With focused attention to stitch counts and increase placement, I cast on for the third time—methodically working each row with care. My fine, two-ply handspun held up impressively through multiple rip-backs and reknits, and at last, the yoke came together cleanly and with quiet strength.

Exhausted but drawn to the work, I sat with my knitting—unravelling, trying again, and puzzling through a yoke that just wouldn’t click. This post captures the quiet frustration and persistence of those early attempts, before something finally began to make sense.

Spun through the quiet turn of the year, this jersey begins with fine handspun wool and silk mohair—soft, misty, and deeply intentional. A simple pattern becomes the frame for precious materials and slow making.

Blending lac, madder, and natural brown wool—spinning the colours of the Victorian High Plains into thread for a weaving project.

The first step in the dyeing process—achieving the darkest, richest blue possible using natural indigo.

On the first day of autumn, inspired by the deep blues of sky and sea, I’m beginning a new spinning experiment. Using natural indigo and later commercial dyes, I’ll blend and spin a range of luminous blues—capturing the richness of ocean waves and the shifting tones of a bright autumn sky. This project will explore the interplay of colour, texture, and fiber, using my new hackle to create depth and variation in the yarn. First, I’ll work with natural dyes, then compare the results with commercially dyed blends. Follow along as I translate nature’s blues into fiber and yarn.

Ever wondered where the word hank comes from? This fascinating term, used to describe a coiled bundle of yarn, has its roots in Old Norse and Middle English. Understanding its history connects us to the deep traditions of textile craft. Read on to discover how the hank has stood the test of time in fiber arts!

Exploring the intersection of fiber, nature, and architecture, this project delves into the textural minimalism of fine hand-spun wool, inspired by the towering elegance of Eucalyptus regnans. Using naturally dyed, softly muted yarns, I am crafting two pieces—a knitted design with structural yet fluid forms and a woven textile with understated depth. The goal is to capture shadows, subtle movement, and quiet sophistication, balancing the organic softness of wool with an architectural crispness. This work is an invitation to consider the mindfulness of making, the presence of craft in our lives, and how textiles can embody both stillness and transformation.

Rooted in tradition, shaped by nature—my work is a journey through colour, fiber, and place. Inspired by the deep heritage of handwoven textiles like Tamba-fu and the rich hues drawn from eucalyptus and other local plants, I create naturally dyed, hand-spun wool that connects the past with the present. Each piece tells a story of landscape, craft, and slow-making, inviting you to explore the beauty of handmade textiles

I collected this Mountain Ash bark, Eucalyptus Regnans before work this morning returning from my morning walk. Some of the pieces are 4-5m long, but they fold and bend easily to a large, not too heavy bundle.

A beautiful early summer day spent with friends, laughter, and a small indigo vat led to creative experiments with shibori, resist dyeing, and hand-spun wool skeins layered with natural plant dyes. From linen destined to become a dress to yarns dyed in stunning greens, our dyeing day was filled with discovery and inspiration. Stay tuned as we explore botanical colour layering and future projects using local indigenous plants.

I spent the final day of the year surrounded by nature and creativity: walking in the forest, spinning wool, and dyeing it with bark collected from Mountain Ash trees near home. From gathering bark ribbons to creating a rich, eucalyptus-scented dye, the day was a perfect blend of craft and connection to the landscape.