ETC.

Laser source vs. veg tan

Thu, 15 Oct 2026 14:08:33 GMT

Bigger isn't always better

Laser Source vs. Leather: Why Your Hobby Laser Might Just Kick Ass

When looking into laser engraving leather, conventional wisdom on the internet says you need a massive, expensive industrial machine to get good results. But if you tick exactly the same way I do, you don’t just take the internet's word for it. I am as curious as a cat, and tinkering is something I simply can't help—I just need to know.

To satisfy that burning curiosity, I ran an experiment: I took the exact same piece of intricate line art and put it side-by-side across three completely different tiers of laser technology. When you zoom in on the macro shots, the real-world results completely flip the corporate "expensive is always better" narrative right on its head.

If you are a hobbyist wondering if your desktop setup can handle high-quality leather work, the short answer is: absolutely. In fact, when it comes to fine lines, bigger isn't always better. The secret lies in a technical concept called minimum fire threshold—and here is what my tinkering revealed.

Atomstack S40 (Diode): Exceptional Finesse

There is a massive misconception that desktop diode lasers are just "cheap toys." Looking at the macro shots, the Atomstack S40 absolutely kicks ass. Diode technology has a massive advantage because it can scale down to a true, stable 1% power output while focusing into an incredibly tight, razor-thin spot. This ultra-low power control allows it to trace out intricate filigree and complex shading with flawless precision. The lines stay thin, the tiny gaps between the leaves stay perfectly clean, and the leather remains pristine without any unwanted charring.

• The Verdict: For delicate line art, a hobbyist diode laser delivers sharp, clean lines because it can gently sip power instead of gulping it.

GCC Spirit GLS (RF Synrad Tube): Rich Contrast and Premium Control

Moving into an entirely different price bracket, commercial machines like the GCC Spirit GLS utilize Radio Frequency (RF) metal tubes from Synrad. RF tubes pulse at incredibly high frequencies, giving them exceptional control, though their physical minimum fire threshold sits right around 3% power. The RF tube burns the lines beautifully dark with a deep, rich brown contrast. While the lines are a hair wider than the diode, the intricate details inside the emblem stay remarkably distinct and clean.

• The Verdict: This is the absolute gold standard for high-contrast commercial production. However, the qualitative gap between it and a modern hobby machine isn't nearly as wide as the massive price difference suggests.

xTool P3 80W (CO2 Glass Tube): A Charred Sledgehammer

The xTool P3 is a magnificent flagship workhorse for cutting, but big CO2 glass tubes carry a notoriously heavy power floor. While the software allows you to type in "1%" (albeit with a warning message), the physics tell a different story. The gases inside a CO2 tube require a high ionization voltage just to charge and strike an arc—firing at a true 1% power is physically impossible.

Because it triggers at a much higher actual output than the software lets on—and only allows whole-number increments above that threshold—using a score setting on the leather unleashes a brutal punch of energy. On the macro photo, you can see the disaster: it blasts a deep, blackened, completely charred canyon into the leather, melting the microscopic internal details away entirely.

• The Verdict: Exceptional for blasting through thick materials or doing bold, heavy branding, but it acts like a total brute when trying to preserve delicate, microscopic artwork.

The Takeaway for Hobbyists

Don't let tool envy stop you from creating. If you own a modern hobby diode laser, you possess an incredibly capable engraving tool. My need to tinker proved that you don't need to drop thousands on industrial gear to get flawless details—your "budget" setup easily out-engraves a massive industrial CO2 tube on fine leather artwork because it has the physical finesse to handle the low end.

Repurpose and reuse

Thu, 15 Oct 2026 14:01:18 GMT

Curios as a cat

When I was 12, I stumbled across some moth-eaten cavalry uniforms in my grandfather’s attic. They were buried under layers of dust and cobwebs—almost forgotten. Naturally, my curious 12-year-old self couldn’t resist taking a closer look. What caught my eye were the metal buttons. I thought, "He obviously doesn’t want or need them anymore," so I carefully cut them off, braving the dust and the spiders in the process.

By 19, those buttons had found their way onto a winter coat I had. Over the years, those same buttons have been moved from jacket to jacket, each one a little more worn but full of memories. Today, they’re on my wool coat—a constant reminder of where they’ve been and the story they carry, one that stretches back to the 1940s with my family.

