Five Minutes with a Friend: Anne ten Donkelaar
A single fine thread is enough to begin. In the work of Anne ten Donkelaar, it marks a point of attention rather than an outline—something tentative that allows connections to form without fixing them in place.
Born in 1979, Ten Donkelaar graduated in 2007 from the Utrecht School of the Arts, where she studied 3D Product Design. That training is evident in the spatial quality of her work. Her compositions sit somewhere between textile and object, bringing together petals, leaves, and broken twigs into carefully balanced arrangements that extend beyond a flat surface.
Rode draad, Anne ten Donkelaar
Her materials are gathered rather than sourced: a damaged butterfly, a stray bumblebee, or oddly grown weeds encountered along the way. These fragments are taken back to the studio, where time becomes part of the process. Rather than altering them, she studies how each element might be shown to its best advantage, allowing form, colour, and scale to guide the composition. Encased under glass, these small discoveries are given a second life—protected, but also reimagined.
Cycle, Anne ten Donkelaar
Thread moves through this work with restraint. Fine strands connect elements lightly, holding them in relation without imposing a strict order. There is no sense of filling or covering; instead, space is left open, and the smallest gestures carry weight. The needle is sometimes left visible, a quiet acknowledgment of the act of making.
In the body of work, Thread, this approach expands into a more complex structure. Single strands are left exposed, holding elements in place while maintaining a sense of lightness. Stitches drift from expected patterns or interrupt them entirely, creating a subtle instability. The thread doesn’t simply follow the hand—it diverges, doubles back, and occasionally breaks, only to reconnect elsewhere.
We spoke to Anne ten Donkelaar about her work and inspirations for 5 minutes with a friend:
Anne ten Donkelaar
Studio observations, Anne ten Donkelaar
Anne, what is your earliest memory of a textile?
My earliest memory is my mother’s sewing box. I loved playing with it and was endlessly fascinated by its contents, the little compartments filled with buttons, needles and pins.
The object I loved most was a small round wooden box that had belonged to my mother’s grandmother. It was made to hold needles, with thread wrapped neatly around it so it could be taken along while travelling. I remember being captivated by it, sensing that it carried a story from another time.
I still have it today.
How would you describe what draws you to textiles and the world of making?
I have always been drawn to making things. At primary school it was the activity I loved most, perhaps the only subject that truly stayed with me. Words never came as naturally to me as working with my hands. In many ways, making became my language.
My mother used to sew many of my clothes, and we often visited the fabric shop together. I remember the colours, but even more the feeling of the fabrics in my hands. Each fabric had its own character, waiting to become something.
Even on holiday I find myself collecting stones on the beach and arranging them into small compositions, or developing new ideas, it never stops.
Studio observations, Anne ten Donkelaar
If you create textiles, where do you feel most inspired to work?
I live with my family in a house with a studio attached. For a long time I tried to keep work and home separate, but because I am often working on many projects at once, I now also have a small worktable in the living room. The light is beautiful there, and it allows me to keep working while the children are at home.
What has sparked your imagination or inspired you recently?
Recently I found myself completely captivated by glass lamps. There is a lamp shop in Utrecht that I like, that has a lot of them. I had gone there to buy a lamp for a friend, but one particular lamp caught my eye.
I told myself I shouldn’t buy it, but I kept thinking about it all week. In the end I went back. The moment I held the glass sphere in my hands, I knew it had to come home with me.
I cycled back through the wind carrying the lamp and a bag filled with smaller glass globes. Somehow everything arrived safely. When I feel that kind of pull, I know I should follow it because it usually means it will find its way into the work later.
That night I even dreamed about it. In the dream I was teaching a class, and my students were glass spheres of different sizes, each resting on its own pedestal.
Stitch-work details, Anne ten Donkelaar
What is your most treasured textile, and what story does it carry?
I think it must be the little dress my mother made for me when I was about two or three years old. It’s a sweet white dress, and she embroidered on it the words of a Dutch children’s song:
“Little, little child, what are you doing in my garden?
