My atelier is my small but complete kingdom.
Small in size, but filled with experiences, memories, and small treasures collected over the years.
A space of materials and tools that slowly show the marks of use, of leather that is gradually transformed and replaced by new colours, textures, and possibilities. Sometimes it exists in a state of organised chaos, where every piece is searching for its own place.
Old machines and new ones. The tools of the craft, brushes, paints, and the faint scent of glue. Surrounded by these, I turn simple pieces of leather into objects of design with my own hands.
At times it feels like an extension of the Vltava and the city of Prague itself, shaped by its atmosphere, its history, and its rhythm. Sometimes it is open to everyone. Other times it becomes a private world, closed off during moments of deep concentration.
When it is open, I love to meet people, share a coffee, exchange smiles, and see the spark of curiosity. Anyone eager to see how a pair of shoes or a handbag comes to life is welcome.
The day begins by opening the window to welcome the fresh air from the river, checking on my plants, then preparing my first cup of coffee. Then I think about where to begin: the order of tasks, the piece I should work on, the next step.
If the previous day has been one of intense work, I like to start by cleaning and organising the atelier. It creates a fresh environment for new ideas and new beginnings.
There is always a moment to talk with another designer, to ask for an opinion or share a thought about the piece I am working on. In the afternoon, my most productive hours begin. Sewing, cutting leather, shaping materials, until around seven or eight in the evening.
Why Leather
It began with footwear. Today it includes bags, accessories, and functional objects. But at some point I had to decide which material I wanted to dedicate myself to.
When I began working with leather, I discovered that this material gave me the freedom to grow independently, to experiment, and to continuously explore new possibilities. At the same time, it allowed me to create a connection between my work and my own history.
Leather became more than just a material. It became a bridge between my creative process, my heritage, and my personal identity.
02 ──────
Ecuador
My family has worked with leather since 1930.
My grandfather, Elio Ruiz, and generations before him were saddlers and leather artisans in Ecuador, making objects of all kinds by hand.
Much of that knowledge was lost when my grandfather passed away while I was still very young. But leather never disappeared from my family. My mother kept the stories alive, my aunt had her own leather atelier and store, and Cotacachi, the mountain town my family comes from, has a long tradition of leather craftsmanship.
The direct transmission of the craft may have been interrupted, but the connection remains. I still keep some of my grandfather’s tools in my atelier — small amulets, and a tangible connection to the hands that worked with them before mine.
What I was taught
I have lived in Prague since 2010, and studied at the Academy of Arts, Architecture and Design here, under Liběna Rochová.
Having such an important figure in Czech design as my professor was a demanding and transformative experience. Her expectations were extremely high, especially for a carefully selected group of students, and working under her guidance pushed me to constantly improve.
Through her, I discovered the world of fashion and contemporary design at a deeper level. I learned that every creation must reach a certain level of perfection while still maintaining a personal signature and a distinctive identity.
Her influence helped me refine my work, making my designs more minimalist, cleaner, and more precise, without losing the essence of who I am as a creator.
I also teach, four or five people a year, in this room. I learn from each of them, because every person is like a book filled with experiences, memories, and perspectives.
What I am arguing for
Lemaire, Issey Miyake, Maison Margiela, Loewe, Iris van Herpen, Vlastislav Hofman.
They have always pursued innovation. They challenged the limits of their materials, explored new possibilities, and created a different vision of luxury, one based not only on status or appearance, but on ideas, craftsmanship, experimentation, and intellectual depth.
A great deal of my own work carries the influence of Central European architecture and design, and my admiration for Cubism. Inspired by the geometric heritage of Central European design, from Czech Cubism to the Wiener Werkstätte.
How the work happens
My creative process is closer to that of a sculptor. I discover forms through the material itself, through experimentation and intuition, rather than beginning only with a drawing on paper. The technique becomes the path through which the final shape reveals itself.
What truly inspires me is creating something new while still respecting and using traditional techniques as a foundation. My passion comes from experimentation: pushing the boundaries of craftsmanship, discovering unexpected possibilities, and witnessing something new come to life through my own hands.
In footwear, the Lineal represents a cubist approach, combining strong geometric elements, vibrant colours, and the reuse of materials. Among my bags, the Fragaria stands out for its almost living character: organic, expressive, and full of movement. My Axea, with its distinctive pleated leather technique, is another exploration of the material. The Kyoto has existed for more than ten years.
I do not follow the traditional model of seasonal collections. Most of my handbags have been part of my catalogue for more than five years. New pieces appear when I want to explore an idea, experiment with a material, or make something I feel needs to exist. In this way my process is closer to that of an artist than a conventional fashion brand.
Every piece begins as a paper model, where imagination meets reality. Then a first prototype in natural undyed leather, where the structure, the folds and the assembly sequence are worked out. Only once the balance between form, function and durability is right does a design become a finished piece.
I work mainly with Italian vegetable tanned cow leather of medium structure, so that architectural shapes hold their form while the material still shows its own character.
Components are joined with professional water based adhesives, stitched on my Pfaff, or finished by hand where the design asks for it. Edges are polished and painted by hand.
Three to five large pieces a month is the limit of what I can make by myself. A commissioned pair of shoes takes a minimum of one month, and I make one pair a month.
The Leather
I work with Cuoio di Toscana, leather made in Tuscany using one of the oldest tanning traditions still practised today. The hides are slowly vegetable-tanned using tannins extracted from chestnut, mimosa and quebracho — without chromium or heavy metals.
The hides are a by-product of the food industry, giving an existing material a new purpose, while the tannins are derived from renewable plant sources.
Vegetable-tanned leather is a living material. It carries the scent and warmth of its natural origins and continues to change long after it leaves the tannery. Like our own skin, it records touch, use and time, gradually developing a patina unique to the person who carries it.
No two hides are identical. Variations in colour, veins, wrinkles, small marks and scars are not imperfections to be hidden, but traces of the material's history.
They are what make every piece impossible to repeat exactly.
What I believe
“Good design objects deserve to be part of everyday life.”
I want everyone who encounters my work to feel welcome, at home and valued. The objects we live with every day do not have to come from machines or anonymous hands. Every piece I make has a person behind it — someone who imagined it, made it and cared about every detail. For me, that human connection is as important as the object itself.
Loopimals keep me grounded. They remind me not to take the role of designer too seriously. Seeing someone smile because of a small leather animal can sometimes give me more satisfaction than selling a larger piece. During difficult periods, these little objects have also supported me — one by one, helping me pay the bills and continue making.
Everything I create is ultimately a tribute to leather, a material that has accompanied us for thousands of years. But beyond form and craftsmanship, I always think about how an object feels, how it will be used and, perhaps most importantly, whether it can bring a little joy to the person who lives with it.