When I sit at my loom, I am not simply weaving cloth; I am listening. Each thread carries a whisper from the earth, a reminder of connection and patience. The rhythm of weaving slows my breath, guiding me into a quiet space where thought softens and gratitude rises.
Working with nettle fibre has taught me that transformation is a sacred act. What begins as a sting becomes something soft and strong, just as life’s challenges can be woven into strength and beauty when met with care. Each pass of the shuttle feels like a small prayer, a way of giving thanks to nature, to time, and to the unseen patterns forming through my hands.
My woven scarves hold this same energy. Each one is a gentle translation of the plant’s resilience into something warm, comforting, and kind. To wear one is to wrap yourself in nature’s quiet strength and the patience of the loom.
The loom holds more than thread; it holds intention, healing, and devotion. Every woven piece becomes an offering, a blessing shaped through rhythm, patience, and love.
In this way, the loom is my prayer, and each creation is a gentle reminder that nature, when honoured, always returns the gift.
The Weaver by Grant Colfax Tullar (1869 - 1950)
My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me;
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.
Oft times He weaveth sorrow
And I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the under-side.
Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly,
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver’s skillful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
He knows, He loves, He cares,
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives His very best to those
Who choose to walk with Him.