You are picking the flowers and doing it far too roughly.”
I always find it funny, because apparently I didn’t listen very well, I did go on to pick flowers, but instead I turned them into very delicate work, not rough.
It’s a small piece of clothing, but it carries such a tender memory of my mother’s care and the beginning of my connection to thread and embroidery.
Kantklosjes (lace bobbins), Anne ten Donkelaar
Where did you first learn your craft, and who shaped your early approach to making?
I think I really connected with my own visual language during my time at art school, where I studied 3D Product Design. In the third year we were given an assignment by the artist and tutor Jacomijn van der Donk: to create a piece of jewellery for ourselves, something that would express who we are.
At that time I was travelling a lot and searching for my own path. The project quickly grew far beyond the original assignment. It began with a small brooch made from wrapped wire. From there I started stitching roads into an old school atlas, tracing journeys with thread. I made bracelets and more brooches using bobbins and pins, and eventually a large world map where the roads circled the globe like a rollercoaster. In the end, it led to a necklace made from lace bobbins that seemed to work together, finding a pattern that allowed the piece to be worn.
Looking back, that project was really the beginning of understanding how thread, movement and storytelling could come together in my work.
I also realised how important a teacher can be at art school, someone who truly inspires you and opens a door to your own ideas. For me, that person was Jacomijn van der Donk. She encouraged curiosity and experimentation, and gave me the confidence to follow where the work wanted to go.
Is there a piece of music you return to while you work, that sets the rhythm of your making?
People might not expect it when they look at my work, but I often listen to quite intense music while I’m working, loud guitars, hardcore house and hip-hop.
In the morning I often start with loud music on my headphones. That is usually when I feel most creative. The energy and chaos of the music seem to open something up, as if everything is allowed to be wild.
After that first burst of energy I usually switch to podcasts. The rhythm becomes calmer and I can start to concentrate.
Studio observations, Anne ten Donkelaar
What material or technique are you currently experimenting with or curious to explore further?
For quite a long time now I have been working on a book. It has become a very different way of thinking and looking compared to my usual work. Each page is like a small stage or setting.
Sometimes you think you have made something beautiful, but when you look at it through the lens of the camera it suddenly appears completely different, and everything can shift again.
For this project I work with many different materials, plaster, clay, glass, paper, fabric and beads. The book touches on many things, but I think its essence is really about making itself: the love, time and attention you give to something, and how that care is what ultimately makes it special.
If you could collaborate with any maker—past or present—who would it be, and why?
I find this question a little difficult, because making for me is usually a very personal and intuitive process.
The one person I truly love working with is my husband. He is incredibly skilled and seems to know how to make almost anything. He understands materials and techniques in a very practical way, and he has endless patience. Perhaps most importantly, he gives thoughtful and honest feedback.
An old teacher once said something about us that has always stayed with me. I had just shown him a bubble-gun I had bought for my son, and he laughed and said: “That’s the two of you in a nutshell — he is the machine, and you are the bubble.”
I think that describes it perfectly. He builds the structure, and I bring the floating ideas.
The dance of the broken dragonflies (detail), Anne ten Donkelaar
What does a perfect day of making look like for you?
A perfect day of making begins with a cup of coffee in the garden, taking a moment to look at what is growing and blooming.
Then more coffee and I go into the studio, put on my headphones and turn the music up loud. For a while I let myself completely go, dancing, singing, letting the energy move. In that moment of chaos and freedom, the best ideas often appear.
When that wild energy settles, the day shifts into a different rhythm. I return to the table and begin the slower, concentrated work. Arranging and thinking. It becomes almost meditative, a quiet flow where the hands move steadily and the work slowly finds its form.
Thank you, Anne, for sharing your thoughts and inspirations with Selvedge.
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Further Information:
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Image Credits:
Lead: Collecting (detail), Anne ten Donkelaar
All further images as credited in captions and courtesy of Anne ten Donkelaar.