Right now, somewhere in regional Western Australia, I am sitting with a very large handmade doll, tangled white hair, glue in places glue definitely shouldn’t be, and another problem I need to figure out.
The nearest Spotlight is roughly two hours away.
Living rurally changes the way you make things.
There is no popping down the road because you forgot the right needle.
There is no quick replacement when something breaks.
And when you realise halfway through a project that the thing you desperately need isn’t sitting somewhere in the camper, the answer usually becomes:
Well. I suppose we’re figuring this out another way.
Strangely enough, that feels like the perfect story for Nana’s Quest.
Because Nana’s Quest has never really been about knowing exactly what you’re doing before you begin.
It is about making.
Trying.
Learning.
And discovering what you’re capable of somewhere along the way.
It Started With Two Nanas
Long before there was a giant handmade doll sitting beside me, Nana’s Quest began with a country market.
Before Damien and I moved from city life to regional Western Australia, I attended a Christmas market with my mum and nana.
I was there selling shampoo bars through Cooper Delivered.
My nana had brought along things she had made.
But the part that stayed with me wasn’t really the products.
It was watching her.
There was something about seeing makers sitting behind tables filled with things they had created themselves.
The grass underneath us.
The trees around the market.
People wandering between stalls.
Hours and hours of work sitting quietly on tables waiting for somebody to notice it.
And somewhere on the drive home, an idea began forming.
What if there were another way to help Australian makers sell what they create?
That thought eventually became Nana’s Quest.
An Australian marketplace built around handmade goods, makers, storytelling and community.
But somewhere along the way, Nana’s Quest started becoming something bigger than a marketplace.
And then Nana herself started becoming real.
Two Women Became Nana
The Nana’s Quest logo was created using AI imagery inspired by photographs of two very real women.
My nana.
And Damien’s nana.
Those two women became the inspiration for one symbolic character.
Nana.
Not simply our Nana.
Nana as an idea.
The women who knitted.
Stitched.
Mended.
Painted.
Cooked.
Gardened.
Crocheted.
Made things because somebody needed them.
Made things because they loved making them.
Passed down recipes, patterns, tools and little pieces of knowledge without ever necessarily calling themselves artists or entrepreneurs.
Then, for reasons that probably made considerably more sense before I actually began the project, I decided Nana needed to come out of the screen.
I wanted to make her into a doll.
A very large doll.
Around 20 inches tall.
And there was one fairly significant problem.
I Didn’t Know How to Make a Doll
I knew what I wanted Nana to look like.
That is not the same thing as knowing how to make her.
So began the learning.
Pattern pieces.
Stuffing.
Face shaping.
Clothes.
Shoes.
Hair.
Glasses.
Pearls.
Tiny details that somehow take enormous amounts of time.
And glue.
So much glue.
There were parts I made and pulled apart.
Things I thought would work that absolutely did not work.
Materials that behaved differently from how I expected.
Hair that became tangled.
Stitches that needed fixing.
And the occasional moment where I looked at Nana and wondered exactly why I had publicly told everybody I was going to make these dolls.
Because once you’ve announced something publicly, apparently you have to actually finish the thing.
The Founder Collection
The original idea was to create a Founder Collection of 50.
Fifty identical 20-inch Nana dolls.
All made by hand.
All made here, in our camper, while we live off-grid in regional Western Australia.
Then I started making the first one.
And fifty suddenly became a very different number.
Maybe the Founder Collection will remain 50.
Maybe, by the time Doll Number One is completely finished, my hands will tell me that 25 is the right number instead.
That answer will come.
But whatever the final number becomes, this will be Nana’s Quest’s first-ever doll collection.
Each Nana will be based on this original Founder Doll.
The same white hair.
The same glasses.
The same pearls.
The same clothes.
The same little details that have taken me far longer to work out than I ever imagined.
And every one will be made by hand.
Not produced on a factory line.
Not ordered by the thousand.
Made one Nana at a time, inside a camper running off-grid in rural Western Australia.
That means there will inevitably be the tiny differences that come with something being made by human hands.
And I think those differences belong there.
Because handmade means handmade.
Every doll requires time.
Every doll requires problem solving.
Every doll carries the hands of the person who made her.
And when the final Nana in the Founder Collection eventually leaves our camper, that will be it.
There will only ever be that original collection.
Then There Was AI
There is something almost strange about the journey of Nana.
Her original visual identity involved artificial intelligence.
Her physical body required traditional handcraft.
And somewhere between those two things is an area I think we’re only beginning to understand.
AI and traditional craft are often spoken about as though they belong on opposite sides of a battle.
Machine versus human.
Old versus new.
Technology versus tradition.
I don’t think it has to be that simple.
