Sacred Threads: My Ritual Clothing Practice & a Conversation with Onsitsa’s Elena Tash
Personal practice, historical context, an interview about the magic of working with traditional clothes
The gateway into my spiritual voice—into intuition, clarity, and power—always begins with the space I create around me. Sometimes that means choosing a specific time of day to practice. Sometimes it’s about the sounds, the smells, the rhythm of the body. A short walk, a stretch, even a burst of exercise can help clear the mind and drop me deeper into myself. But one of the most grounding, undeniable ways I cement intention is through clothing—specifically, my traditional garments.
When I put on my Рубаха, it’s more than just an outfit. It’s a signal to my household members (human or otherwise): “Mama means business. Do not disturb.” Over the past six years, I’ve gathered a small but powerful collection of traditional pieces made from reclaimed antique garments sourced from Russian villages. These clothes have become part of my magical process, and most of them were made by Elena from the brand Onsitsa. Each time I wear one of her creations, I feel the presence of the women who came before me—their grief and grit, their laughter and labor. I hear the echo of songs half-whispered while sewing. I feel the stitching of generations holding me in place. The most accurate workings and readings I’ve ever had were done while wearing my traditional clothes. They don’t just clothe me—they open the door into the past, into the energetic field of my Ancestors.
My first ever magical garment was this Red Rubaha, which you see in the photo above. This specific design is typical for Kursk region in the beginning of the 20th century. It is made out of antique hand-spun Nettle, and if you’ve read anything on my Substack at all, you know the reverence I have for this plant. The combination of the red color and Nettle thread imbues this rubaha with an incredible protective power. She is always my go-to when I engage with my practice, go out to procure some tools for a working, or give a public talk.
In Eastern European traditions, especially across Slavic lands, clothing and fiber arts were never merely practical—they were sacred. Every thread spun, every pattern embroidered, carried memory, magic, and meaning. At the center of this ancestral loom stood Makosh (Mokosh), the Great Mother, goddess of fate, fertility, and weaving. She was the spinner of destinies, the protector of women’s work, and the keeper of household abundance.
To weave was not just to make cloth—it was to take part in shaping the world. For young girls, learning to spin and weave wasn’t a hobby; it was a rite of passage, an initiation into womanhood and power. And with that skill came autonomy. Women in many rural Slavic communities owned the threads, the garments, and the income from their craft—a rare and profound form of economic agency in a patriarchal world. A dowry wasn’t just wealth—it was a map of a woman’s hands, dreams, and social power. Clothing was layered with symbolism: geometric motifs for protection, colors aligned with seasons and rites, and stitches meant to bind blessing into the seams. To dress yourself in handmade cloth was to wear a piece of the world you had spun into being.
Including traditional clothing hasn’t just deepened my magical practice—it has transformed it. These garments aren’t costumes or props but containers for generational wisdom. Understanding the historical and spiritual significance of fiber, especially for women in Eastern Europe, has carried me through some of the most tender and powerful seasons of my life—especially pregnancy and early motherhood. To dress in these Rubahas, to wrap myself in Nettle stitched with ancestral echoes, is to feel held by generations of women who knew the weight of care and the sacredness of labor. I hope, one day, to pass these pieces on to my daughter—if she feels drawn to them, if she senses their value. They are part of a lineage of protection, dignity, and everyday magic. And that is something I want her to inherit.
Interview with Elena Tash, founder and creator of Onsitsa
Every once in a while, you find an artist whose work doesn’t just speak to you—it becomes part of your practice, your rituals, your sense of self. For me, Elena Tash is that kind of artist. The founder of Onsitsa, a brand that reimagines traditional Russian clothing with spell-like intimacy, Elena creates garments that feel like portals into the world of magic. I reached out to Elena not just as a fan, but as a fellow traveler on the path of remembrance, magic, and resistance.
Elena Tash is the designer behind Onsitsa, a slow-fashion brand that stitches ancestral memory into every seam. Her journey began in Moscow, where she studied at the Stroganov Academy of Art and Design and first worked as a book illustrator. But it was a transformative trip to the Altai Mountains that shifted her path toward clothing—a calling that led her to learn pattern-making, listen deeply to materials, and build a practice shaped by intuition, ritual, and soul. Now based in Istanbul, Elena continues to make garments that carry quiet power.
