HAUS OF OMA was never just born.
It was remembered.
A dream whispered from the folds of a linen sketchbook, where a child once drew his world with a stolen pen and a soft fury. It came from heat — from the kind of sun that bleaches your memory into gold — and from silence, the kind only those who have loved too much carry in their bones.
This is not a label. TIt’s a curated relic of feeling, preserved through time. A body of feeling. A tactile memory. The scent of fruit in a warm room, the clink of glass at dusk, the hush of fabric falling over a shoulder. Every piece born from HAUS OF OMA is a love letter to presence — to the unspoken elegance of being alive, and aware.
Objects, garments, furniture, gestures, textures — all become vessels. Each one designed to remember you. To hold you in the moment you didn’t know you were waiting for.
Behind the house is Omar. But OMA?
She’s a memory. A woman, maybe. Or a place. Or a feeling you left behind in another lifetime. She is your mother, your myth, your mirror. The part of you that speaks in color, walks barefoot, and believes beauty is a form of truth. She doesn’t just design — she curates echoes. She carves emotion into form. She builds homes out of feelings.
This is the sacred art of becoming.. of feeling too much — and letting it live as form.
We are coming to life once again my dear, we’re reuniting where everything is just alright, far away from here. In a dream.
Welcome to HAUS OF OMA
A house made of memory, ritual, and raw, exquisite presence.
It was remembered.
A dream whispered from the folds of a linen sketchbook, where a child once drew his world with a stolen pen and a soft fury. It came from heat — from the kind of sun that bleaches your memory into gold — and from silence, the kind only those who have loved too much carry in their bones.
This is not a label. TIt’s a curated relic of feeling, preserved through time. A body of feeling. A tactile memory. The scent of fruit in a warm room, the clink of glass at dusk, the hush of fabric falling over a shoulder. Every piece born from HAUS OF OMA is a love letter to presence — to the unspoken elegance of being alive, and aware.
Objects, garments, furniture, gestures, textures — all become vessels. Each one designed to remember you. To hold you in the moment you didn’t know you were waiting for.
Behind the house is Omar. But OMA?
She’s a memory. A woman, maybe. Or a place. Or a feeling you left behind in another lifetime. She is your mother, your myth, your mirror. The part of you that speaks in color, walks barefoot, and believes beauty is a form of truth. She doesn’t just design — she curates echoes. She carves emotion into form. She builds homes out of feelings.
This is the sacred art of becoming.. of feeling too much — and letting it live as form.
We are coming to life once again my dear, we’re reuniting where everything is just alright, far away from here. In a dream.
Welcome to HAUS OF OMA
A house made of memory, ritual, and raw, exquisite presence.
