Hi, I’m SJ.

I believe art is a form of protest. I’ve been crocheting since I was 8 years old, but in the last several years, I’ve focused on refining my skills and exploring new techniques. Interlocking crochet is one of my favorites because it allows for bold, intricate designs with minimal color changes!

The name of this site, Hey Duke, is a small but intentional nod to my family’s history—and a reminder that xenophobia and the pressure to assimilate have real, lasting consequences.

During World War II, Czechoslovakia was one of the first countries invaded by Nazi Germany. The Nazi regime sought to suppress Czech identity through occupation, forced labor, and violence. Language, culture, and national symbols were stripped away, and thousands of Czechs—especially resistance members and intellectuals—were imprisoned, executed, or sent to concentration camps.

My great-uncle served as an American soldier during the war. After being captured, he was held at Stalag IV-B, a German POW camp. While the camp wasn’t known for executing American prisoners, he was killed in captivity. Our family believes he was singled out because of his Czech surname—a reminder of how heritage could become a target in the hands of fascism.

The fear didn’t end with the war. It simply shifted. In the decades that followed, particularly during the Cold War and Red Scare, Slavic Americans were viewed with growing suspicion. As tensions rose between the U.S. and the Soviet Union, people with Central and Eastern European heritage often felt pressure to distance themselves from their roots. Foreign-sounding names were seen as liabilities.

In the 1950s, my grandfather—also a veteran and the brother of the great uncle who died during the war—made the difficult decision to legally change our family’s surname. It was a response to the discrimination he faced from fellow servicemen—mockery, mispronunciation, and suspicion tied to his Slavic name. Changing it was a way to avoid being seen as "foreign," to deflect scrutiny, and to blend into a culture that demanded sameness.

The ability to erase your name and blend in is a form of protection—but it’s also a privilege. Not everyone has the option of hiding who they are in the face of bigotry. Many minorities have long been targeted in ways that can’t be erased with a name change or hidden behind paperwork. Many are forced to navigate systems that were never designed for them.

Standing up for inclusion, justice, and visibility isn’t just political—it’s personal. The name Hey Duke is a quiet act of reclamation and a tribute to the identity my family was pressured to let go of, and a statement that we shouldn’t have to erase who we are to be safe.

Through my art and designs, I create space for those stories—the ones that get pushed to the margins, the ones that survive through memory, and the ones still unfolding. This work is about resistance, yes—but it’s also about honoring where we come from, and refusing to let our histories be forgotten.

I believe in equity, justice, and every person’s inherent dignity. So I stand up for racial justice, trans rights, bodily autonomy, healthcare for all, universal income, disability rights, and the simple truth that children are people deserving of respect. I believe no one should have to justify their existence or struggle to meet their basic needs. Throughout history, fiber arts have woven messages of solidarity, resistance, and hope into important ideas like community, care, and collective action. Many of my patterns continue this tradition.

What will you not find in my patterns? Symbols of hate, oppression, or exclusion. No dog whistles, no veiled bigotry—just designs that uplift, empower, and inspire. Fiber arts have long been a medium for storytelling and resistance, and I intend to honor that practice.

But my work isn’t just about crochet—it’s about making a statement. Many of my designs blend fiber arts with protest, activism, and social commentary, proving that craft can be both beautiful and bold. Whether it’s fighting misinformation, standing up for science, or challenging bigotry, my patterns are a way to weave resistance into every stitch.

These patterns are also a way of documenting history. Every stitch captures a moment—a response to injustice, a call to action, a piece of a larger movement. Textiles have always been a part of storytelling, from protest banners to quilts that carried secret messages. In a world where information moves fast and gets buried even faster, fiber arts provide a tangible, lasting way to remember, resist, and reclaim space.

And resistance isn’t just about fighting—it’s about finding peace in chaos. They want us disoriented, overwhelmed, and burned out. But choosing to create, to focus, to carve out a moment of calm in a world designed to keep us discombobulated? That’s resistance too. Crafting isn’t an escape—it’s a way to stay grounded, to remind ourselves that we are still here, still creating, still pushing forward.

Most of my patterns are advanced beginner-friendly, requiring only basic double crochet skills. If a pattern calls for anything extra, I’ll guide you through it—so you can focus on the fun part: bringing your project (and your message) to life.

Whether you’re here for political designs, fun patterns, or simply to explore the creativity of interlocking crochet, I’m glad you’re here. Let’s crochet a better future, one stitch at a time.