The threshold

It’s taken weeks to formulate this post. And I still don’t know where to begin. Perhaps I never will.

How could I ever put into words the experiences that I’ve had over the last 6 months?

The alchemical mixture of synchronicity, weaving, wool work and pure magic came together to form a threshold- one that lead me directly into the heart of the labyrinth, the lap of the gods, the red seed of the earth, Baba Yaga’s horse teeth.

I moved into the world of not only Weaverhood, but Womanhood.

My time as maiden is now in full flow, my work, after six months of refinement and tuning, now allows me the space to connect to the web- to channel greater truths and to chip away at greater mysteries along side my sisters (you know who you are).

Imogen has not only equipped me with the skills to produce work to a professional standard, but has also shown me the path to power in all its senses.

As a truly embodied artist herself, Imogen has so beautifully demonstrated what it means to live and breath our truths- our precious and sacred existence, in turn giving me the space and resource to live and express my own purpose within this sacred web, with weaving as my vessel.


Blood red

A part of me sheds.

I’ve been here before,

This ivy stricken clematis adorned rose wood door

The threshold.

I pass through, sisters in hand

Crone, Mother and maiden

Together we land.

Woolen locks unfurling, madder woad onion and stone

Wading through spindles, laid out like bones.

They guide me, my sisters to a red moon scarlet throne

Shuttles in hand, wearing woven garments of light and beetle shell tint, we stride further into the night, greeting badger fox and wolf

Buzzard deer horse and frog


Whales womb, woven walls of wonder, deep sea cocoon.

Batt guides me to the loom

Red as ox blood, the bones are laid

Warp stretches, weft bends and flexes

Tension, softness and sound

The holy trinity

My intention

Light is darkening now.

Magpie calls, we have just buried him. Torn his wings and strung up his talons, silently we wait for his secrets forever to unfurl, magic to reveal and truth to prevail

Woven wonders of mystery and grief



The art of letting go

This threshold holds such peace embodied in passion thriving and laughter

Darkness engulfs me, I swim in this bottomless void. I have never been so happy, so content, so full of boundless joy.

My sisters hold my hands, Baba Yaga cackles to me, her horse blood teeth have latched on under my skin where bone meets Fox blood song.

The earth is pulsing, convulsing, alive she must survive. Rosemary mother wort and Mint. Lavender, berries and yarrow. Guide me through this door, harvest my love, take me to the loom, to the woollen holy tomb, carders in hand, skeins in adundance.

We drift


This moon is rising, and the only time I speak is when I’m being spoken through.

Ancestral healing, medicine, I hear their call.

I have arrived,

I am a woman now.


A timeline

From April to August 2019

1. Silence: I walk from red to black to white to grey along this circle road

2.Wild Thing

3.Golden Blue, I love you x

4. Cloth of light

5. Womb Belt

6. First Professional Piece

7. Second Professional Piece

8. Ocean Creature

9.Whales Womb

10. Golden Sand

11.Four Threads

12. Badger: Snout to the Ground

And so it is done.

And so it will go on.

Blessings and eternal love to all,

My all beings be free from suffering.

Rose x

19: Wood

These last 2 weeks have been the perfect alchemical concoction to induce growth, motivation and fresh energy into nearly all aspects of my life, weaving in particular. I’ve spent many hours in the Bright Moon Studio, alongside hours discussing exciting prospects and future projects at Embercombe and elsewhere, and hours in states of utter bliss as I marvelled at the power of the collective, the humble beauty that we’re all a part of and the ecstasy that is love.

There is officially too much transformation occurring during this mercury retrograde to note… the pace of things has landed in a steady water fall state- but instead of falling I feel myself rising

and rising

and rising with the full moon tide.

As it’s Holy Gaia Friday, here is my focus and the element I am honouring: Wood. The countless times I entered and exited the Lake at Embercombe via the wooden jetty highlighted the place of wood in our lives as an element that not only supports us physically but also spiritually and creatively. After spinning a small amount of wool from the sheep of Embercombe Phill and I started to play with its place within the landscape having now been transformed into a thread. I wove on my wooden loom using a wooden shuttle, sitting on a wooden jetty, surrounded by trees and forest. Wood was everywhere, holding us in our creative space.

Later, having been inspired by a talk on the topic of ‘consent’ with Pat Macabe, we set out to transfer our experience into a mandala- once again using an expression of wood (paper) to hold the lines of our souls…


It wasn’t until I was 20 that I realised wood was what carried me. With it’s hard softness oozing amber gold warp and weft. Wood with its elegant gentle nature.

