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.
Being so close to my heart it was an honour and delight to create a new knitwear design for local mill, Uist Wool. The brief was to create a wrap and knitting pattern that would showcase the sublime, extra-long ombre gradient of an exclusive version of Uist Wool’s Astair laceweight yarn. And at the same …
As we are all part of nature we feel the quickening in early Spring, a tingling of life force awakening inside us, a desire to rampage into newness. I wonder if like the sap in plant stems that is suddenly rising and full of vigour, we too have this response in our bodies. All things …
Inspired in the Winter half-light listening to hooded crows cawing at twilight by luscious skeins of handspun yarn from Studio Underwood on Etsy. Tinkling silver shards on ice puddles, crushed meadow grass in gold. Bare branches and quiet clouds. Storms and wildness outside. Ancient spirits whispering.
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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As we are all part of nature we feel the quickening in early Spring, a tingling of life force awakening inside us, a desire to rampage into newness. I wonder if like the sap in plant stems that is suddenly rising and full of vigour, we too have this response in our bodies. All things …
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Inspired in the Winter half-light listening to hooded crows cawing at twilight by luscious skeins of handspun yarn from Studio Underwood on Etsy. Tinkling silver shards on ice puddles, crushed meadow grass in gold. Bare branches and quiet clouds. Storms and wildness outside. Ancient spirits whispering.