For generations, people learned craft from whoever happened to be around them.
A grandmother.
A mother.
A neighbour.
A teacher.
A community group.
A pattern book sitting on a shelf.
Today, we have another tool available.
Someone who has never crocheted before can ask:
“What do I need to start crocheting?”
Someone curious about sewing can ask what different stitches mean.
Someone who has never heard of amigurumi, punch needle, macramé or mosaic can discover an entirely new hobby because one question led to another.
AI can explain terminology.
It can help brainstorm.
It can point somebody towards techniques they might want to research.
It can help make that intimidating first step feel slightly smaller.
But there is a line I think matters enormously.
AI shouldn’t replace the making.
And it certainly shouldn’t be blindly trusted when accuracy matters.
Craft patterns intended to produce reliable finished pieces still need to be made, checked, tested and understood.
Materials still behave in the real world.
Measurements still matter.
A stitch still has to hold.
A doll still has to stand.
At some point, the screen stops.
Then the human has to make it.
And I love that.
The Human Still Has to Make It
AI could help me think through a problem.
It could suggest techniques.
It could help me understand words I had never encountered before.
But AI couldn’t sit beside me and untangle Nana’s hair.
It couldn’t feel whether I’d stuffed her face too firmly.
It couldn’t decide that something looked wrong even though technically it was where it should be.
It couldn’t hold fabric between its fingers and realise the original plan wasn’t going to work.
That’s the part of craft I hope we never lose.
Human judgement.
Human mistakes.
Human improvisation.
Those tiny decisions that happen while something is physically sitting in your hands.
Technology might help us enter the craft room.
But we still have to sit down and make something.
Founder Doll Number One Already Has a Home
The Founder Collection will be available through Nana’s Quest.
But there is one Nana you won’t be able to buy.
Founder Doll No. 001.
She already has a home.
She is going to Damien’s mum.
Damien’s nana is no longer here.
And because she is one of the two women behind Nana’s face, it felt right that the very first physical Nana I ever made should go to her daughter.
So when the Founder Collection launches, Doll No. 001 will still be part of it.
She’ll be there at the beginning of the collection.
No. 001 of 50.
Or perhaps No. 001 of 25.
We haven’t decided that part yet.
But her home has already been chosen.
It isn’t really a business decision.
It is simply where the first Nana belongs.
A small way of saying:
She mattered.
Her story mattered.
And we’re still carrying a little piece of her forward.
But Nana Isn’t Only Our Nana
This is the part that perhaps matters most.
Nana may have started with two women from our families.
But I don’t want Nana’s Quest to become a story only about our family.
Because everybody’s relationship with creativity is different.
Some people sat beside their nana learning to crochet.
Some inherited a sewing machine.
Some have a recipe book filled with handwritten notes.
Some had incredibly creative grandparents.
Some never knew theirs.
Some grew up surrounded by craft.
Others were never taught any of it.
And there should still be a doorway for all of them.
You don’t need generations of knowledge behind you to start making something today.
You don’t need to already identify as creative.
You don’t need to know what all the tools are called.
You don’t need to be good at it yet.
You just need somewhere to begin.
We Don’t Know What We Can Make Until We Make It
I didn’t know how to make Nana when I started.
There were moments where I genuinely wasn’t sure she would become the doll I had imagined.
But slowly she changed.
A piece of fabric became a head.
A head became a face.
Then came hair.
Clothes.
Shoes.
Glasses.
Personality.
And eventually you reach this peculiar moment where you look down at something sitting in front of you and realise:
That didn’t exist before.
Now it does.
Because you made it.
That feeling is bigger than dolls.
It might happen when somebody finishes their first granny square.
Paints their first canvas.
Makes their first candle.
Plants their first vegetable garden.
Sews something they can actually wear.
Repairs something instead of throwing it away.
Creates something completely useless but wonderfully beautiful.
That is the feeling I want Nana’s Quest to protect.
The Future of Craft Doesn’t Have to Forget Its Past
Nana’s Quest began as an Australian marketplace for handcrafted goods.
That marketplace still matters enormously.
But I increasingly believe the bigger journey is about what making looks like in the future.
Where can technology help?
Where should it step aside?
How do we preserve traditional knowledge while making craft accessible to people who never had somebody available to teach them?
How do we help more people move from scrolling past creativity to actually participating in it?
I don’t have every answer.
We’re building Nana’s Quest while asking those questions ourselves.
Maybe that’s appropriate.
Because that is exactly how Nana was made.
One question.
One mistake.
One strange solution.
One stitch.
Then another.
Until eventually there she was.
Standing at the doorway.
Waiting for the next person to come inside.
Come in, love.
There’s always room at Nana’s house.
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