Kyle Kraeger

My name is Kyle Kraeger, and I’m the hands, the brain, and the occasionally very tangled pile of string behind String Theory Dyes.

I make wearable art through tightly bound folds, mirrored imagery, and a lot of curiosity about what happens when you put color somewhere it supposedly doesn’t belong. But the reason I make these shirts goes much deeper than wanting to make something colorful.

Creating is one of the ways I fight back against the darkness. The depression, the sadness, and the things life throws at you that you don’t always know how to carry. Sometimes I can explain what I’m feeling. Sometimes I have to make something with my hands before I can understand it myself.

Before this chapter, I spent eight years as a glass artist. Glass was a huge part of my life and how I understood myself. Divorce, difficult circumstances, and being in a dark place pushed me away from it. I’m still trying to find my way back to that part of my creativity. I miss it, and I don’t feel finished with it.

Tie-dye gave me somewhere to put that creative energy while I was figuring out how to move forward.

I’ve been making tie-dye on and off for about six years, but over the past three months, I’ve put countless hours into exploring what I can do with it. There have been days when I’ve worked an eight-hour shift and come home to spend another twelve hours tying shirts, thinking through folds, and chasing an idea. That isn’t a schedule I’d recommend or a requirement for making meaningful art. It’s an honest picture of how completely this has captured my attention—and how much I’m still learning about finding balance.

I have ADHD, and when something connects with my brain, I can get very, very deep into it. A shirt starts with “I wonder what would happen if…” and suddenly I’ve complicated a perfectly reasonable fold, covered the table in string, and forgotten that bedtime was supposed to be an actual event.

With tie-dye, there always seems to be another question worth exploring.

I’m fascinated by the relationship between structure and surprise. I can spend hours arranging tiny folds, isolating sections, and binding a shirt until it feels like a rock. Every decision helps shape the image, but I still have to wait until it opens to see what those decisions became. That reveal keeps pulling me back.

My work draws inspiration from shibori, mandalas, Ron stars, and the generosity of artists who share what they know. I’m grateful for those foundations. As I learn, I keep asking how I can take those influences somewhere that feels personal—through different mirror lines, repeated imagery, unusual color combinations, and my own ways of folding and laying string.

Color has become a big part of how I express myself. Lately, I’ve loved putting colors together that I once thought wouldn’t get along, then finding out what happens where they meet. There’s something hopeful in that for me. An unexpected combination can become the part that makes the whole piece work.

The name String Theory Dyes holds some of that curiosity. A little string, a different fold, one small change—and the entire image shifts. I’m still discovering how much possibility can fit inside one shirt.

I don’t have a neat story where making art fixed everything. I still have difficult days. But this work gives me something to look forward to, something to explore, and something of myself to share. Seeing someone connect with a piece I made brings a little more light into that process.

If sharing my work encourages anyone, I hope it encourages them to give their curiosity some room. You don’t need to have your style figured out before you begin. You’re allowed to return to something you miss, try something unfamiliar, or make something simply because you need a little color in your day.

I’m still finding my way, too. Right now, a lot of that looks like folded cotton, tangled string, and following an idea until I can finally unfold it.

Thank you for giving those ideas a place in your life. It means more to me than I always know how to say.

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