About Phyllidae

Several years ago my mother gave me a gift of two framed spiders. From front legs to back they were the size of small saucers, black and hairy, an arachnophobe's darkest nightmare. On my wall, however, from a distance of a few feet, they were graphically striking: perfectly symmetrical black stars that popped against their white mats and the colored wall behind.

The wheels were in motion.

I'm not an entomologist. I'm a designer, and it took me a good two decades longer than the smart kids in junior high science to realize that insects often match their environments. I knew, of course, of the existence of leaf insects, but who knew that they came with such amazing variations of color, from the vivid green of new spring growth to the yellow-brown of a leaf-littered forest? Who knew that stick insects had bends and bumps like nascent buds? Or that - blending in be damned - there were insects that looked like polished wood, like molten metal, like jewels? My designer's heart went thump thump thump.

At first I collected displays. More spiders, then longhorn beetles and stick insects. But I wasn't really happy. With a house full of antiques, those bright white backgrounds and pasted-on labels began to seem overly harsh and modern. I scoured the internet for displays worthy of a gentleman's study, picturing rich woods, lush papers, antique fonts, but what lived in my head seemed to exist nowhere else. Thus, Phyllidae was born.

It took me many months and dozens of iterations to create a line of beetle displays I was proud of, and much much longer to begin my work with butterflies, so afraid was I of "gilding the lily" by over-designing such delicate creatures. My introduction to the hand-marbled papers of Cockerell and Crepaldi, and the traditional Japanese Washi papers seemed to provide the perfect solution - here were materials equal in beauty to my subjects, yet with the ability to complement rather than detract. Together, the entire displays become objects of beauty. I hope you'll agree.