Category Archives: Uncategorized

In my last post, I wrote about learning and unlearning. This time, I want to explore mistakes because, to echo the old Sinatra song, “I’ve had a few.”

The trouble with social media, I find, is that perfection is held up as the standard to which we should all aspire. Real life is rather different and, certainly in my case, full of mistakes. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, although I’ve experienced both sides of the argument.

My mum, who taught me the basics when I was a child, always worked from patterns and took enormous care to follow the instructions to the letter. Mistakes were simply not allowed, and the whole process often seemed slightly stressful. Much later, when I enrolled on a City and Guilds Design and Embroidery course at the local art college, I discovered the joy of experimentation. Trying something out simply for the pleasure of seeing what happened was positively encouraged. Even the samples that turned out “badly” could be cut up and incorporated into the next piece of work. The whole experience was incredibly freeing, and I’ve never really looked back.

Now, before we get too carried away, I should say that, in my experience, there are two kinds of mistakes in a project: those I can live with, and those I can’t.

The joy of crochet is that you can put a stitch almost anywhere, so if I discover one stitch fewer than I should have across a row, the answer may simply be to add one discreetly in a suitable place — no drama required. If, however, the mistake is glaringly obvious, then the only real option is to frog the work (so called because of the sound the yarn supposedly makes as it is ripped back to the offending row). Naturally, these errors are usually discovered only after at least twelve inches of progress, which makes the frogging process particularly painful. Still, it’s better than finishing a project only to spend the rest of your life staring at the howling error in the middle of it. 

Colour choices are a whole other category of mistake. Sometimes combinations simply don’t work, or you are asked to use colours for a commission that fail to fill your heart with joy. Of course, not everyone agrees on what makes a pleasing palette, and experimenting with unfamiliar colour combinations is always an adventure — and usually a learning curve as well.

Sampling helps prevent too many disasters. It is far less painful to work out a pattern on a six-inch square than to launch into a large new design and hope for the best. All those samples — some that later became larger projects and some that never developed any further — eventually find their way into a crate. When I have enough, they become the foundation for freeform crochet pieces.

Weaving and spinning are, in some ways, even more forgiving. If my spinning turns out a little uneven, I simply label it an “art yarn” and carry on. The weaving I enjoy most leans towards freeform as well, using leftover bits and pieces or inserting random stripes of open work. Anything goes, really. I weave for the pleasure of handling the yarn, and I tend to avoid strict patterns where every small mistake immediately announces itself.

That said, I do sometimes end up with woven pieces that don’t hang quite right once they come off the loom, or whose colours don’t quite sing together, or which simply turn out shorter than intended. Some people might call these failures or mistakes, but I prefer to think of them as challenges. When I have enough of them, I weave them together into a double-thickness throw — perfect for cold winter evenings.

Perhaps that’s the real lesson about mistakes in crafting: very little is ever truly wasted. Even the things that don’t work out as planned usually teach us something, lead us somewhere unexpected, or become part of something new later on.

Happy crafting.

Sue

In my last post, I wrote about texture. This time, I want to explore the skills I’ve learned over the years—and the habits I’ve gradually let go.

My mum taught me to knit and crochet when I was around nine years old. My dad still has the first wonky piece of knitting I made—later fashioned into an envelope for his cufflinks. It’s no surprise that I still hold my knitting needles the way my mum did, but my crochet style has evolved. As I got older, I came across a book that showed how to control yarn tension through the non-dominant hand, and the difference was immediate—my stitches became more even, more consistent.

A quick look at platforms like TikTok or YouTube shows just how many variations there are. Every crocheter holds their hook and yarn differently. What I’ve learned is that there’s no single “correct” way—only the way that works for you.

One lesson that stayed with me came from a Christmas project I took on rather ambitiously: a knitted twinset for my mother-in-law. It took an age to complete, but she loved it. A few days later, when we visited, she was wearing it—and it looked even better than I remembered. She had blocked it. I had never blocked anything before and hadn’t realised that something as simple as soaking and shaping could transform a finished piece so completely. That was a turning point: a small technique, but a lasting lesson.

During the pandemic lockdowns, I learned Tunisian crochet—partly from a book, but mostly by watching Toni Lipsey on YouTube. It’s a relatively accessible craft, especially if you already crochet, yet I often hear people say, “Oh, I don’t know how to do that,” as though that’s the end of the conversation. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s not to stop there. Curiosity is often more important than confidence.

Spinning was another step into the unfamiliar. I started with a drop spindle—an inexpensive way to begin—and again relied on books and videos. But there comes a point where guidance really matters, and for that I’m very grateful to Zoe at Old School Crafts Minting, who helped me build both skill and confidence, whether using a spindle or an Ashford Traveller wheel.

More recently, a visit to the Wonderwool Wales festival left me feeling inspired all over again. I’ve been curious about more freeform weaving for a while, and came home with an experimental kit for weaving on a circular ring. It’s far from perfect, but that’s part of the appeal. It’s also a satisfying way to use up shorter lengths of yarn that might otherwise sit forgotten.

Looking back, the most valuable thing I’ve learned is to be willing—to try, to experiment, and to accept that not everything has to be perfect, whether it’s your first attempt or your twentieth. I’ve learned that instructions are a starting point, not a set of rules, and that developing your own style takes time.

What I’m still learning—perhaps more slowly—is what to let go of: comparing my work to others, giving too much space to my inner critic, and starting new projects before finishing the ones already in progress.

“I don’t do this the way I used to…”—and that, I think, is the point.

Happy crafting

Sue

In my last post, I wrote about colour. This time, I want to explore texture and structure—the physical qualities that shape how a piece looks, feels, and is ultimately used.

I mainly crochet using commercial yarns, which tend to fall into two broad categories: smooth and predictable, or highly textured. I almost always choose the former. I’ve realised this is because I like to be in control of where the texture sits within my work. When the yarn itself is very textured, that choice is already made for me.

Those heavily textured yarns are often acrylic, which I increasingly try to avoid. That said, in the spirit of reducing waste, I’ll happily use any yarn in the weft of my weaving. In that context, unpredictability becomes a strength—thick-and-thin textures can add real interest and depth.

An exception to my preference for control is my own handspun yarn. As I’m still developing that skill, my yarn is naturally a little uneven—but that unevenness is part of its charm. Recently, I spun some combed tops with sari silk, and the resulting slubs were beautiful. Yarns like that feel best suited to weaving, where their texture can really shine.

When I do choose smooth commercial yarns, the texture comes from the stitches themselves. With a fine mercerised cotton such as Scheepjes Sugar Rush, I can create detailed surface interest using popcorn stitches, back loops, and post stitches. I often turn to Grace Fearon’s designs for inspiration—her mandalas are intricate and absorbing, and I enjoy making them simply for the pleasure of the process.

I also use a lot of gradient yarns in 3-ply or fingering weight. These naturally lend themselves to more open structures—spiders, fans, and chain spaces—that create a soft drape. The result is usually a shawl or wrap: something light, elegant, and easy to wear on a cooler evening.

For Tunisian crochet, I tend to reach for a DK weight yarn. Here, texture might come from bobbles or a honeycomb stitch pattern, offering anything from bold definition to subtle surface detail.

Aran weight yarn is another favourite—partly because it grows quickly, but also because of its versatility. Worked densely, it creates a warm, textured fabric perfect for blankets. Worked more openly, the same yarn can produce a shawl with surprising drape and movement.

Texture and structure are not just design choices—they influence how a piece feels in the hand, how it behaves when worn, and how it fits into everyday life. For me, they are as important as colour, and just as personal.

Happy crafting