Silent watcher peering over us observing our every move through its womb shaped eyelets. Its roots deeper than the earths core.

Wood is what carries me after water.

Submerged I reach for wood, and although the lady of the lake whispers to me, calls me to come closer, wood lifts me up, cups me in it’s strong forgiving hands, my naked wet body dripping with light whilst embraced within its broad arms, its ringed history ready to absorb what I shed. Wood catches me, collects me, hands me my cloth to engulf my raw and tender skin.

And so today, for this Gaia honouring hour, I send my deepest and most humble blessings to the woods of this land, both standing and fallen. Both ahead and behind. For wood teaches us the greatest gifts of all- to stand firm, with strength, to support those around us, and to always enjoy the view.


It feels more than ever that a lifetime of creativity, exploration and learning awaits- and I remain deeply driven to aiding the freeing up of energy and creativity within us all. Through craft and movement we can feed our wild selves. And through feeding our wild selves we can aid in a universal awakening.

Blessings to all life,

With love,

Rose 🌹

17/18: You want them to wake?

The well is calling.

Unravel your looms

Unwind your thread.

Strip yourself


and bare.

Watch the earth crumble to the core

And tear





There she is


And rising


Holy circles

Intertwined around you and I.

Our souls merge.

The sacred entrance

Dance and beginning

Where the end meets the edge



To the labyrinth


Almond eyes,

Staring at the fruit our Mother Earth once bore.

Tear drops pearlescent

threaded struggle,


Earths oil


Grandmothers speaking

The ancient ones


Grandfathers singing

Womb to well

Tree to cell

Call to wild

Call to claim

And so it begins

Not once

But again

And again

And again


Here we are,

sisters in hand

Brothers in arms.


You want them to wake?

Come closer then

To the hem

Of my dress,


Do you see it?

Find the thread to guide you in.

We’ve been waiting for you.

Turn off the lights,

Watch the world grow dim,

Touch move merge- the sacred dance

The end is always the beginning.


You want them to wake?

First, my love, you’ll need to let them feast

On your honey dew blood,

sodden woolen slubs


You want them to wake?

Make them.

Take them to the river where the salmon bathe in Luke warm water, basking under the midsummers moon, for the fish know how to lead them, and where to find their scaley burnt out timber looms.

Take them to the whales womb, rib bone tomb- sanctuary.

take them to the corners of the earth where the wild meets the wise,

Where the wild meets the loom.

Take them to the core,

the fire iron ore.

Melt them into plastic, see how they like that.

Give them quartz crystal pendulums made from earths spit and take them to the clams at the darkest layer where the sea meets the land, they have secrets to tell them, they know how to touch the limpest of hands.

And then, when you have journeyed this far together, take them to the splinter in your heart, and make them pull it out. Make them take it to the silent watchers, yew wanderers,

they have the key,

their eyes wider than the most lofty of clouds.

take them there and teach them to spin.

Watch their signature unfurl and let them slowly wade further and further within.



And only then

Will they Wake.

15/16: Never Forget Your Worth


‘And so I wrap you in light,

blue iridescence,

holes to peer into dream world


gold to honour your worth,

wool, silk and linen to honour the earth.

Pearl shine,

I bestow you this whitened thread of time,

A cloth to protect

And serve



Your worth’

For Imogen, blessings for her 36th solar Rotation


This piece has marked a mile stone upon my journey as a weaver. I approached it differently to the others. With time restrictions due to other commitments, and a limited access to resource I had to think with patience and softness. And as I write this, I realise that both of these qualities are the essence of Imogen.

My first 3 pieces were produced in whirl winds of productivity, speed and a sense of urgency to get them finished. But when you really tap into what you’re trying to bring to light and whom you are trying to honour, their individuality cannot help but seep into not only the finished outcome, but also the entire process, from start to finish.

There is such beauty in this.

There is such healing in this.

Most importantly, there is such union in this.

I find such beauty into tapping into someone else’s energy, and combining it with my personal physicality, the physical process of using my body to bring something for them into this realm.

When ‘Cloth of Light’ was complete, after a series of weaving, spinning and contemplative sessions, it decided to write through my hands. And so once again my physical body was used as a vessel to bring new light and energy into this world, for another being, rather than myself. The cloth knew exactly what is was, and knows exactly what it’s here for. Words cannot help but flow when they have such importance behind them.

