Discovering the colors that felt like me

For a long time, I thought choosing colors was about finding what looked “safe.”

Neutral enough. Flattering enough. Quiet enough.

But somewhere along the way, while building swatches, collecting yarn, photographing projects, and slowly shaping the visual world of Maple & Embers, I realized I wasn’t just choosing colors I liked — I was choosing colors that felt familiar to me in a deeper way.

Warm stone. Moss. Bark. Clay. Smoke. Faded leaves. Weathered wood. Dusty light.

Softness over sharpness. Atmosphere over brightness.

Recently, I explored personal color analysis out of curiosity, expecting it to feel separate from my design work. Instead, it revealed something I hadn’t fully noticed before: the palette I’ve been instinctively building for my brand is also the palette that harmonizes most naturally with me.

The analysis pointed strongly toward a soft autumn palette — muted, earthy, warm, and atmospheric rather than highly contrasted or bright. Colors like terracotta, sage, mushroom taupe, warm cream, and softened olive brought clarity and warmth to my features in a way stark black, pure white, and icy tones never quite did.

What surprised me most wasn’t the result itself, but the emotional connection to it.

I’ve spent years gravitating toward earthy tones while also feeling drawn to moments of boldness — like the saturated French blue cardigan currently living on my needles and in my sketchbook. I used to think these desires contradicted each other. Now I see they can coexist.

My palette doesn’t have to be loud to feel expressive.

It doesn’t have to be minimal to feel grounded.

I’m learning that the colors I love most are often softened versions of intensity:

smoky blue instead of electric cobalt, clay instead of orange, moss instead of neon green, dusty rose instead of bright pink.

Colors with depth. Colors that feel lived in.

There was also something unexpectedly personal about realizing I had spent years dressing cautiously — choosing colors that helped me disappear rather than colors that reflected how I wanted to feel. This process has slowly shifted that perspective. I no longer want to design or dress from the mindset of becoming smaller. I want to create from curiosity, emotion, texture, and presence.

Not just what is traditionally flattering.

What feels honest.

Looking back now, I can see traces of this palette everywhere throughout the beginning of Maple & Embers:

the yarn combinations I saved,

the photographs I was drawn to,

the mood boards filled with autumn fields and overcast skies,

the weathered greens and clay browns I kept returning to again and again.

None of it was random.

It was the beginning of recognizing my own visual language.

From the Studio, Erica