Behind the Rukstin Journey
Where does your inspiration come from?
A question commonly posed to fourth year design students. The hardest part is not finding the inspiration—but defining it. It hits you like a great west coast slab, one of those giant waves that pounds right through you. A word of advice? Always carry a notebook.
At the end of February 2015 I grabbed my wetsuit and gear, stuffed my canvas pack (only the essentials—notebooks aplenty), ready to ride the waves of my inspiration.
The Background
Before getting too in-depth, there are a few things you must understand about me. I grew up in Vancouver’s smaller neighbour—Victoria BC. I never, in a million years, thought I would find my place in the fashion industry; my story was far from the ‘Barbie-dressing’ stories you hear from typical fashionistas. I’ve never had a passion for fashion—but I’m in love with design. And, although I never had a passion for fashion, you can be damn sure that this wild and beautiful coast keeps my heart beating fiercely.
In my 3rd year of stumbling through my Bachelor’s degree, I jumped ship and headed to Finland on an exchange program. I needed to be inspired, and I needed to find my path. It’s funny how, in the darkest of places (seriously, winter in Finland is the darkest.), a light can hit you, so brilliant that it’s obnoxious, lighting up your world and making everything clear. For me, this light was the idea of sustainability.
Being involved in one of the world’s most wasteful and destructive industry is a pretty contradictory career path for someone who feels so connected to the environment. This was a hard realization to come to: How can I be a part of this? The answer is obvious. Don’t be a part of it.
So that’s when I decided to quit fashion. Nah, just kidding – I was already in too deep.
So, I married my two passions: design and sustainability. The result? Pursuing the path of sustainability in fashion: a large part of the inspiration behind Rukstin.
Getting There
Back to chasing down my inspiration: I want to head out early. I set the alarm for 5:45 am so I can make the 8:30 a.m. ferry out of Departure Bay ’cause who knows how long I’ll be away. The alarm blares just 5 hours later. Without flinching, I hit snooze — I’ll be catching the 10:30.
Cruising down Cambie, my gear chucked in the back seat, it’s always the same. I look out over this beautiful city with the mountains framing the horizon and a great wave of appreciation wafts over me. I think: “You are so damn lucky to live here.” It’s funny how, in the moments of this realization, I always tend to be heading away from this anxious city.
Horseshoe Bay—the start of the small communities. It’s almost like this sleepy little village, with its bustling ferry terminal, is the gate to the entire coastal island life. I drive up the ramp, onto the ferry and I leave my Vancouver anxiety behind. Breathe in, I say to myself, you’re heading to serenity.
I’m heading to a place I know inside and out. Just off the coast of Vancouver Island, nestled in the calm waters of Stuart Channel, is Thetis Island. I’ve been spending time on this island since before I can remember. Lucy Hayward, my grandmother, has lived on the shores here for decades. And here I am, coming to the end of something and looking for renewal. It’s time for a visit.
The hour and a half flies by on the way to Departure Bay. I can’t remember the last time I took this route, so I look out the window and take in the change of scenery. Driving through Nanaimo, I manage to track down some wandering relatives for lunch, and I can already feel myself relax. After refueling, I head out on my own again.
Driving south, the highway snakes along the coastline. The familiar scenery whips passed my window and the rain pounds my windshield. I have a few hours until the small ferry leaves Chemainus for Thetis Island, so I decide to explore some unfamiliar paths. Pulling off the highway, I follow a winding road to the ocean and find a place to stop.
As the car door slams behind me I breathe in the fresh ocean air and feel the rain falling lightly on my hood. The smell of the coastal air here changes with the weather, and today it’s my favourite—mixed with the sharp cold of late February, and the light rain, my mind clears with every breath in.
As I breathe out, I can feel myself letting go. I move forward.
Inspiration runs thick in these moments. The texture of the rocks against the slimy seaweed, the way it all runs into the frothing ocean. And, the colour palette—better than anything you could ever handpicked. These are the things that matter.
When designing, remember to design with purpose. And, use what is already in front of you, what is beautiful on its own. Take from nature, without stealing from it. This is how the Rukstin Fall/Winter 2016 collection was designed. By mimicking the colour palettes we find in the seasons of the West Coast, I found beautiful neutral tones, so fitting for a collection built for finding adventure.
Later, I arrive in Chemainus, pick up some flowers for my grandmother, then drive onto the ferry. I’m almost there. Half an hour later, I feel the familiar uneven wood slats of the wharf under my tires as I drive onto the island. I could drive to my grandmother’s house in my sleep. Life on a small gulf island is absolutely incredible.
I pull into the gravel drive of the small cottage on the water and find Lucy Hayward waiting with arms wide open.
I say hello with a hug as she pulls me into the warm house.
The scent of her wood-burning fire hits my nose, along with the delicious aroma of soup on the stove. Of course she’s been cooking all day,so I sit down to a feast at 3 in the afternoon (dinner will be at 6).