On a technical level, I’m starting to try and develop my skill set. As the actions of carding, combing, spinning, plying and weaving in grain themselves deeper into my bones, my hands crave more. ‘More, more and still more until they think warm days will never cease’ (John Keats).

Imogen’s piece was experimental, I didn’t actively seek to try new techniques, but they wanted to make themselves known. Not yet accustomed to clasped weft and Saori, I tried to add gradient varying texture whilst tapping into my original free and unfolding style when I first discovered weaving last year. ‘Holes’ started to appear. Not the kind that would jeopardise the piece, or cause it to unravel and disappear, but the kind that taps into the myth of our times: perfection, a vicious enemy. My inner critic called out ‘but what will people think when they see the holes?’. At first I tried to cover them up, I thought of how I could stitch them together, hide them from the light. My original photographs show little sign of them as I tried desperately to conceal them.

I understood that they had a purpose, which was different from allowing myself to accept them. But Imogen, upon analysing the cloth together in the studio, helped me to not only accept but to embrace their sacred essence. She also shed light upon the fact that the techniques such as clasped weft weaving and poncho making were now next on my experimental agenda as they were simply a more refined expression of the ‘holes’ I had created.

When holes appear space appears. And space is the essence of time, time is the essence of light. And light is life, love and softness- all of the qualities I wanted to honour in Imogen. I learnt to love them, and I let the demon of perfection burn away into ash and dust under the solstice night sky.

12-13-14; time warp

‘Earth my body

Water my blood

Air my breath

And fire my spirit’

Wow… these 3 weeks have been full to the brim of inspiration, insight and experience. I have been allowing myself the space to be fully present in each moment, recording it in memory and making rather than writing.

I feel the need to record some of the key events that will continue to influence my weaving journey for years to come.

Week 12:

Imogen and I ventured up to Oxford for the Makers & Tools exhibition and symposium on ‘Crafting your career’. Not only did we have a lovely evening staying on Karis’s boat (one of Imogen’s school friends and a super talented illustrator), but the talk also delivered a bounty of insight into the world of craft from the perspective of a wide range of crafts people. It was so humbling to be surrounded by makers from a range of backgrounds practising a range of different skills. It was also brilliant to hear Imogen’s talk and be reacquainted with her ethics and wise words.

Emerging movements such as Circular Economics or ‘Doughnut Economics’ were bought to light by Imogen’s honest and knowledgeable talk and diagrams- personally it marked the opening of a door- the penny dropped and I understood more deeply than ever before that the key systems within our society are in need of some serious regeneration. And it is my generation who must drive this change.

As I write this post in week 14, we have had another productive and insightful day in the studio. A step on the journey of spreading the workings behind circular and sustainable businesses occurred this morning when parts of the Bright Moon making and producing process were filmed by Clay Media, a local Brighton film Company. In the interview Imogen delved deeper into the world of circular economics and how her business has always embodied these principles. It felt good to hear that the movement is growing- people are waking up, and as a collective we are understanding that we have responsibility over what we produce and the rippling effect that our actions and processes cause- no matter how small.

We were also asked about ‘why’ we do what we do. Explaining the ‘why’ can open up new realms, so it was a good exercise in keeping concise and clear.

Having been an apprentice for 14 weeks now, I could assess how the multi faceted process of weaving alongside Imogen’s teachings have not only physically and mentally changed me- but have also fuelled my spirit to blossom, grow, evolve, mature and transform.

Sliding back on the time line to week 12 and directly after our trip to oxford- my visit to Embercombe, a holistic Nature education centre near Exeter, reminded me that texture, colour and shape are all around us- just waiting to be observed and absorbed by the creative that lies in us all.

This poly tunnel and the micro climate and landscape it has created was beyond the valley of beautiful. But it was so much more than that… I could probably use a multitude of adjectives to try and describe the space but my brain, so fuelled by a passion for that place, is starting to pace ahead of my finger tips.

And so I’ll summarise by stating that entering the tunnel was like entering the physical structure of woven cloth- the weft and the warp, the space and the density. It was a real eye opener.

I came back to the studio last week and had been craving the physicality of weaving after my trip to the West Country. Imogen has recently introduced a portable loom to the studio- and I got the privilege of taking it home. A blessing and a curse- as I can now kiss goodbye to baths and books as the loom beckons me every time I walk through the door.