Onsitsa’s pieces are not just clothes—they’re acts of devotion. Made from vintage and antique textiles, many over a century old, each garment draws on folk shapes like the рубаха or понёва and translates them for today’s world. The brand name comes from an Old Russian word meaning “someone,” a nod to its essence: to wear Onsitsa is to step into becoming, into connection, into lineage.
Your pieces often feel like portals—every time I wear one of your shirts, I feel the true strength and magic of previous generations. In your view, what does a person step into when they put on Oonsitsa clothing? Memory, a spell, a story?
In every item I create, I place a kind of spell—you could also call it a prayer—about the person, their fate, their daily life, their connection to the past, the present, and the future. From the very beginning of the process—the patterns—all the way to the final moment of packaging, I remain in a kind of inner meditation. It’s a state of concentration on the moment, but not of holding it—rather, of letting it pass through me. I call this divine energy—flowing through me, through the body, through the hands.
In the case of antique shirts, the power of other people joins that meditation, so the attention and presence of several generations become united in a single piece.
Many people who wear my clothing tell me they feel something similar, and I’m glad that it’s truly felt.
Original answer in Russian: В каждый предмет, который я создаю, я закладываю определенное заклинание - это можно назвать также молитвой - о человеке, о его судьбе, повседневной жизни, связи с его прошлым, настоящим и будущим. От начала создания до последней точки - запаковывания предмета - я остаюсь в некоей своей внутренней медитации, концентрации на моменте, но не удержании его, а пропускания - я называю это божественной энергией - через себя, через тело, руки.
В случае со старинными рубахами к этой медитации присоединяется сила других людей - и выходит, что внимание нескольких поколений соединяется в одном предмете.
Многие, кто носит мою одежду. говорят мне, что ощущают похожие ощущения, так что я рада, что это действительно чувствуется.
For me, your clothing is part of my magic and rituals—I physically can’t practice without my shirts. Do you have any personal rituals when sewing or designing? Maybe you light a candle, listen to music, say a prayer, or enter a particular state?
Before beginning any design or hand-sewing, I wash my hands and face with cold water up to the elbows. This simple ritual clears away the ‘heaviness’ that might have accumulated throughout the day or night, and it helps me gently enter the process I need to be in.
If I put on music, I usually choose mantras (I’ve got a whole collection, but I especially love Craig Pruess), classical music (like Stravinsky), or folk music (like Dakha Brakha).
It’s also important for me to touch the material—give it my full attention, feel the seams, the fabric, to ‘remember’ it again, to return to the point in the process where I left off and continue from there.
Original answer in Russian: Перед созданием дизайна или шитьём руками - я хорошо вымываю холодной водой руки до локтя и лицо. Этот простой ритуал очищает всё “тяжелое” накопленное за день или ночь, и так я легко вхожу в нужные мне процессы.
Если я включаю музыку, то чаще всего выбираю мантры (у меня целая коллекция, но очень люблю Craig Pruess), классическую музыку (например, Стравинского), народную музыку (например, Dakha Brakha).
Ещё для меня важно потрогать материал предмета - дать ему внимание, швам, ткани, “вспомнить” обратно, вернуться в точку процесса и продолжить его.
In my own practice, the phases of the Moon often guide my actions and energy. Do you ever find yourself led by intuition, dreams, or signs when creating a piece?
I can definitely say I’m a very intuitive person—I quite literally feel in my body how something needs to be sewn, which fabrics should be combined, in order for the piece to become what it’s meant to be. Among my designer friends, we jokingly call this ‘holistic design,’ haha.
As for dreams—I see a lot of them. And sometimes, I encounter signs that make their way into my collections. For instance, in collection 024, you can find small equilateral crosses. They practically begged to be included—I dreamt of them many times in different forms. And once I researched their possible meanings, found my own associations, and finally laid them onto the fabric—the dreams stopped. And the garments took on a sacred meaning.
