Alice Patton



Everything about us was identical: the length of our hair, our height, our DNA, our initials and the number of letters in our full names. I was baby A, and she was baby B, so intertwined in the womb that my mother had to have a c-section in order to retrieve us. When we were babies the only defining factor was the raspberry- colored birthmark my sister had in the center of her back, and my parents had to lift up our white dresses and search for it at our baptism to know who was whom. 

We were identical enough to never be called the right name by classmates we’d known since kindergarten, but not enough to win a ribbon at the Twins Days festival in a neighboring town in Ohio. At home, one second we’d be screaming at each other and the next we’d be playing dolls or cats cradle together, happily coexisting in our own world.
As we grew older, I constantly felt a warped, distorted perception of my selfhood, lumped together with her as one entity, one body. Growing up, we shared everything- bedroom, friends, clothing. I was constantly living in the in between, never feeling autonomy with her but never feeling whole without her.

Now, our hair falls at different lengths and we live hundreds of miles away from each other. Sometimes, I feel lost without her to reflect back at me, but other times I feel free of the constraints. This duality perfectly encompasses the experience of being a twin. We’re entwined in some ways and divided in others, but no matter what, our identities are inseparable.


I’m a sister, a maker, a writer, an artist, and a collector; of objects, moments, and memories.

I was born and raised outside of Cleveland, Ohio and am deeply inspired by my childhood growing up in the Midwest. I spend a lot of time observing and recording things around me, and this note-taking feeds my process. I am fascinated with the imperfections and grittiness of the world and often draw inspiration from things that others may view as mundane, imperfect, and even perverse. I believe everyone and everything has a unique story to tell, and we are all connected through them. My creative practice is rooted in using found materials around me to create prototypes and even final garments. I work from secondhand and found materials which I then create a new life for, while honoring the previous life woven into the textile.

I create narratives behind my concepts which guide my making, and I often push my design work outside of the typical bounds of the practice and into performance or fine art. I love to collaborate with others and blur the line between audience and artist.