The vintage W. Schaerer buttons you see above are still waiting for their next chapter. Unused and forgotten in some old cellar until now, they’re about to be woven into something new adding their own history to my work and continuing the cycle of stories.

the legend of the mouse garage

Thu, 15 Oct 2026 13:52:21 GMT

How a mouse got a new home

The well was dry. Not just a little low, but completely barren. I was deep in one of those creative slumps where the tools feel heavy and the leather sits untouched.

Frustrated, I turned to my husband—my ever-reliable, occasionally perplexing muse—for help.

“I need an idea,” I sighed, collapsing onto the couch. “Something inspired. Something to get my creative juju flowing again.”

He didn’t even look up from his tablet.

“Mouse garage,” he said. “Build a mouse garage.”

I stared at him. “A what?”

He just chuckled and returned to whatever he was reading, offering only one infuriatingly vague instruction:

“You’ll figure it out.”

The sheer absurdity of the task was exactly what I needed. It broke the spell of trying to design something sensible. This wasn’t about another wallet or bag. It was about solving a completely imaginary problem with my hands.

I started sketching.

The more I thought about a garage for a mouse, the more the idea twisted itself around: what if the garage was a mouse? A small leather structure, rounded, quiet, almost cartoon-like.

So I cut, stitched, and shaped until the little object appeared in front of me. A soft grey form, part sculpture, part joke, entirely born from the moment.

When I finished, I placed it on my husband’s desk.

He looked at the tiny leather mouse, burst out laughing, and glanced up with a triumphant grin.

“Well?” he asked.

“Did you get your mojo back?”

How it's made

Thu, 15 Oct 2026 13:49:53 GMT

Process

Every creation starts long before the first cut of leather or fabric. It begins with a few simple questions: What do I want? What do I need? Why am I not satisfied with my current bag (even if I built it myself)? And just as importantly, feedback from customers and beta testers flows into every new design, ensuring that each piece is tried, refined, and shaped by real everyday use.

Inspiration can strike anywhere – from a quiet soak in the bathtub on a cold winter evening to a stroll through the Swiss landscape. Using the ARIA method (Awareness, Reflection, Insight, Action), I capture these ideas before they fade. From there, I move to rough sketches – often messy, but vital in exploring possibilities. Some sketches are set aside for later; others become the seed of a new design. Friday mornings are sacred: reserved for finishing pending projects, technical spikes, and trying out new ideas.

The next stage is playfully hands-on: I fold and cut paper prototypes to test shapes and functions. My husband and I hold ideation sessions, challenging the design, refining, recalculating, and sometimes completely rethinking it. Once a concept shows promise, I translate it into Lightburn for the first digital outlines, followed by a cardstock prototype to check fit, size, and proportions. This cycle—sketch, test, discuss, refine—repeats until the design feels right.

Every piece is a dance between hand, eye, and machine—part old-school craft, part precise technology, with nothing rushed, nothing repeated, and every detail earning its place.

Fabric and leather are treated as equals in this process. I cut fabric entirely by hand, testing drape, weight, and structure before it ever meets the final stitching stage. Paper, cardstock, and fabric prototypes all help me visualize how the final piece will live in the real world. This cycle of sketch, test, discuss, and refine continues until the design feels right.

When the design is ready, the material becomes the protagonist. Carefully selected leathers—from vegetable-tanned hides to Italian dead stock sourced from haute couture suppliers—are cut using a hybrid approach. Some pieces are cut via laser for precision, while larger or chrome-tanned sections are cut and punched entirely by hand. Fabrics are always cut by hand, with patterns and templates sometimes transferred via laser or grid paper for accuracy.

But technology is only the start: assembly is done entirely by my own two hands. I hand-finish edges, stitch using traditional saddle-stitch methods, and apply finishes that give strength and beauty. For hardware, I select stainless steel AISI 304, solid brass, and occasionally Zamak. In very limited supply, I also use solid brass with fine gold finish and even palladium hardware, reserved for the most exclusive bags. These materials are not only beautiful but exceptionally durable.

Every finished product carries traces of its past: the life of the hide, the cycle of design, and eventually, your own story. Over time, the leather develops a patina, shaped by the way you use it. This is not mass production. It is slow, intentional work – a mindful process where beauty meets utility, and where every product results from patience, experimentation, and collaboration.