From Spark to Studio: The Kitsune Moon Story
There was always a spark.
From an early age, hands were never idle. Always drawing, shaping, building—an instinctive urge to create, to give form to wonder. The world was vast then, full of questions. Every object a mystery. Every corner a portal.
But time has a way of smoothing the edges of wild things.
As years passed, that youthful fire was muffled. A need to belong crept in. To blend. To be ordinary. The brightness dimmed. The questions quietened. One learns, in a world not made for dreamers, to disappear in plain sight.
Life unfolded, not in grand gestures, but in silent trials family storms, the confusion of adolescence, the ache of trying to make sense of it all. And through it, a quieter rebellion bloomed. Not loud, not angry, just restless. Nights of music, dance, and distraction, chasing freedom in neon-lit moments. The world blurred at the edges. But whenever hands returned to creation drawing lines, carving rhythms, shaping sound, there was clarity. However fleeting, it was real.
Still, a whisper lingered beneath the surface. A question.
Is this all there is?
Restlessness grew, like roots pressing against stone. A hunger not for pleasure, but for meaning. Purpose. Depth.
Why are we here?
What does it mean to live fully?
What does it mean to be free?
Why must we fall before we rise?
In these questions lay the turning point.
Human, yes, but something more. We are not beasts nor angels, but the bridge between. Born to toil, to feel, to lose, to love, and to create. Unlike any other creature, we shape our world, not just to survive, but to express the ineffable. And it is at the edge of comfort, not within it, where true growth begins.
That’s where the journey turned.
Drawn by something quieter, older, steadier, I found my way to wood. The grain, the texture, the scent of sawdust and sap. It grounded me. Working with timber became less a task and more a ritual. Each cut, each plane, each joint a meditation. Something primal stirred. A memory older than thought.
Through craft, I began to shape not only materials, but a new direction. One with weight. One with soul.
In time, this path expanded, into landscape design, permaculture the transformation of space and soil. Watching barren ground bloom with life brought its own kind of peace. But something still called from beyond the garden gate.
So I left the pace of the city behind. Traded skyline for shoreline. Moved north, toward the sea and the ancient rhythms of the land. There, in the stillness, healing began. Yet even in nature’s embrace, the ache to create something more returned.
It started small. A few pieces of furniture. A canvas here. A commission there. But with every project, something inside reignited. And then, Europe—2022. The trip that cracked everything open.
In the old world, artistry was not an afterthought. It’s a reverence. A remembering. I saw it in every carved cornice, every worn step, every brushstroke. There, craft is sacred. And in that sacredness, I found a mirror.
I was also moved by the Japanese way of being, how they honour imperfection, cherish age, and see beauty in the broken. In their world, a cracked bowl is not discarded but repaired with gold. Its story made visible. Its flaw, its power.
We, too, are vessels.
We chip. We mend.
We are not lesser for it.
We are more.
And so, Kitsune Moon emerged.
Not as a brand. Not even as a business.
But as an offering.
A return to wonder. A devotion to craft. A celebration of the imperfect and the eternal.
A studio shaped by curiosity, shadow, silence, and soul.
A reminder that beauty lives in the in-between.