The studio that wants you to take the scenic route

Studio Skai didn’t begin as a studio at all. It began as a homecoming and quiet walks through the woods. Founded by a creator whose own healing started in the quiet moors of the Peak District, Studio Skai grew from moments of solitude and spiritual reflection into a practice that blends model making, folklore, and a whimsical creativity. 

Through intricate paper landscapes and reimagined myths, the studio honours overlooked stories, of land, species, and ancestral memory, while inviting others to rediscover their own roots. 

In this conversation, we explore the origins of Studio Skai, its evolving mission, and the deeply interwoven relationship between land and storytelling. Here is our conversation with the founder, Joe:

What inspired the creation of Studio Skai, and how did your own personal journey lead you to this point?

Studio Skai is a project that has been evolving for many years now because it is deeply tied to my personal journey. I dropped out of university back in 2017 after suffering a nervous breakdown and returned to my home in the Peak District. It is here where I ‘rediscovered’ this landscape in a new light.

The landscape began to help with my healing as I spent many months of solitude in the woods and on the moors exploring various spiritual practices and healing methods.

Out of respect for what the landscape was offering him mentally and physically, Joe drew a topographic map of Stanage Edge, which overlooks the village of Hathersage. This map turned into a “fingerprint” of home, a therapeutic gesture that brought peace through its contours. 

This map was later screen-printed onto a t-shirt, unintentionally sparking a small business called District. As the business grew, two friends joined the venture, and District expanded into garments and accessories. However, the project began to drift from its original intention. The business became a way for Joe to hide within a new sense of purpose: an attempt to validate his decision to leave university. But as the direction shifted, so did his mental wellbeing, and his anxiety started to resurface.

Joe continues:

It is here where I believe Studio Skai began - a seminal moment in both my healing journey and art career. I was developing a packaging concept for District where, once folded, the parcel would resemble the hills of the Peak District. The concept failed but out of this emerged an art form that captivated me.

The process of scoring and folding native hills out of paper was a sensory experience which calmed me and offered a space to reflect on the landscape that I had been brought up with (which now acted as my therapist). Not only was it good for my mental health, the visual output was also interesting and I knew that something new was emerging from District’s ashes.

I continued to create more landscapes and my process developed. I created a social media page called Paper Skies which then evolved into Skai Prints. I didn’t just want to limit myself to art prints and so Studio Skai was born - a space where I could explore my connection to the Peak District and its stories using various model making methods. Allowing this space to change to accommodate this was a great move in hindsight.

And so, people who discover my page now might not necessarily see this development but my healing and reconnection is deeply ingrained in my work.

Why was the Peak District such an important landscape for you to root this project in? What does it represent for you personally and creatively?

The Peak District is and always will be my home. I’m deeply grateful for that and my work is me paying that privilege back in some way.

I was brought up in the village of Hathersage in the Hope Valley. The entire landscape holds childhood memories, friendships, moments of reflection and introspection and grief and loss. I realised that on my return to this landscape, that natural spaces have the capacity to hold someone and their thoughts; its healing powers are immense.

Not only does it hold personal memories, but I also began to connect with my heritage within this landscape. I began to ask why here? Why was I brought up in this space in particular? I started to reach out to my family and ask questions about their own narratives and their parents’. I was, in a sense, finding these roots that I instinctively knew were below my feet.

There’s also an element of wanting to produce the highest quality representation of what the fabric of the Peak District is to a native - something that isn’t the touristy stuff. 

You work with such delicate, hands-on techniques. How do these slow, tactile processes help shape your relationship with the stories you’re telling?

My interest in model making begins with my paper landscapes and the tactility of that method in helping with my mental wellbeing. This slower approach to creation has transferred to other types of models. Patience is a key thing that features in my personal journey - I did not seek a therapist initially and didn’t use medication and in turn chose to discover my own healing within nature which naturally took a longer time (something I called ‘the scenic route’) and so I’ve learned to be patient. I guess this is mirrored in my physical art practice.

