ArtisansQuill was born on a Friday morning, foster child of a fist in the face of perfectionism, capitalism, and silence. Silence is not always golden, remember that. Sometimes, it must be answered with a stylised fist in the face.

It is a sanctuary for the ones who write to endure, to feel, and to remember. It is a space for those whose songs have been stalled, stifled, or stolen, wherever they may be, whatever they may be doing, whether running the till, wielding markers, carrying files.

The name ArtisansQuill holds meaning in two directions. First, it honours those who treat language as craft. They approach writing like a seasoned wristwatch repairer, with reverential, intuitive knowledge of the smallest moving part. ArtisansQuill honours them and those who, not writers themselves, delight in craftsmanship.

It also honours those who have been trapped by capitalism, by shame, by the myth of flawlessness, by all forms of blocks. These are those whose words dried up under the glare of deadlines or despair. To them, we show up, like a prospector, nudging, badgering, holding space. We stand as midwives and witnesses to words returning clear as spring water. We stand witnesses to them resurrecting, reclaiming, and re-loving their words and the worlds inside them.