I plucked petals off purple chrysanthemums and pale blue hydrangeas, laying them in neat rows across a sheet of white silk at a recent natural dye workshop from the Flower Shop Collective at Harana Market in Accord. The colors had a playful, tropical feel, but the garment needed a bit more contrast. So I added dried marigolds and a dusting of annatto seeds for warmth, then folded and twisted the bundle like a cinnamon roll before steaming it.
A half hour later, I untwisted the warm textile dumpling and gave the silk a shake to release the petals, revealing a one-of-a-kind summer scarf. Petal-shaped splotches of gold, orange, and deep purple bloomed in abstract stripes across the fabric, almost like a botanical Rorschach test. It felt like alchemy and gave me a new appreciation for the artistic potential of the plants in my own backyard.
Understanding the botanical dye movement
I’m far from the only one seeing nature as a source for color. While natural dyeing is an ancient practice with roots in cultures around the world, it’s seeing a major resurgence right now. Scroll through TikTok or Instagram and you’ll find countless tutorials on turning onion skins, marigolds, or avocado pits into vibrant dyes.
This visually satisfying medium is social media gold, but that’s just the beginning of why natural dyes are making a major comeback right now. The revival is also part of a growing interest in sustainable fashion and finding alternatives to cheap, disposable clothes that end up in the landfill.
“The fast fashion industry is one of the biggest polluters of this planet and responsible for high rates of exploitative labor,” says Sarah Gotowka, owner and director of Luna Fiber Studio, which offers natural dye classes in and around Trumansburg, N.Y., and aims to elevate the voices of historically marginalized people. “Getting closer to making your own cloth is a way of not buying into that lifestyle anymore.”
Learning how to dye with natural materials gives people the opportunity to breathe new life into an old garment — either one in the back of their closet or something sourced secondhand.
“Using plants to dye clothing so you won’t buy something new is a rebellion against consumerism,” says Hannah Ross, founder of Hanoux, a Hudson-based studio that creates naturally dyed textiles and runs a community dye bath.
Beyond sustainability and a pushback against throwaway culture, natural dyeing also offers a way to reconnect with those around us. “People have been natural dyeing and weaving for a long time, and they didn’t do it in isolation. They did it in groups with their family members, friends, and community,” explains Gotowka.
That desire to connect extends to nature, too. For many artists working in this medium, dyeing is about building a relationship with the plants and seasons that make it possible. Gotowka says she has a “relationship to everything” she uses — from the cosmos and pincushions she grows on her dye farm to the cochineal bugs cultivated by an instructor at her studio. The insects create red and purple dyes.
“There’s a strong desire to work with things that are homegrown and I think people want to explore it more,” adds Michelle Moore, a botanical artist from Kingston and instructor at SUNY Ulster’s fine arts department. “Natural dyeing is a way to find uses for plants we have in abundance.”
Natural dyes bloom in the Hudson Valley
In rural, farm-rich corners of upstate New York, natural dyeing is having a moment — and artists like Moore have played a part in putting it on the map. She has collaborated with Free People to design garments dyed with Hudson Valley-grown florals and has a forthcoming book, “Hammered Flowers,” that will provide tutorials on a natural dye technique that involves pounding flowers and leaves onto fabric to create wearable art.
“I want to inspire others to try something different and reinvent what they already have,” says Moore.
But while natural dyes have gained mainstream attention, the process itself doesn’t work well on a large commercial scale. Each piece requires time, care, and close collaboration with the seasons, and it’s impossible to get consistent results from garment to garment. That’s part of what makes it such a natural fit for the culture and creative spirit of the Hudson Valley, says Ross.
“It really only works for independent artists, small-scale design houses — and that’s what upstate New York is really made out of,” she says.
