In the forests of Madre de Dios, creation begins long before a needle touches fabric or a fiber becomes thread. It begins in the territory: plants growing slowly until they can be harvested and worked, color drawn from bark and seeds, and knowledge passing from hand to hand, from one generation to the next. At the center: the women who steward this territory and carry its wisdom.

For Indigenous women artisans from the Ese Eja and Yine peoples, art is not a separate activity from daily life. It is memory, economy, and identity woven together. Their work—whether in textiles, basketry, bio-jewelry, or garments—draws directly from the forest and, in doing so, reflects a deep understanding of its rhythms and limits.

For many years, however, their creations circulated at local fairs and markets, and eventually at national events. Despite the quality and depth of their work, the women recognized the need to explore new techniques and expand their creative range. They wanted to enter a more dynamic dialogue with contemporary haute couture standards, without losing their own identity.

From this need, a collective proposal was born: to strengthen the technical and creative capacities of Indigenous women dedicated to ancestral arts in Madre de Dios. Through art, fashion, and intercultural collaboration, the initiative seeks to open pathways toward more sustainable, fair, and conscious market opportunities—positioning their work within a competitive and often exclusive fashion industry.

The experience of interlacing ancestral wisdom with contemporary fashion required collaboration amongst many actors. The artisan women from the Asociación de Artesanía Shijoo (Ese Eja community of Infierno), and the Asociación de Artesanos Mashko Yine de Monte Salvado (Yine community of Monte Salvado), haute couture designer Sumy Kujón, artists Nora Carrasco and Marianela Vera,  Raquel Condori from Nature Explorers, and the Wyss Academy for Nature came together to bring this process to life.

Over months of shared work, Indigenous women artisans tried new techniques while building on established practices. Workshops unfolded as conversations. Women experimented with form, texture, and finishing—sometimes reorganizing techniques their ancestors had long practiced, sometimes combining them with new approaches. In basketry and bio-jewelry, fibers such as bombonaje, aguaje, and tamshi were studied closely. Field visits revealed what the forest could still offer—and what needed to be protected. Tamshi, for example, grows only in the shade of large trees and requires years to regenerate, making its careful, minimal use not just a choice, but a responsibility towards the forest.

Design decisions followed ecological logic. When a resource was scarce, alternatives were found. When natural dyes proved fragile, they were thoughtfully blended with more durable ones. Sustainability was not a slogan—it was embedded in every step of making.

In parallel, the Mashko Yine women deepened their training in pattern making, cutting, and sewing, so they could create contemporary garments for new markets, based on their rich hand-painted textiles and loom-woven cloths. Dresses, skirts, jackets, and shirts took on updated silhouettes, while their freehand designs, iconographies that tell stories of territory, animals, and movement, remained untouched, honoring the essence of their ancestral art.

Behind these new forms, the creation process unfolded with care and intention, Measurements were taken carefully, patterns were adjusted repeatedly. Sewing machines shifted from unfamiliar equipment to tools the women used with confidence—expanding both autonomy and creative range. The process respectfully followed the life rhythms of the artisan women, including childcare, harvesting seasons and daily community life.

What changed most was not only what the women made, but how they saw their own work. New finishes allowed pieces to travel further—to fairs in Puerto Maldonado, Lima, and beyond. Collections emerged that could be replicated without losing meaning. Income grew, but so did confidence.

Through dyes, fibers, and symbols, each piece carries a message: the forest is not infinite; knowledge lives in people; women are authors of their art and stewards their territory.

The artisans themselves named this collective journey SHEY: United for Ancestral Art—an acronym honoring the four Indigenous peoples woven into the experience: Shipibo, Harakbut, Ese Eja, and Yine. The name reflects what the process truly was: not a project imposed from outside, but a living collaboration shaped from within.

This process has evidenced that answers can, and should, come from the inside, from the territory. Local spaces are needed to grow by sharing tools and knowledge. Spaces for collaboration, and potential solutions arise naturally from the territory itself, rooted in culture, people and the forest. All of this reflects what we at Wyss Academy stand for.