Wool has a way of slowing you down.
It isn't a fibre that responds well to being rushed or forced into shape. It asks for time, attention, and a willingness to listen - and in return, it offers depth, resilience and quiet beauty. Over the years, working almost exclusively with wool has shaped not just the cloth I make, but the way I work.
During my degree, I found myself repeatedly drawn to natural fibres, and wool in particular. There was something about its honesty - its warmth, its variability, its connection to the landscape - that felt grounding. Choosing to work with British wool later on felt like a natural extension of that pull: a fibre that made sense both materially and ethically.
A Fibre With Its Own Mind
Wool is responsive. It reacts to humidity, temperature, tension and handling. Two warps dyed the same way can behave differently on the loom. A yarn may soften beautifully with wear, or reveal subtle shifts in tone once woven.
This unpredictability isn't a flaw - it's part of the conversation between maker and material. Working with wool means paying attention at every stage: from preparing the warp, to weaving, finishing and handling the cloth once it's off the loom. It rewards patience, but it also demands it.
You can't rush wool without consequences. It will show you where corners have been cut.
Time, Care and Respect
The cloth I make takes a long time. There are many hours of preparation before a single thread is woven, and even then the weaving itself is only part of the process. That time and investment naturally changes how you think about waste.
When something takes that much care to produce, it makes no sense to treat it as disposable. Any yarn left over, any offcuts, any samples that don't quite make the grade - all are considered carefully and used where possible. Smaller pieces grow from remnants, and nothing is rushed simply to meet an artificial sense of productivity.
Wool teaches you that making less, but making well, is often the most responsible choice.
Designed to Be Lived With
One of wool's greatest strengths is its longevity. Properly cared for, a wool scarf or shawl can last decades, improving with age rather than deteriorating. This belief in longevity carries through everything I do - even down to packaging.
The packaging I use isn't just for presentation. It's designed to be kept, to help store and care for your textile when it's not being worn, extending its life and preserving the work that's gone into it. Sustainability, for me, isn't about grand gestures; it's about thoughtful decisions that support lasting use.
Letting the Fibre Lead
Working with wool has taught me to accept a slower pace. To trust skill, repetition and experience rather than speed. To design with the material's strengths, not despite them.
In a world that often values immediacy, wool quietly insists on patience. And perhaps that's why it continues to feel so relevant - not as a trend, but as a reminder that some things are worth taking time over.