Original answer in Russian: Могу сказать, что я очень интуитивный человек, я буквально чувствую телом как именно нужно сшить и какие ткани соединить между собой, чтобы получился тот самый предмет, который должен был получится. Между моими друзьями-дизайнерами мы называем это холистический дизайн хаха.
Что касается снов - их я вижу много и периодически встречаю разные знаки и вытаскиваю в коллекции. Например, в коллекции 024 можно встретить равносторонние небольшие кресты. Вот они, буквально, просились быть включенными в вещи, снились мне много раз в разных итерациях. И когда я изучила, что они могут значить, нашла свои ассоциации и положила эти кресты на ткань - сны закончились, а вещи приобрели сакральный смысл.
What’s the most magical or unexpected moment that’s happened to you while sourcing materials?
One of the most magical moments happened to me in India, when I went to a huge market in search of beads to use as fasteners for shirts. I wandered around for a long time but couldn’t find anything—and I was honestly on the verge of giving up. But something told me to keep looking, just a little longer.
At one point, I was standing at a stall, looking over some beads that weren’t even close to what I needed—and suddenly, I spotted one. It was exactly what I’d been searching for. I showed it to the seller, and without saying a word, he looked at me, reached under the counter, and pulled out a large, antique, deep dish filled with hundreds of similar beads.
It felt like a confirmation of intuition—and like the childhood joy of discovering buried treasure.
Original answer in Russian: Один из самых классных моментов случился со мной в Индии, когда я пришла на огромный рынок искать бусины для застёжек на рубашки. Я очень долго ходила по рынку, но ничего не находила, уже буквально отчаялась, но как будто бы чувствовала, что надо ещё немного поискать. И в какой-то момент, у прилавка, я стою разглядываю совсем неподходящие мне бусины и вижу одну - вот прям как я искала - показываю её продавцу - он смотрит на меня и, без слов, достает из-под прилавка огромное старинное глубокое блюдо, наполненное сотнями разных похожих бусин.
Это ощущалось как подтверждение интуиции и детский восторг нахождения сокровищ :)
In an era of fast fashion and constant novelty, returning to slowness and meticulous handwork can feel like an act of “fighting the dark.” Do you feel your work is part of that resistance?
I used to spend part of my energy on that kind of fight—but I’ve come to realize that fighting is a misdirection of energy. So I stopped. I understood that my true responsibility is to create and share as much as I can of what might help another person—others—feel a connection to something greater, more joyful, more meaningful than just consumption.
To show that there is an alternative path—a different way of paying attention to one’s body and one’s thinking. And to support those who already feel and live this way. For me, that’s where the real strength lies—in connection. And that connection feels more important than resisting anything.
Original answer in Russian: Раньше я тратила часть своей энергии на эту борьбу, но нашла свой ответ, что борьба - это трата энергии не туда, куда её стоит прилагать. И перестала это делать. Поняла, что моя ответственность - это как можно больше создать и показать того, что может привести другого человека, людей, к ощущению связи с чем-то большим, счастливым, важным, чем просто потребление. Показать, что существует альтернативный путь внимания к своему телу и мышлению. И поддержать тех, кто уже так думает и ощущает. В этом для меня хранится большая сила соединения с другими, и она как будто бы более важна, чем сопротивление чему-либо.
You’ve said that clothing can give people strength. What kind of strength have you needed most recently—and has it found its way into your new pieces?
The past two years have been deeply challenging for me, spiritually. I went through a major transformation of self—brought on by the loss of constant physical connection to my home and several people who were close to me (they’re okay—it wasn’t about health or harm).
As I began building new bonds—with the place I now live (Istanbul didn’t open its arms to me right away, but eventually we became friends), and with new ‘my people’ (a reminder to myself and to you that there are wonderful people everywhere, always)—I found myself needing inner calm more than anything. Trust in the world. A belief that nothing is ever truly broken or disconnected, that everything is still linked.