Warping up the loom for the first time solo, using any surface I could find in my small home, with my dog under strict instructions to play ‘dead’ whilst I battled with the selvedge was just so much fun. I then transported the loom into the garden, surrounded myself with fibre and thread, stripped myself bare so that I was naked and raw, and began to weave.

8 hours later, with one short stop somewhere muffled in between, my 2nd piece as a weaving apprentice emerged from the depths of the fire, clouds and sea.

It’s well and truly a wild thing- experimental and experiential.

I will never forget the tornado of energy and light that overtook me, surged me on into the early evening light.

I went to a Celtic fire retreat over the weekend to celebrate my last days as a teenager, and we both wore my weavings, letting the ash and smoke bless them, letting the forest and sun caress them.

Another moment I will never forget, is having my cherished friends wrapped up in cloth spun straight from my naval after I dragged them into the sea on my 20th birthday.

Imogen talks of textiles as symbols of comfort, warmth and maternal instinct. I felt that strongly as my salty selkie friends slowly warmed up- and I realised I now had the tools to always protect and provide for them without having to be physically with them.

Blessings to all 🌝

11: Whale Song, dripping ash and bone


Dripping ash

And bone,

Whale teeth on my mind,

I feel the waves pulling me



Filter my heart

and fill up my lungs with

your salt water.

Forest fire, whale choir.

Chorus of birds bees butterfly’s

Spring rising up to greet us

Pebbles wet and hard beneath our feet.

Eyes ablaze with the ripening summer haze


Shake as I shed shake as she takes shake as he filters shake as I fall shake as I buckle under the weight of it all

Shake as I rise

Still once our sun burns through my clouded smiling eyes


Earth cradle

I let go of being stable

Cold down to the bone

Marrow ripens under the weight of my throw

Father- look how I have grown


Whale song

Calling from my depths

Her beat smooth soft strong

Fuelling this fire

let my cloth and body become one


Drag me dunk me lift me clunk me

Run with me

All the way home

To the whales

In the deep ocean indigo blue

Once silent

Now rising up


Up –

Wild rose in bloom.


10: Love


Something deep within me


Earth energy has


Up through

My gateway toes.

Whole body shakes

Earth quakes

Above my blood red feet

Lips quiver

Reality as I know it

just out of reach.

I dance down this red clay road.


I woke up yesterday already at the loom. The distance in miles was too weak to separate us- the linear and functional qualities of modern day reality had disappeared long ago. The rain tapped, tap tapping, at my window awakening my inner fire-my mentor guiding me home. My train journey has never gone so quickly…

Arriving at the studio I let the air fill my lungs with fleece, madder, yarrow, frankincense, earth and the sweet salt of the sea. The soft scent of May whispering to my ear lobes ‘get to the loom and set yourself free’.

When you look at a creation half finished there is such a humble sense of looking back in time, at your inner history. I had started my piece 5 days ago, it had been an electric experience to share along side two beautiful and wise souls (thank you Imogen and Phill). I couldn’t wait for my hands and heart to dance again, to beat to the rhythm of my inner earth drum.

At once I felt a familiar energy rise. I have felt it before. I can’t remember when it first bubbled up. When I was younger I felt it most clearly when I would illustrate in my room for days on end and more recently I felt it rise during my time spent with the Silent Watchers.

It is energy that isn’t from here. It rises from the depths of primal place. You’ll know if you’ve felt it for it merges with your DNA, remoulding your identity and sense of home.

And so I began to weave. Occasionally I stopped to spin more thread. I let the rhythm engulf me and I let the dance between hand and heart continue on. It felt like one long dance. One long ritual carried out to honour the source, the interconnected web, the life force, our mother.

After what felt like a heart beat it was ‘done’. My cloth as I knew it was complete.


Fox tooth


Baba Yaga

Pressed against my chest

Taking over my life beat

Letting my heart rest.


Have I ever had a conversation with my soul?


Through clear river water

Sea sky

Sun rain

Love hate

the simplicity modern life denies.

And now cloth.

Texture surface warmth

Wrap me up in your love.

Have I ever had a conversation with my soul?


I hold her in my hands as we speak

She strokes my thorny skin

Digs away to reveal

My red petals resting deep within.

Have I ever had a conversation with my soul?


Facing what I had produced was undeniably hard. Such is when faced with a mirror made from your own hands. My inner capitalist voice sounded the ‘but-is-it-perfect-drum’. Luckily Imogen, with her raw clarity, kindness and wisdom reminded me at just the right moment that ‘perfection is the myth of our times’. My cloth was ready to be revealed. And so I cut.


