When you grow up in the Hebrides among your tough Harris Tweed-clad menfolk and the smell of wet tweed and feel of rough wool is as familiar to you as your own skin you have permission to mess with it.
The ancient coming together of our island sheep wool in woven and knitted form is an eternal delight for the senses.
In tiny stone homes folk carded the wool and spun it making threads that bound communities of hand knitters and weavers in industry and clothed, as it turned out, the world.
Slamming Harris Tweed fabric up against Harris wool or any other pure wool feels natural.
To be wild with it; to let the ragged edges show, bare, to cut it imperfectly, to cherish tiny pieces of fibres and let them sing a different tune feels like an evolution of our Hebridean spirit.
As an indigenous Hebridean woman taught a traditional craft of our people, playing with our natural fibres makes my heart sing.
Deer rush down from the mountains of Harris and the broad swathes of moorland drawn by the fresh, new growth of grass to soar over fences. And so it is with us humans. Deep inside we run with the deer; we too feel the machair sap rising and in the rhythm of the tide, the …
The wind is howling, the rain is lashing our faces. Suddenly it is dark when last week it was light. Sunless days have arrived with Autumn. And we love it. The fire is lit and tended with care. Wool blankets and downy quilts warm our bodies while good company and laughter warm our hearts. Mellow …
Tha an fhuil làidir. The blood is strong. Harris Tweed and Shetland wool. Hebridean wool from our native sheep. Harris wool tagged by weavers captured for knitting.
As familiar as skin: Harris Tweed
When you grow up in the Hebrides among your tough Harris Tweed-clad menfolk and the smell of wet tweed and feel of rough wool is as familiar to you as your own skin you have permission to mess with it.
The ancient coming together of our island sheep wool in woven and knitted form is an eternal delight for the senses.
In tiny stone homes folk carded the wool and spun it making threads that bound communities of hand knitters and weavers in industry and clothed, as it turned out, the world.
Slamming Harris Tweed fabric up against Harris wool or any other pure wool feels natural.
To be wild with it; to let the ragged edges show, bare, to cut it imperfectly, to cherish tiny pieces of fibres and let them sing a different tune feels like an evolution of our Hebridean spirit.
As an indigenous Hebridean woman taught a traditional craft of our people, playing with our natural fibres makes my heart sing.
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Inspiration: running with the deer
Deer rush down from the mountains of Harris and the broad swathes of moorland drawn by the fresh, new growth of grass to soar over fences. And so it is with us humans. Deep inside we run with the deer; we too feel the machair sap rising and in the rhythm of the tide, the …
Darkness descends, Autumn
The wind is howling, the rain is lashing our faces. Suddenly it is dark when last week it was light. Sunless days have arrived with Autumn. And we love it. The fire is lit and tended with care. Wool blankets and downy quilts warm our bodies while good company and laughter warm our hearts. Mellow …
Inspiration: being Hebridean
Tha an fhuil làidir. The blood is strong. Harris Tweed and Shetland wool. Hebridean wool from our native sheep. Harris wool tagged by weavers captured for knitting.