It can be surprisingly difficult—even painful—to part with things. I grew up with the influence of a generation who had lived through wartime shortages, when nothing could be wasted. Every bottle was scraped clean, buttons and zips were removed from clothes heading for the rag bag, and every inch of fabric or yarn might be needed someday.

It’s a mindset that persists. At some point, I found myself surrounded—drowning, even—in the little bits I’d accumulated. I’ve learned to be better at letting go so I have the space to actually create, but I still can’t bear true waste. Some things I simply won’t part with. And when those carefully kept pieces finally find their purpose, the satisfaction is immense.

This particular journey has taught me a lot about balance—what to save, what to release—and has nudged me to become more of a finisher, not just a starter of projects. In this case, the long-kept fragments became something special: a piece of weaving that carries the story of my making life.

Gathering the Pieces

It began with a box of precious fragments—hand-dyed fibre samples and test spins, from when I have been learning that I’d been keeping for years. Too small for a full project, too special to throw away. Some might call it hoarding, but to me, I knew they had a purpose. Each little piece carried its own story: a dye experiment that sparked new ideas or a spin that taught me a drafting trick. They had all been waiting for their moment.

Grouping, Joining, and Softening

I began by grouping the fragments into colour palettes, letting the hues guide me. Most were pure wool, so I knew I could join them seamlessly by felting. I’d never tried needle felting before, but it turned out to be intuitive—and the tool I used was perfect for making smooth, tidy joins.

By this stage, I had three large balls of richly textured yarn. Beautiful as they were, they didn’t feel cohesive. Back to the spinning wheel I went, adding a gentle twist while wrapping each yarn in a fine layer of undyed merino. This subtle haze softened the palette, tied the colours together, and gave the whole yarn a quiet, misty glow.

From Knitting to Weaving

My first thought was to knit with the yarn—my go-to craft—but while the fabric looked interesting, no project was taking shape in my mind. So the curated yarn rested a little longer, waiting for the right spark.

That spark arrived when I returned to weaving. I started with a rigid heddle loom and, after the first few obligatory scarves, I felt ready for something bigger. I warped up with a golden wheat-coloured matte cabled cotton, unearthed from the deepest corner of my stash—a warm, grounding base for the textured weft to play against.

The Weaving Process

From the first few picks, I knew this was right. Like spinning textured yarns, weaving with this yarn revealed movements of texture and colour that undulated across the cloth. My original aim was to make enough fabric for a floor cushion, so I interspersed some plain textured handspun to stretch the yardage.

It became a stop–start project over several months. And, as most weavers know, the magic (or surprise) often happens at the final reveal—when the cloth comes off the loom. As I unrolled it from the beam, I instantly knew this was not destined to be sat on. This cloth needed to be honoured.

Framing the Story

In the years since I first learned to weave, I’d also taken an upholstery course. Those skills came in handy as I built a wooden frame and essentially upholstered it with my woven fabric over layers of calico and wadding. The final stage was a collaboration with my partner—a photographer who had recently acquired some picture framing equipment, so I got to choose this oak box frame style and help with the assembly.

Now, looking at it on the wall, I see more than a weaving. I see the story of my crafting life—knitting, dyeing, spinning, weaving, upholstery—all layered together. A journey in fibre, framed.