Whole body



Umbilical chords lye waiting

I didn’t know that this was birth.


I cut

Delicate at first





To weaken the hit.

The permanence of it all

Inner wolf calling

Inner wild ready

To tie

The threads of my mind


Let them group and reshuffle

Finding their companions

Their home

Their place.

I can breath again

Now I know we are all



As soon as the last threads were tied, a wave of hunger, thirst and numbness came over me. I had given birth.

I thought perhaps I needed to cry, but then I realised I had been holding my breath the whole time. I was ready to come up for air. And as my body reared up from that dark pool of still water, and as I took my first gasping breath, I realised I would never be alone again.



Hot red

Soft bed

For my naked body,


To rest


-I took my cloth home

– wore it on the train

– began to understand that she was her own entity with her own past and remains

– a few people looked at her and wanted to touch

– it felt weird letting them in

– letting their hands graze the place where my soul resides

Last night, as I lay on top of my bed and let my bare body be cradled by red, I thought about what tethers us to life.

What forces us to create and connect? What drives us and where does that energy originate? Why does my cloth feel like an internal organ- a part of me that once served me and has been given a new life?

I felt this intense urge to make cloth for everyone, to wrap the whole of humanity and all living beings in comfort and warmth, to give every one a sense of safety and belonging.

So she held me in her arms as I asked her these questions, and with all of our thorns and tender delicacy, our petals merged and met, and once more I heard that soft whisper like the lambs first bleat, ‘it’s love’ she said.


9: Blood red, a part of me sheds.

“When we are walking in oracle lands, a weavers shuttle held in our hands, we yearn for the yarn and we follow the braid, we search for the truth in the cloth as it’s made. Where the wild of the earth meets the wise of the loom, where the wild meets the wise in our dream”

– ‘Weavers Oracle’ by Carolyn Hillyer


The loom waits patiently beneath my eyes,

She has been waiting for some time- I feel it in my bones.

I inhale fire,

Feel it travel up and over my skull

And with every exhalation the rain





If you were to ask me what it feels like to weave,

I could only show you how.


Our conversation starts off slowly.

We judder,


For a while.

Like a newborn lamb I fumble to find my step,

The weight of gravity and the rhythm of the earth unfurl beneath my feet.

I have been prepared for this.


All at once,

And unforgiving,

The rhythm engulfs me,

Drags me through her current,

I have never felt so free.

I smile, laugh, in joy at the pleasure of going with

rather than against.


The heddle loom feels me loosing focus,

She rears up, gazes at me through piercing wide eyes

and shows me the anticipation coursing through her wooden bones.

‘You know that this is a part of you young child, it’s clear from your hand and heart’


As I weave,

A part of me transfuses into


Into gold




And black.

A part of me leaves,

Trades itself into textiles

Says it no longer needs me,

Says that I can be free.


I feel my blood becoming heavy with fire

And fibre,

Time lifts.

All restrictions are eaten up.


The loom is my filter

My whale teeth

Fox tooth


Ice-Witch clearing the baggage,

Burning the dead wood.


Heart tugs







I begin to quicken my pace.



Oh how she flows.

All at once I


Like a Wild Rose.

Rebirth and renewal tattooed across my soul.


The cloth got me here.

Am I surprised?


My woven interior begins to unravel

And rebuild before my eyes.


My hands ripple over the waves,

Surging forward into the future,

Moving quick- never loosing pace.

Their power?

The union between weft and warp.


My cloth?

Blood red.

And full of



And longing.

I am a traveller

Upon this

Circle road.

My inner tides ebb and flow with our red mother moon.


This cloth connects me

Forces me to contract




I filter


Feel his fire and warm embrace

I filter


His tender cloth grazes my rosy cheeked face

I filter


And we dance,


as our paths unfold we revel in the moon light as it


our stories

not yet told.


Baba Yaga watches me

From afar.

She likes the red

Pulls me in closer and her whispers glide gently over my head, and into my bones

‘You are a woman weaver now young child’

And she smiles at me through teeth of gold and lips of crimson red,

As she pushes me closer to the loom and the threads that have filtered my heart.

I feel it.

Stronger than before,

Fused within me- we are never to part.

I am a woman weaver now.


7/8: Hands: cradle- I make a bed for my desires


Cradle me, for

I am

Your bed of desires.

