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.
Hello Autumn you beautiful harvest season of misty mornings, long nights and mellow fruitfulness. We surrender to crisp leaves crackling underfoot, the zing of cold air sharp in our lungs and the soothing, cosseting bliss of wrapping ourselves in layers upon layers of natural, hand knitted wool, silk, cashmere, alpaca . . .
All is on the wane here; the long grass falls dry and soft yellow, sunlight is dimmed in the morning, the wind is colder. At the same time the bramble berries are bursting with plump ripeness and the Rowan berries shine red in the twilight as crows squawk in delight at them. We fall into …
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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Hello Autumn you beautiful harvest season of misty mornings, long nights and mellow fruitfulness. We surrender to crisp leaves crackling underfoot, the zing of cold air sharp in our lungs and the soothing, cosseting bliss of wrapping ourselves in layers upon layers of natural, hand knitted wool, silk, cashmere, alpaca . . .
Autumn: grasses fall, we slumber, cosy
All is on the wane here; the long grass falls dry and soft yellow, sunlight is dimmed in the morning, the wind is colder. At the same time the bramble berries are bursting with plump ripeness and the Rowan berries shine red in the twilight as crows squawk in delight at them. We fall into …
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.