Malachai Cribdon creates haunting worlds in miniature through his practice at House of Felts, where needle-felted creatures inhabit hand-built Victorian tableaux sealed behind glass like living relics. Working with repurposed fabrics, scorched silk, and florist wire, he crafts each figure and setting from scratch—down to the cobbled floors and crumbling plaster—imbuing them with hidden letters, stitched secrets, and the quiet pulse of mechanical animation.
His work exists at the intersection of magical realism and meticulous craft, transforming felt and fabric into heirloom objects designed to outlive their maker: time capsules that blur memory and dream, waiting to be discovered by future hands.
Where Are You From?
Northampton UK
Where do you long to live (reality or fantasy)?
The Lake District, but Japan also has called to me for most my life too. Fantasy though..I’d be quite happy in a my own Downton Abbey dancing somewhere between the 19th and 20th century
What started you on your journey into art professionally?
Art has been around me whole life in one form or another, from drawing and painting, to hairdressing and fashion…but I only really found my direction in my later years when coming across needle felting. My love for animals really came into fruition straight off the bat, but equally story telling too, this then lead to clothing my creatures and creating set pieces and now to set design.
The combination of all these practices together has progressed into something I didn’t see coming I am now creating large dioramas, with full set pieces, audio, lighting and story telling included. With my future work now at the point where I can start to add movement and life…I genuinely don’t feel like I have even started but can now take my art much more seriously.
How has your art changed and evolved over the years?
I am forever evolving and long may that continue too. I would never like to plateaux, to be never met with any challenges…I love to learn and make mistakes as one of them may become useful for something else I do.
I now have a clearer vision however for how I would like my characters to tell their stories, whilst focusing a lot on the longevity of each build. Soft sculptures will suffer the ravages of time like most things, but fibres become loose and unclean, internal supports start to droop, and colours fade! So I am always looking at ways they can still speak to someone, if ever found in an attic in the next 100 years or so…like a future antique.
I am now at the stage where I shall be adding movement to my work, a little like the automatons of the past, where at the press of a button, both scene and character will seemingly come to life, each playing out their own individual scene…this excites me tremendously and to have the chance to speak to you about this here today…I assure you, it is being said with the biggest smile on my face.
If your artwork could come to life and interact with you, what kind of conversation would you have with it?
I am so sorry but I am going to have to hit you with the biggest cliché here and admit that I already do have conversations with them…I have said this to many others over the years too. There is a certain point in nearly every build that they start to dictate and take the controls of how they wish to be portrayed.
I never know when, but it happens every time and if they don’t, I simply put them away and work on something else until it does. They are a part of me in so many ways you see, from the people I have met, to actors and writers I admire, they are the problems I have met, the feelings I may have felt (excuse the pun) but they are a very big part of me.
I don’t want to live in a commercial workshop of repeated patterns so to speak, I want my work to talk for me and for a long time after me too. So in short, they are already alive to me and we speak and about a great many things, but is also why I find it incredibly difficult to let them go.
What is the one statement you could give to your younger self that you would give anything to go back and relay to them at a pivotal moment?
Stop shouting into the wind, no one can hear you.
And stop gazing into the fishbowl, hoping to find comfort and support, you were never invited to swim.
But know this, the stories you are creating alone will one day be heard, seen, and cherished, so long as you believe in them. If you do, others will too. In time, your family will grow, not only through your creations, but also in true friendship, found organically along the way.
In what ways do you think your personal experiences and emotions shape the way you connect with your work?
I carry a deep, built-in fear of leaving nothing behind, no sign that I ever existed, especially after a life that’s often felt like a struggle just to stay afloat. Jobs I’ve had, like gravedigger, paranormal researcher, antique trader, have all fed into the way I behave with my work now. I need it to say something, especially for when I no longer can. I need it to last.
To some, they may seem like soft sculptures, but I pour months, countless hours, and my heart into each one to ensure that in some way, I endure too, even if only in my own mind. I know I form what others might call ‘ridiculous’ attachments to them, but they mean the world to me.
I’ve said before that I struggle to let them go and it’s true. I’ve experienced a great deal of darkness and fall into it all too often, but when I’m working, when I’m shaping these little beings, I lose myself in a way that brings me peace.
And if, one day, someone picks up a piece I made and finds a little hidden message, an ‘Easter egg’ I tucked away and it still speaks to them, in whatever way… then maybe I’ve done enough.
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What is the most unexpected thing to occur with your work through the years that shifted your perspective in a way you never anticipated?
That it has connected me to so many good people, who continue to support me even outside of the craft room so to speak. I treasure that and value every single interaction I may receive… I certainly never anticipated being blessed like that.
Have you ever imagined your art as a time capsule—what do you think future generations would think of it?
I’ve been consciously turning my work into time capsules from very early on. It partly comes from my love of antiques — and the thrill of finding hidden gems tucked inside them when I used to trade.
My own pieces have begun to carry that same energy. They hold secret messages and small objects — sometimes hidden in plain sight, other times buried deep, waiting patiently to be discovered. Each one tells a story, not just of the character or tableau, but of me — of who I was in that precise moment of making.
I want my work to outlive me. To whisper across time. And just as I’ve felt wonder in uncovering the forgotten, my hope is that one day, someone else will lift a lid, turn a tiny clasp, or peel back a fold — and find something that feels like magic meant just for them.
Start now, no matter your age, no matter your background, start creating and don’t wait for permission. Make what you wish existed. Not what you think will sell.
What advice would you give an artist starting out (at any age) who wants to do it professionally?
Start now, no matter your age, no matter your background, start creating and don’t wait for permission. Make what you wish existed. Not what you think will sell.
Not what trends suggest.
Create work that speaks in your voice and is unique to you.
There’s no right time, no secret club you must join. Just make.
And keep making.
Let your story feed your work.
Use your scars, your longings, your joys all of it.
People don’t just connect with perfect technique they connect with your truth. Also honour your own rhythm some artists bloom in youth, others come alive later and both are valid. Both are needed. Finally don’t be afraid to be strange, sentimental, solemn, or soft. Be whatever you are -unapologetically. There’s room for you exactly as you are and have fun in your own bubble!
