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.
A little festive fun. Red winter berries seem more vibrant this year. Green leaves quiver in the wind. We walk amongst the spruce and pine, sighing with their creaky bough songs, listening to green needles tingle. There may be snow for Christmas. Candles bright in windows. The sky darkens quickly in the afternoon. Stars visit …
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes. Ah. The cooling wind makes the machair flowers dance in pretty pinks and bright yellow. Bumble bees buzz the red clover. Moths visit at night, painted ladies flutter from flower to flower drinking nectar their butterfly wings move like Geisha fans.
Honey mellow molten sunshine in the freshness of Autumn. Small bundles of windtorn heather still bloom, fading to lilac from bright purple. As-one-with-nature Inner Wild wilderness wear for dearhearts clockwise from top main: Mellow Yellow Handspun Wool Bodice & Stag Antler Fingerless Mitts Gathering Bodice Mega Mitts Honey Sun Mitts Moody and mystical feelings as …
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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Winter: woolly berry, spruce and ice festive holidays
A little festive fun. Red winter berries seem more vibrant this year. Green leaves quiver in the wind. We walk amongst the spruce and pine, sighing with their creaky bough songs, listening to green needles tingle. There may be snow for Christmas. Candles bright in windows. The sky darkens quickly in the afternoon. Stars visit …
Summer: here comes the sun …the smiles returning to the faces
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes. Ah. The cooling wind makes the machair flowers dance in pretty pinks and bright yellow. Bumble bees buzz the red clover. Moths visit at night, painted ladies flutter from flower to flower drinking nectar their butterfly wings move like Geisha fans.
Suddenly Autumn and we’re golden
Honey mellow molten sunshine in the freshness of Autumn. Small bundles of windtorn heather still bloom, fading to lilac from bright purple. As-one-with-nature Inner Wild wilderness wear for dearhearts clockwise from top main: Mellow Yellow Handspun Wool Bodice & Stag Antler Fingerless Mitts Gathering Bodice Mega Mitts Honey Sun Mitts Moody and mystical feelings as …