The Story Behind the Moonhound Collection

Every brand claims there is a story behind it. Ours sleeps roughly eighteen hours a day and has strong opinions about which cushion is hers.

Daisy is a rescued greyhound. Anyone who has lived with a sighthound will recognise the particular way they hold still — not the alert stillness of a working dog, but something older and stranger, as if they are listening to a frequency the rest of the house cannot hear. At night, in a lamplit room, it is genuinely uncanny. You look up from a book and there is a silhouette at the window, perfectly composed, keeping watch over absolutely nothing.

The Moonhound collection began as an attempt to paint that.

Not a portrait — there are plenty of fine pet portraits in the world, and Daisy has sat for none of them. Something closer to a myth: a lone hound in moonlit country. Keeping watch on a hillside. Waiting at the tide line. Standing at the water's edge so quietly the landscape forgets she is there. The pieces are painted in the palette the whole studio works in — ink, moss, bone and old gold — because that is what a greyhound at night actually looks like: a piece of the dark that decided to have legs.

People sometimes ask whether the hound in the pictures is her. The honest answer is that it is every sighthound — the shape is ancient, and it belongs to whippets and lurchers and salukis as much as to one retired racer in the north of England. If you share your house with one of these creatures, you already know the pose in every piece.

The collection stays deliberately small, like everything here. A new Moonhound work is added only when it earns its place — which is to say, when it passes the only test that matters: would it stop you in a hallway at night?

Daisy, for the record, remains unmoved by all of it. There is a patch of sun with her name on it. You can read more about her, and about why the studio works the way it does, in Our Story.