Welcome to

Tartan.LOVE 🖤

Hello, and thank you for visiting. I’m Stevie Sim — The Tartan Artisan — here in Bonnie Scotland.

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This website is the beginning of something I’ve long dreamt of building: a curated home for my original tartan designs, translated into meaningful, made-to-order pieces.

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While many more designs are on the horizon, the site launches with a collection of bold, minimalist 'Emoji' Cushions, each printed, hand cut-&-sewn to order. Check out my site further ...to learn more about my 'Black Heart Emoji' inspiration.

Also coming soon are two special tartan ranges: Black Heart (Shadow & Light) and The Poet’s Rose — my inaugural love-themed tartan, now officially registered on the Scottish Register of Tartans. Both collections will be available as boutique cushion collection very shortly.

This is just the start. My full portfolio will unfold here over time. Feel free to sign up to my newsletter for updates, early releases, and prize draws — or reach out if there’s a particular tartan of mine you’d love to see offered.

You can check out the full list of tartans coming — HERE.

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Tartan.LOVE runs alongside my original website — theTartanArtisan.com — which continues to showcase my bespoke kilts, commissions, and past creative work.

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With love and creativity
Stevie

...The Tartan Artisan

🖤

The Poets' Rose

"My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose"

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A Poem by Steven Patrick Sim
The Tartan Artisan

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 SCOTLAND 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

🥀

O my love is like a woven thread,
That’s newly loomed in bloom,
A tartan born of poet’s vow,
And dyed in timeless tune.

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Each line is drawn from trembling hand,
Each hue from aching heart —
The threads recall his tender fire,
That love could not depart.

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He sang her name through moors and mist,
By candle’s waning light,
And though the dawn would steal her face,
He held her in the night.

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His quill did weep, his heart did swell,
As soft as he was bold,
And in the warp of every check
Are verses never told.

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The green is grief, the black his ink,
The red — his burning grace;
The rose he gave with trembling hands,
Still blooms in this embrace.

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She wore no ring, she bore no crown,
Yet in this cloth she lives —
A love that time could never drown,
Nor death unbind what gives.

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So let this tartan wrap her ghost,
And cradle all he chose —
For Rabbie’s heart still beats within
The threads of Poet’s Rose

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