Hearts of slöjd

When the making means more than the things made.

Ärlepinnepåse, a wagtail stick cozy.

Last night I was sitting in the kitchen, weaving a narrow linen band. My 21-year-old son had come to visit and he had brought a pair of jeans he wanted to mend visibly. As we sat there, chatting and crafting across the dinner table about blanket stitches, sustainability and the power of slowness in hand sewing, I knew it had happened again; that heart filled and sincere conversation that so often emerges wherever crafters meet.

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Did you know that when you see the first wagtail of spring you need to pick up the first stick you see and place it in your wallet for good fortune? To keep it safe and snug you could make a cozy for it. I mean, what wagtail stick wouldn't love that? Some of you may stop reading at the notion of a wagtail stick and a cozy for it. Those of you who are intrigued, this is for you.

Every time I open my handbag and see my wagtail stick peeking out of its cozy, my heart sings a soft tune of crafting joy. It's early July and I am on the train back home from Sätergläntan institute of sloyd and crafts. I have taught a five-day class here that I call A Spindle a Day. About spinning for sure, but also about what the spinning process does for the spinner. Five enthusiastic students have been preparing wool, reflecting, exploring and spinning on four different spindle types. Conversations both in and outside of the classroom sizzle about crafting, being in our hands and the joy of making. This is not just a course; this is a whole week in the company of crafters in six parallel courses. It's a magical space I keep coming back to.

In Swedish we use the word slöjd for non-industrial making in natural materials. Slöjd is also the name of a subject in Swedish compulsory school, where crafting in metal, textile and wood is taught to all pupils for nine years. Both the word and the subject were exported in the 19th century to the United States as Sloyd and was taught until the early 20th century. The word slöjd comes from the old Swedish word slöghþ, meaning sly, skilled, handy or artful. In essence, slöjd is street smartery.

Classes are held from 8.40 am to 4 pm, but the classrooms are buzzing with energy and making until lights go out at 10 pm. On the breaks the students relax with crafting in other techniques or materials. Even if I am exhausted after a day of teaching, I unpin my teacher's sign and go back to the classroom after dinner to weave a band, chat or just spin in silence beside my students. Or, I just listen to them and craft my words onto the page about the magic of making.

I have taught summer here courses since 2018. Every corner, every detail and every soul in this place oozes crafting. In the stitching, carding, carving and forging in the classrooms of course, but also decoration and everyday things like hooks, drawer handles, spoons and blankets are all lovingly crafted by someone's hands and heart. Everybody is dressed in their crafty finest, hand sewn dresses, embroidered belts and suspenders, knits far and wide and hand carved hair pins. Whenever I meet people, there is fondling of backpack embroideries, visible mendings, woven baskets or embellished tie-on pockets. Generosity and humility softly bounce between souls. In any conversation in any constellation during the week, the power of crafting is a natural topic. Anyone I meet has a heart in one or more crafts. The collective crafting knowledge is glistening. In the dining room conversations are held about making at a depth that wouldn't be possible in a different setting. There is something about being in your hands together that creates an extra layer of humility to the room. Perhaps through a respect for the material and the joy that crafting brings.

A handwoven band from my handspun silk yarn (dyed with my homegrown indigo) on a loom made of my hand carved sticks and a shuttle made by a crafting friend.

In this space people know what crafting does for the soul. If I wear a hand sewn shirt in 120-year-old linen at work nobody lifts an eyebrow. They don't have to of course, but somewhere deep inside I want to shout out "Can't you see the brilliance of the fabric, the hemstitching or the smocked cuffs?" Not for them to say it's pretty, but in respect for the natural material, techniques, skills and process behind it, regardless by whose hands. In a crafting setting, people would ask to look at the seams and finishing on the wrong side of the garment.

In the company of crafters, the heart in crafting is the baseline. Making in the company of other makers brings something unique to the surface from deep within the heart. The act of making something in a natural material that is both esthetically appealing, sustainably made and useful, is for me a sign of respect to the maker and the made. I believe being in our hands makes us a little humbler, a little kinder and a little more responsive to the world. I know it makes me a better me. So, join me, be in your hands for a while, carve a stick, sew a bag for your stick, give it to someone who sees the beauty of a carved stick in a cozy, and let me know what unfolds.