That search for faith and unity deeply shaped Oonsitsa’s recent work. I started experimenting more with fabrics, inventing new details for garments—and, most meaningfully for me, combining textiles from different countries. That act, in itself, became a kind of manifesto—an embodiment of the inner strength I’ve found.
Original Answer in Russian: Последние два года были для меня очень сложными духовно - я прошла через сильную трансформацию личности через потерю постоянной физической связи с моим домом и несколькими людьми, которые были близки мне (с людьми всё впорядке). В процессе выстраивания новых связей с местом, где я живу (Стамбул не так легко меня подпустил к себе, но в итоге мы подружились), с новыми “своими” людьми (напоминаю себе и вам, что везде и всегда есть много замечательных людей) мне особенно нужна была сила внутреннего спокойствия и доверия миру, вера в то, что ничто не обрывается и всё соединено.
Этот поиск веры и единения сильно повлиял на вещи Onsitsa - я стала больше экспериментировать с тканями, придумывать новые детали для предметов, и, что очень важно - соединять ткани из разных стран между собой. Для меня это буквально является манифестом найденных внутренних сил.
Which character from a Russian fairytale feels closest to your spirit right now? Has that changed over the years?
I think my favorite fairytale character has always been the Silver Hoof (Serebryanoe Kopytse). It always reminds me—wherever I am—to simply be myself, and to scatter precious gems, just because I can.
*[Serebryanoe Kopytse / The Silver Hoof] is a character from a Russian fairytale written by Pavel Bazhov. The story tells of a magical deer with a silver hoof that, wherever it steps, leaves behind precious gemstones. It’s a tale about wonder, generosity, and the quiet magic that lives in the everyday.*
Original answer in Russian: Наверно, самый любимый мой персонаж из сказок - это Серебряное копытце. Напоминает мне всегда и везде про “будь собой и сей драгоценные камни, потому что можешь”.
If you could dress one woman from the past—real or mythical—in Onsitsa, who would you choose?
I can’t choose just one—but what came to mind was how wonderful it would be to organize an exhibition with my work, sketches, and reflections, and invite my entire lineage. That would be the party of the century!
And I would so love to meet Natalia Leonidovna Shabelskaya—a remarkable woman and a collector of traditional costume. I think we would have become great friends. Of course, I’d offer her one of my uncorseted pieces to try on—and she, in return, would probably toss on some extravagant hat with flair.
Original answer in Russian: Выбрать одну не могу, но представилось то, что было бы классно сделать выставку с моими работами, скетчами и размышлениями и пригласить туда весь мой род. Это могла бы быть вечеринка века 🙂
А ещё очень хотелось бы познакомиться с Натальей Леонидовной Шабельской - великой женщиной, коллекционером традиционного костюма. Я думаю, что мы бы очень подружились и, конечно, я бы дала ей попробовать мои некорсетные вещи, а она бы накинула на голову какую-нибудь эпатажную шляпу.
And one last, more personal question. As someone who deeply misses my homeland, I want to ask—what do you do when you feel homesick?
I keep herbs from my grandmother’s garden at home, tucked into little pouches she sewed. And when I feel truly heartachey, I brew myself a tea and imagine I’m sitting in her garden—with her and my mother—listening to them tell me how their day went, how the cucumbers have grown, that one of them is ripe already, and we can go pick it and eat it.
Sometimes I also pull out maps and wander through cities—remembering where I’ve been, what I felt there, and where I still absolutely must go.
Original answer in Russian: Храню дома травы из бабушкиного сада, в сшитых ей мешочках - и когда мне очень тоскливо - я завариваю себе чай и представляю, что я сижу в её саду - с ней и с мамой, и они рассказывают мне как прошел их день и как подросли огурцы, и что вот там уже один поспел, и можно пойти сорвать его и съесть.
Или же открываю карты и брожу по городам, вспоминаю, где я была и что чувствовала, и куда я ещё обязательно поеду.
Do I relate? No. Did I thoroughly enjoy learning and reading this beautiful interview? YES. Especially the bit about her finding the perfect bead in India. Also in love with all the images used, especially those of you and M. <3
Thank you for this beautiful, calming, inspiring interview.