she said as if I was of earth and the earth grew from my roots.
She gathered the ends- bundling wild yellow straw in her hands.
I can trim it for you if you like.
When nurtured- it would grow and grow, and she would brush it away as it fell into my eyes, it looks tucked away from your face she would say.
Now as an adult, it breaks dead at the end, tired and broken.
Hold still, she would say to child me, as she trimmed it, brushing it back and collecting it up from the bathroom ground, off the linoleum she hated but would take years to replace.
Come let’s leave it out for the birds for their nests, our feet touching the grass as my straw flew away in the wind.
I spent my childhood playing with various materials, collecting what others considered waste—from paper and fabric scraps to sand. I created dolls’ clothes, sand paintings, and temporary toys using dough. These activities, unbeknownst to me at the time, were deeply influenced by my experiences on the farm with my father, observing my mother crafting in the afternoons, and spending summer vacations with my grandmother. Sensory memories of my grandmother preparing food for livestock, surrounded by heaps of dry fodder, and hand-spinning in the afternoons, while I made dolls from twigs, yarn, and fabric scraps, profoundly shaped my future.
This photo was taken during our yearly visit to my Grandmother’s home in Thar Desert, I am just pretending to spinning on her Charkha (Spinning Wheel) (Year 2014)
Anchi Devi, my grandmother, would sit outside the Gahdal (our mud house/living room), an open space welcoming anyone passing by to rest, spend some time, or have lunch. This was her daily afternoon activity.
Everyday Pattu’s: wool blankets with multiple uses—serving as blankets at night, raincoats during rains, and draped clothing during the day.
Ceremonial Pattu: Handspun black sheep wool (now rare to find) by ‘Naani’ (grandmother) Anchi Devi, woven by a local weaver in exchange for grains, and hand-embroidered by her for a personal touch. She used bright colors to contrast with the desert browns and bring life to the garment, with motifs inspired by her surroundings.
Photo taken by Vanessa Randall_Using a spinning wheel, a newly acquired skill from the field school, I hand-spun Icelandic black lamb wool.
Here’s my everyday setup for spinning wool 🙂
Under the midnight sun, I wind freshly hand-spun yarn.
After our evening pool sessions, as sunset gives way to sunrise, my second part of the day begins, eagerly anticipating a midnight stroll to the beach.
Unconsciously, these early experiences guided me towards a career in design. Studying at India’s first design school, NID (National Institute of Design), exposed me to India’s diverse material culture and rich cultural experiences. My projects began to focus on wool and its various applications.
These photos were taken in 2012 during the Craft Documentation module at NID. This time, I have traveled to Kinnaur, Himachal Pradesh, where I discovered a similar connection with fiber. Here, a 90-year-old weaver is seen weaving thin patti (stripes) that can be used as belts or to adorn woven Dhoru (blankets and shawls).
Women adorned in various types of draped Dhoru/Pattu, hand-spun and hand-woven textiles.
Hand-spun yarn and cords.
Hand Spun yarn on drop spindle (Sheep and Yak wool)
Now in Iceland, as I explore historical pieces in museums, I’m reminded of my experiences in the desert with textile pieces like Pattu, crafted using narrow pit loom fabric strips joined to form larger pieces. My craft documentation in the Himalayas further emphasized the universal language of working with wool.
Loom at National Museums in Reyjavik
Narrow belts woven on tablet weaving in National Museums in Reyjavik
Woven textile from The Textile Museum in Blönduós
My weaving set up during the summer school.
One common thread across these diverse regions—deserts, mountains, and now Iceland—is the use of sheep’s wool and other animal fibers like camel, yak, and horse. These regions share extreme temperatures, and wool, with its insulating properties, anti-dust, flame-resistant, and biodegradable nature, emerges as the golden fiber. This universal material forges a deep human connection, reflecting a shared heritage of resourcefulness and adaptability.
On the Journey to Find Connection with Wool and Sustainability
When we arrived in Iceland, the 24 hours of daylight and the breathtaking surroundings—from the view outside our windows to the paths we walked towards the pool—immersed us in a surreal experience. The limited resources available pushed us to become incredibly resourceful, prompting us to craft new recipes from what we had. Observing how the same few ingredients, like potatoes and mushrooms, could be transformed in numerous ways by drawing on our past experiences was a remarkable lesson in creativity and adaptability.
Connecting dots and creating art from and with nature 🙂
Photo taken by Sharmistha Kar _During our Natural dye material forging session
Spending time in nature, often going on long walks with friends, allowed each of us to interact with the environment according to our unique creative practices. Dale used found plastic and sand to create new artworks, Sabrina painted with sand, while I collected materials to explore the interplay between fossil fuels and natural elements. Sharmi, meanwhile, planned to observe the sea and its sounds to inspire her tapestry work.
Writing letters to my Grandmother from Ocean of Iceland to the Desert of Rajasthan, India
Getting inspired by nature’s bounty
Throughout these experiences, we shared moments of laughter and fatigue, yet the rejuvenating swims in natural hot springs and the awe-inspiring landscape continually inspired us. This environment fostered a deep connection with nature and among ourselves, driving our creativity and collaborative spirit.
Made sprouted Moong-Daal salad for one of our communal dinner (we had many and enjoyed every bit of it with everyone’s recipes.
Friends from our last supper together in the Blönduós