I appreciate that you can see the tears in the paper or the imperfections of a hand-made model. It’s my version of seeing a painter’s brush strokes. There is a story within a hand-made model whether explicit or not. It has a timeline.

Joe realised that his interest in recreating nature was shaped by his experiences with anxiety and depression; making miniature versions of vast landscapes gave him a sense of control when he felt powerless. Over time, this practice deepened his connection to the natural world—he began noticing form, colour, and detail in ways he hadn’t before. And this goes for the characters and stories he shares, too.

The stories you tell through Studio Skai often centre overlooked characters, half-forgotten ghosts and creatures. Why are those characters so important to you?

I’m really interested in giving a voice to ghosts, soon-to-be-ghosts and also those who can’t speak for themselves in a language that we can understand. This applies to animals, plants and places. 

There are birds we’ll never hear, places we’ll never see and people we’ll never meet and we can’t do too much about this, but we can make an effort to preserve what is still around that is at risk of fading away. Once it's gone it is gone and that is all too present with folkloric accounts.

I’m interested in personifying hedgerow species. Writing from the perspective of a tree. Exploring the psyche of a landscape. Wondering what world our ancestors lived in. But I’m also interested in our slow and steady path towards becoming ghosts ourselves - what will our stories be?

Are there any local folk stories or characters from the Peak District that particularly resonate with you, or that have shaped the tone of Studio Skai?

I think it would have to be Tip’s Ghost. In 1953, a shepherd called Joseph Tagg was out bringing his flock to safety as a harsh snowstorm was arriving in the Derwent Valley. He set off from his home in Yorkshire Bridge (just before Ladybower reservoir) and headed for Ronksley Moor. He had his trusted sheepdog, Tip, by his side as they left that day though Joe would never return.

In March, when the snows had thawed, two waterboard workman called Samuel Bingham and Joseph Shepherd discovered Joe’s body on the moor but they were shocked to find that Tip was still alive by his side. She had been up there on the moor in one of the worst winters for 15-weeks.

Tip was brought back down to the village and she lived for another year until she died peacefully.

Nobody knows what happened up there on the moor. How she survived. It’s a relatively modern folktale and yet it highlights the ancient magic of this landscape.

Joe Tagg was my grandad’s next door neighbour so I’d like to think that he would have stroked the legend that was Tip. For me it is a folktale that is simple and yet entirely mystical and one that I have a family link with which only makes it more special.

There is a belief that folk stories are old and ancient and of a world far away from ours but that is far from true. Folklore is a response to the world around us. Folktales are modern and reflect on current issues of the time.

There are 17th-century stories that will likely comment on what is going on in our lives right now - if you know where to look. Ogres, devils and dragons still exist in our society, they just wear suits…

Joe values both preserving Peak District folktales and creating new ones, seeing the process as rewarding and beneficial for his mental health. For him, folk writing is a thoughtful, personal act that invites creativity and care.

Can you share how this can be done?

In ‘The Procession’, I explored the 19th-century tale attributed with the Nine Ladies stone circle, Stanton Moor, and wondered where this fairly modern tale might have come from (before Christianity arrived). I created a new narrative told from the perspectives of nine tree species gathering on the moor. The procession was actually a funeral held for the ash tree (the narrator) who we learn is the last of its species due to ash dieback disease. What begins as a proto-Celtic tale, ends as a futuristic outlook of what’s to come.

‘Man of Moss’ was a model I created using balsa wood and modelling paste, but after posting it on social media people began to ask where they could go and visit this landmark: this was when I realised that myths could be created in this modern, digital age.

‘The Proprietor’ was inspired by the discovery of a photograph of a shopkeeper from the village of Ashopton (which was flooded in the 1950s to create the Derwent Valley reservoirs). It’s a tale that explores this forgotten community that now sits at the bottom of the waters. It’s a tale about anxiety and the transition from the ‘old world’ to modernity. It also explores this idea of a ghost’s story which is reflected in the looping nature of the story’s structure.

