One hundred is a deliberate number.
When we release a print of Lady in Wisteria, we could run hundreds. The technology makes it easy; the demand might even justify it. We print one hundred, and then we stop forever.
Here is the thinking. An edition is a promise between an artist and a collector. The collector’s part is faith, choosing a work early, bringing it into their home, living with it. The artist’s part is restraint, never quietly diluting what that collector chose. Print number 14 of 100 only means something if number 101 never exists.
One Hundred is small enough that every single owner matters, and just large enough that the artwork gets to live in the world, on walls in France and Italy and New Zealand as well as here at home. Fewer would make the work a secret. More would make the number a decoration.
The same philosophy runs through the dresses. Each piece belongs to a closed edition; when it is complete, the print is never cut again. You will never walk into a room wearing the same artwork as everyone else, because everyone else was never possible.
And it is why you will never see an Abigail Jane sale. Discounting a numbered work tells the people who believed in it first that their faith was overpriced. We will never reprint, and we will never discount - those are the same promise, said twice.
When an edition closes, it does not disappear. It moves to the Archive, marked Edition Closed, part of the house’s record, and proof, for everyone who owns a number, that limited meant exactly what it said.