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.
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 …
As the wind rises and the summer sunlight begins to fade my fingers are enjoying the rustic textures of Hebridean wool and minimally-processed Shetland wool pressed against deer antler bone and ram horn toggles and buttons. “The tactile delight of rough, rustic wool and smooth bone.” The flowing shapes of found deer antler tips, always …
Rejoicing in the colours of Spring, brown grasses turning golden and lining the corncrake’s new nest. Rudely fresh green grass takes over slopes and flat meadows. Robust leaves of Angelica poke from bare earth and make olive feather shapes. Bright pink buds of crab apple trees burst open with pale pink white flowers. Homemade Harris …
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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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 …
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As the wind rises and the summer sunlight begins to fade my fingers are enjoying the rustic textures of Hebridean wool and minimally-processed Shetland wool pressed against deer antler bone and ram horn toggles and buttons. “The tactile delight of rough, rustic wool and smooth bone.” The flowing shapes of found deer antler tips, always …
Spring: awakening with nature
Rejoicing in the colours of Spring, brown grasses turning golden and lining the corncrake’s new nest. Rudely fresh green grass takes over slopes and flat meadows. Robust leaves of Angelica poke from bare earth and make olive feather shapes. Bright pink buds of crab apple trees burst open with pale pink white flowers. Homemade Harris …