With EDIT: Stories, SILCO HAUS sits with makers whose practice runs on its own terms — where the work isn't explained, it's made. Sean runs Shhorn, an atelier in Redfern, Sydney. He's been making his whole life, and building the brand for eleven years. This is a conversation about what that looks like.
Shhorn studio, Redfern © SILCO HAUS
Nothing fully painted
In Sean's studio in Redfern, there are pattern sheets and drawings everywhere. On shelves, in stacks, pinned to walls. He has not thrown away a single one since 2015. They are not finished ones. They are questions — asked with a pencil, answered slowly over years.
Sean does not begin with a plan. He sits down and draws, and the drawing becomes the thinking. A line suggests a curve. The curve suggests a pocket. The pocket asks what happens if it wraps around the corner instead of sitting flat.
"Nothing's fully painted in my head until we're making it. Don't just picture it. Let it go and use the time to discover."
Pattern for the round pocket © SILCO HAUS
He came to garment-making through architecture — years of training the hand to think in structure and proportion. But he never formally learned how to construct a garment. He learned by making, and making again.
"I had to learn from scratch. People who are trained think about what technique to use, but because I wasn't, I discovered a lot of things I wouldn't have otherwise."
Sean in conversation © SILCO HAUS
Nothing is ever finished. The same shape reappears in a different material, a different season. A jacket from last year resurfaces in blue. Same pockets, same proportions, completely different feeling.
"There's no pressure for something to be the end. You just keep building and building."
Patterns since 2015 — none thrown away © SILCO HAUS
By his own hand
Sean's father was a metal worker. He did everything himself — built things, fixed things, never sent anything out. Sean grew up watching that. And something about it never left.
Brass buttons, four hours in vinegar and sun © SILCO HAUS
It shows in everything at Shhorn. The brass buttons are aged by hand, placed in a jar of vinegar and salt, sealed, left in the sun for hours. The brass oxidises slowly, bright yellow darkening into an uneven patina. A vapour chamber made from a glass jar and daylight.
When a customer mentioned the button edges felt sharp, Sean noticed the thread catching on the hole. He bought a tumbler, learned it, fixed it himself. He could send it out. He does not want to.
"I could go to someone and say, make this for me. But I really want to know how to do it."
Woven label tests — light on dark, dark on light © SILCO HAUS
The woven labels took six months. A light logo on dark fabric, a dark logo on light fabric — each combination tested and retested. The first version, the contrast was off. The second, the shade ran too cool. The third landed.
"The most valuable thing is observation. You just have to try and see. Never make assumptions."
It is not perfectionism. It is the belief that every detail is worth understanding — and that the only way to understand it is to do it yourself.
Sean at the pressing station © SILCO HAUS
The oval
One shape runs through everything Sean makes. It is in the buttons. In the curve of a neckline. He made an oval table — the same form carried from a garment detail to a piece of furniture.
The oval is not decorative. It is the shape Sean returns to because it holds a tension that a circle does not — stretched, directional, never quite at rest.
"The circle is a bit of a cop-out. The oval makes it feel much more elegant."
Oval table by Sean © SILCO HAUS
He carries it across every scale. A pocket curves where you expect it to corner. A button feels different in the hand because its edge is not round — it is oval. The table echoes the same logic. One shape, committed to completely.
It is the kind of detail that cannot be borrowed. The kind that accumulates across a body of work until it becomes unmistakably one person's.
Oval brass buttons © SILCO HAUS
Detail — oval button on garment © SILCO HAUS
Neutral, until the colour arrives
Most of the time, Shhorn is quiet. Neutrals. Blacks. Greys that shift depending on where you stand and what light is in the room.
From Peter Zumthor's Therme Vals © SILCO HAUS
Sean keeps a book by Peter Zumthor close to the studio. The Swiss architect builds entire spaces in raw stone and concrete — materials that absorb light and recede — and then places a single, concentrated colour inside. Blue glass in a grey bathhouse. A deep pigment against bare plaster. The colour is not a feature. It is an event.
"Everything is neutral, sort of rustic, and then you have the colour just coming out. Peeking through."
Red — AW26 collection © SILCO HAUS
AW26 in red © SILCO HAUS
Sean applies the same logic. For AW26, the colour was red — fierce, unambiguous, impossible to miss against the rest of the range. The next collection, it is blue. Not a retreating blue. Something closer to deep water.
"If I'm going to use colour, it needs intensity. It's got to be completely neutral, or really strong."
This is what drew SILCO HAUS to Sean's work — the discipline of holding colour back until it earns its entrance. Restraint first. Then the colour arrives, and you feel it.
Blue — upcoming collection © SILCO HAUS
After hours
Sean has three lamps in the studio. Which one is on depends on where in the room the work is happening. The overhead fluorescents never come on.
Pressing, after hours © SILCO HAUS
During the day, he works under natural light as much as he can — it is the only light he trusts to show fabric and colour as they really are. But when the sun goes down, the studio doesn't get brighter. It gets smaller. Just the glow of whichever lamp is closest to the work.
"I keep the minimum amount of light on. Too much and it changes everything."
Noka on the workbench © SILCO HAUS
He keeps his Noka close by. It moves with him — from the cutting table to the sewing station to the desk, wherever the work is that night.
"The red light has been my favourite so far. It really helps hone into the space when there's no other light around."
Noka in red © SILCO HAUS
Still discovering
For a long time, Shhorn existed almost entirely inside the studio. Sean making, fitting, testing. The work going out slowly, finding its people one by one.
Then it began to travel. A store in Seoul discovered the brand through Instagram. Paris followed. More stockists reached out. None of it was planned.
"I just wanted to make what I wanted to make. It's not for one person. Anyone can wear it."
AW26 Pop-up at BTWLNS © SILCO HAUS
Recently, Sean has been stepping out more — showing the work in pop-ups, putting it in rooms where people can touch it, try it on, talk to him directly.
When people ask what keeps him in Australia — so far from the fashion capitals — the answer is always the same.
"I love how it's so far away. I can lock myself away from everyone else's chatter and just sit here and make."
Measuring for a custom order © SILCO HAUS
But the people who find him come ready to stay a while. Sean measures them himself. They talk while he fits. Sometimes wine. Sometimes dinner after. He remembers every one.
"Everyone who buys it really cares. They don't only buy clothes here, its and entire world and experience to fall in love with"
Sean in the studio © SILCO HAUS
Eleven years in, nothing is finished. The shapes keep returning — in different fabrics, different seasons, different hands. The oval pocket from last year is already this year's coat. The red is becoming blue.
There is no end. Just the next version. Just more making.
Shhorn at BTWLNS © SILCO HAUS
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Sean is the founder of Shhorn, an atelier based in Redfern, Sydney. Find his work at @ateliershhorn on Instagram and www.shhorn.com.
What does he listen to while the patterns stack up? His studio tune is coming soon on @studio.silco.
