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.
BEFORE I love winding skeins into balls around my hand. This is Malabrigo Arroyo in Pocion being every shade of beautiful on my Lykke Driftwood needles. A few years ago a dearheart called Laurie in the US asked via the Inner Wild Etsy shop if I might make her a knitted skirt. Laurie loved Ancestors …
Summer feels on the wane and it has been beautiful. Still the sun shines bright and warm and the clover keeps on blooming. Skylarks tumble and dive, collared doves coo to one another, the calves are frisking about and the lambs are getting big. Sunshiney days of relishing the warm breeze and the salt air, …
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 …
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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BEFORE I love winding skeins into balls around my hand. This is Malabrigo Arroyo in Pocion being every shade of beautiful on my Lykke Driftwood needles. A few years ago a dearheart called Laurie in the US asked via the Inner Wild Etsy shop if I might make her a knitted skirt. Laurie loved Ancestors …
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Summer feels on the wane and it has been beautiful. Still the sun shines bright and warm and the clover keeps on blooming. Skylarks tumble and dive, collared doves coo to one another, the calves are frisking about and the lambs are getting big. Sunshiney days of relishing the warm breeze and the salt air, …
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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 …