Each Otea collection arrives the way she does: by feel.
The collections are shaped by her world - drawn from different people, chapters, and encounters.
With every collection, we are introduced to new people in her story, and in Cara’s. A hand extended across a table. A presence that shifts the atmosphere. The collections don’t explain themselves. They reveal. Each expands Otea’s world, widening the circle of lives, loves, and longings that move through it.
Together, they form a living narrative, unfolding collection by collection, person by person, and inviting us back to see who has arrived, and who we’ve become in the meeting.
Otea emerges from the longing of late afternoon. There is a sultry stillness in this amber space. The hour of miele. Honey.
The story starts with the longing. And with letting ourselves get led by our longing. It is a small, secreted possession passed hand to hand—a matchbook, a cocktail napkin, a seaside postcard.
We relish our readiness for this rendezvous. An inhaled might-be of evening enjoyment that feels already here and already ours.
We land inside the story—we are already at the table. With her. Aperitivi and fritto misto are before us. Citrus zest. Salt crystal. Sea fruit. A sip of Vermentino.
There is no “coming to” Otea’s world. There is no stretching or striving. We were born into the warmth of its sensorial surround sound. We were made to be with her.
Otea takes her place at the table. It is the rhythm of return. She finds her way by feel. And she calls us back.
She exists on the edge of leaving. She is just ahead.
And we’ll follow her anywhere.
