed in full colour on premium paper, 400gsm
– Uncoated finish with a soft, tactile texture
– Blank on the reverse
– Made in the UK
– FSC® certified, recyclable, sustainably sourced, and chlorine-free