Cradle me, for

I am

Your youths remnants

Tender and soft

Unchanged by the passing winds, the sunken skies, the howls that we have cried


Thread bare, I begin

To tear

Roots of the past fall with the weight of it all.

Cradle me, my woollen love.

Thread me bare.

Lay down your bones

And I will build them up,

Cradle you in the fall

Let you release the weight of it all.


Thread touches my skin,

Breath sighs as I let go and finally let myself in.


I thought I’d merge the last two weeks together.

As my interior and exterior worlds continue to change, how I approach my work in and out of the studio has merged into one stream of meandering newness. Sometimes it’s hard to keep up…

Last week I built my canvas- my blank screen, empty threads to which I can now fill and find space within. I had previously warped up half of a loom for the Georgia O’Keeffe project- and so to have the opportunity to complete the entire loom was a deeply moving and meditative process.

I began to spin using a new technique last week- the electric spinning wheel. And so in one day I had consolidated the mechanics of warping a loom and had also learnt new spinning techniques- both skills in turn adding to my continual creative and personal development through these sacred textile mediums and processes.

I had been in Amsterdam for the Easter weekend, visiting family and connecting with my Dutch blood. I went to the Hockney- Van Gogh exhibit which demonstrated a beautiful and unexpected union between two powerful hands and hearts.

Hands- I have began to see them as a companion of the soul. They are their own entity, things of beauty, space, things of guidance, touch and sorrow. They are the true windows to the soul.

My time yesterday was spent designing through spinning, plying and sitting with what my hands had produced. Whether I like it or not, they know me best.

And I didn’t always like what I had produced. Imogen guided me and taught me to sit, wait and except what had come out of me. My fixation on an ending, and on visually ‘beautiful’ creative results can be such a distraction sometimes.

Moving forward, as the newest part of me emerges through my hands and the fibres we are blessed to work with- I will wholeheartedly accept whatever is revealed.

6: Touch, move, merge; the sacred dance and beginning

“And it all begins with a single thread, as Plato tells us, wound on the spindle of the revolving cosmos held in the lap of a woman, spinning the destiny of the world into being”

– from ‘The book of symbols: reflections on archetypal images’

Being a textile artist is like being the closest touch on skin, space between earth-textile-foot, energy between palm and cloth.

Life happens there, within the in between, within the stillness that so many run from.

Being a textile artist is about bringing change- feeding our collective consciousness with comfort and the freedom to feel again.

Textiles bring us closer to touch.

In times of environmental catastrophe, political unrest and a lost sense of what it means to be alive, resurrecting the respect for natural things: roots-shoots-fleece-flax is exceeding the realms of critical.

It is my calling to be a part of this reawakening.

Week 6 of my weaving apprenticeship with Imogen Di Sapia has fallen in changing times. The extinction rebellion movement is in motion, past threads are loosening.

Imogen and I have been working hard on a project for the RHS garden exhibition taking place in Malvern this spring. The exhibition is centred around Georgia O’Keeffe’s ‘Ghost Ranch’ and it’s been a privilege to be a part of fibre transforming to cloth. I can’t wait to see the textiles in context, amongst the other energy, crafts, colours, plants, shades and history.


Toes touch

Blood red

Cloth rug

Desert gold

Ancient and old.

O’Keeffe’s spirt beneath our feet

Energy once ours now back



I grab at the rug beneath my feet.


Touch- move- merge

The sacred dance


Forever locked

Never trapped.


These desert winds penetrate my entire organism

and I hollow out

as the sand scrapes all that I am, out out out

and away.

The winds fuel me feed me fill me wake me shake me make me.

Make me.

Take me



Our task today was to capture the finished cloth, the finished rug, in a way that expresses its fullness, conveys its composure and wholeness as a being, personality as well as a textile.

Imogen’s skills in creating theatre coupled with her natural story telling abilities were beautiful to witness first hand. My wool working journey has officially begun. I have now completed every stage in the making of cloth, and so the first thread on my life long warp has been set, beaten and stilled.

I now think back to the first ‘loom’ I made (if you could call it that), walking into Imogen’s exhibition for the first time and of course my time in the Yew woods last summer along side all that rests in between.

I welcome with open heart, mind, soul and spirit the many many many colourful,




and beautiful threads to come.

And I urge us all to respect, cherish and treasure the textiles around us as they mimic the ground we walk on, our Mother Earth and the cosmic matter we are all made up of.

Let’s ignite the freedom to feel again.