There is no shortage of food here. For the rest of the evening, I sit in front of the roaring fire in a living room visiting with my grandmother. I’m sure this place is like no other place in the universe. Paintings, books, lamps, interesting pieces of art—when I ask about them she replies, “Oh, Robbie made that for me years ago! He’s been doing the wood turning thing for years, sell his pieces at the local craft fair.” A common answer to my questions. The sense of community here is so strong it’s palpable.
Here on Thetis Island, neighbours support neighbours. There is not a day that goes by without a visitor, and you can be sure that your nothing goes unnoticed. Sure, some may think that’s intrusive,but that’s just the way of life here. Craft fairs happen every Sunday, replete with food, books, and crafts. It seems almost everyone on this island is able to create something.
For dinner, we have local lamb from Qwist farm, a small community nearby. I know I can get used to this.
The Day I Spent
I wake the next morning after an undisturbed sleep—a much harder feat than you would think. Living in Vancouver, trying to sleep to the sound of traffic is less than calming. Here, you wake to the sound of the waves—and the smell of bacon. I eat bacon and eggs (of course it’s local), and sit down with a good book for a few hours. This is my relaxation place.
A few hours later, I’m ready to explore. I tie up my laces, pull on my sweater and grab my iPod and camera. It feels good to run. Pounding the mossy winter pavement, I follow the narrow nearly-empty roads as they wind their way to the north part of the island. After a time of running through a dense wall of trees at either side of me, the road opens on a breakthrough the trees I’m suddenly confronted by the sight of beautiful marsh; the unexpected vision throws me off-guard and takes my breath away: Fog is lifting from the tops of the Douglas Fir and Sitka Spruce trees on the other side the water; the red of the underbrush is vibrant against the steel grey of the sky and the water. Everything is still and quiet.
As I focus my camera, attempting to capture it all, I spot an orange canoe tethered on the side of the water, just below the road. Waiting for me? Community, I think, as theboat calls to me. As I stumble down the bank, I see three great mounds of branches and notice that the trees I’m standing next to have all been chewed. Are these beaver dams? Of course I need to know. I jump down the bank, and just as my feet hit the soft earth, I see movement to my left.
SLAP!
The sound reverberates around the marsh. My breath catches in my throat as I see the homeowner slide quickly into its dam. This is the first time that I (a Canadian) have ever seen a beaver. You’re looking for some wildlife sightseeing? Here it is.
Leaving the beaver to his home renovations and the canoe for another day, I start on my way back. It’s been a few hours since I’ve had something delicious to eat.
As each foot hits the pavement, I can feel my excitement mounting. Ideas are turning around my head like a Ferris wheel. Nature has sparked my creative process again. How do I live without this in my daily life?
I make it back, and the soup immediately arrives at the table. Today it’s clam chowder, with clams collected on the beach just 20 feet away. I slurp back the soup quickly; I want to make it in for a swim before the sun goes down because I know I’ll take my time even though the water is freezing cold. I squeeze into my 5mm wet suit. I am kitted out with a hood, gloves, and booties. This process takes a while—to say the least.
My feet squish through the mud and seaweed underfoot as I wade out. The morning fog is lifting from a nearby island and the mountains have just received a fresh coating of snow. I feel invincible in this suit.
I float around for a while, enjoying myself before swimming over to the rocks.
I’ve explored these rocks time and time again, but every time I come back, it’s like an entirely new episode of a favourite show. I pick up a massive red brick crab as it crawls over my foot.
To feel nature in your hands, even with gloves on, brings a feeling of renewal.
I shove away from the rocks and float out about 20 feet from the shore.
As I rest my head in the water and relax, I hear movement and look up to see a seal just a few feet away, looking at me curiously. He snorts, and I count the whiskers on his face.
I go for a swim with a seal.
Needless to say, I don’t come back from this adventure empty-handed. I collect oysters, the size of my palm, and bring them back to my grandmother. I peel off my suit, have a hot shower, warm up with a mug of tea, and read my book until it’s time for dinner. We spend the evening together by the fire, watching black and white movies until I fall asleep, contented.
Myinspiration comes from and is nourished by the Southern Gulf Islands. The name Rukstin is a riff on Ruxton Island, north of Thetis Island—a fitting name for my brand. This collection is designed for the man who craves the journey and lives for adventure. At the same time, it’s for the man who finds comfort in simplicity and values function. For him, quality is of the utmost importance. These qualities are also mantras expressed by those of us who live on and for the West Coast.
When I set out on this trip, I was looking for ways in which to define the lifestyle of the Rukstin Man—in terms of the West Coast environment. I realized that I live it; I’ve always known what it means to be part of this place. I design to protect this coast, and I design for the people that love it. I believe that beauty is to be found nearby, and in simple things. I simply want to design beautiful things.