In Book One, I created a map of Hathersage but using my Gran’s memory of the village when she was around 20 years old (she died at 97). It’s a world that no longer exists (a community) and also a resource that can’t be googled. 

I explore landscapes and voices that have become ghosts, I explore my own personal heritage and the stories within my family.

I want to inspire people to find the stories within their own lives and families because they’re the most important and also a finite resource. 

Studio Skai feels like more than just an art practice, it almost feels like a gentle form of activism. What do you hope people take away from your work?

I think there’s room for us to invite play back into our adult lives. To invoke the inner child, heal them and allow them to guide us in ways in which we’ve forgotten to see through.

It’s really easy to be sucked into the doom and gloom with regards to nature protection and the vast changes that we are witnessing - and that is important to recognise, but activism and care can have an element of fun and play and creativity. We’re deeply disconnected with nature right now and that has to change and playful art and writing is a way in.

I’d like to inspire people to write and explore their own stories centred in their locality and heritage. I’ve learned that you really don’t need to be a skilled writer to create something compelling - what is required is a passion and understanding of the world around you: if you described a walk alongside a hedgerow and you used the vocabulary of the hedgerow and use the right punctuation, then you can very easily create a beautiful piece of prose. It’s all there, it just needs that reconnection and interest.

Tell us a bit about the prints and publications you offer, what goes into making one?

I started off creating prints at the very start of my art career but I’ve not released any in about 3/4 years. I think that will change after this conversation.

My books are my latest offering and they are a true labour of love. Book One is my first child and Book Two is my favourite child (but I’m expecting another sometime next year…)

Book One took 664 days to create from conception to release day and it was a process of collecting pockets of writing that were in my notebooks, researching existing folktales and creating visuals to accompany these stories. What I love about this process is that I can sometimes capture 500-words in one image. There seems to be a relationship between word and image with my books. I wanted to create a picture book for adults (although they appeal to anyone) - they’re designed to invoke that inner child.

Book Two took me a year. It was great going into the creation of this with an idea of what the process required of me. What I’m most proud of is that there seems to be a distinct character to Folks (and I don’t really know what that is - people describe my books better than I do) - but that makes me realise that whatever you do, when it comes from a place of genuine authenticity and informed by your experiences, your voice comes through whether you like it or not.

Joe is currently working on a secret exhibition piece and hopes to launch his first solo show next year, marking the journey of Studio Skai so far. He’s also exploring talks and performances; challenges that push him out of his comfort zone and fuel personal growth. 

Looking ahead, he plans to write Book Three and is gathering voices from Sheffield for a new publication celebrating its folk culture. Trusting his intuition, Joe continues to create primarily for himself while finding gratitude in sharing his work with a growing, supportive community—opening the door to exciting new collaborations after seven years of working solo.

Knowing what you’re working on in the near future, it feels right to ask what success looks like for you?

Dreaming up something that feels out of reach and then realising years later that I’m actually doing it or have achieved it - only to start that cycle all over again. Success is about loving what I do and hopefully inspiring others along the way.

I told myself when I started all of this that ‘this thing will take 10-years to figure out’ and now that I’m nearing this marker, I get it. Success is patience, sticking with it and trusting the process. Knowing what you’re doing even if other people don’t see it yet. It’s also about being ready when opportunities pop up, having all of those skills in your toolkit.

I’ve started to view my life as a story and to celebrate all of its weird turns, detours and little victories. I just try and improve ever so slightly everyday and also create things that didn’t exist the day before. I don’t know what’s around the corner and I love it.

Something ‘higher’ is in charge. I just turn up and do the work. Overworked and underpaid as ever.

Studio Skai reminds us that art can be a form of care. Almost like a quiet resistance against disconnection and forgetfulness.. Rooted in the Peak District, this project honours the land and its layered histories while forging new ones. Whether through miniature landscapes, mythic tales, or handmade books, Studio Skai’s work is an invitation to slow down, pay attention, and rediscover the sacred in the local. At its heart, it’s a story of healing through creation—of turning personal struggle into something tender, textured, and enduring.

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