Guest Blog – Lisbet Clements

What inspires a design?

When Fiona and Daniel first invited me to contribute a piece on what inspires my knitting, I was at a loss – my first answer was an impossible “everything”. I was tempted to say “everything I see”, but it’s much more than just the visual.

Going for a walk provides the space and time for ideas to come, and lots of things tend to happen at once, involving all the senses. The impressions get stored away for later use, sketches and jottings kept in a notebook.


I have some favourite techniques (steeks), and there are some things I’ll go to almost any length to avoid (colour-work knitted back and forth).

The real starting point is very often the yarn. When I handle skeins of yarn, they seem full of possibilities – they don’t want to stay as skeins, they want to join with other friendly yarns and be worked into something lovely. And when the finished garment is finally washed, the yarn “relaxes” into position, “getting comfortable”.

Yarn texture points in the general direction. Hands create a garment to be worn, so the feel and drape of the fabric, both finished and unfinished, are part of it. Colour is of course very important, evoking memory of location and time, sometimes far apart from the here and now. Sometimes a new technique needs to be tried out or combined with an old favourite. Sometimes a location or place name suggests a particular shape. And I always have in my mind a person who would like to wear the finished piece.

The process is often frustratingly slow. Lots of ideas bubble away, and imaginary test knits using different techniques end up in technical dead ends; even before the knitting starts, there is a lot of unravelling. But, oh, the satisfaction when suddenly the solution is there, the mathematics works out, and the knitting has been done – when the yarn finally sighs, “now I’m comfortable”.


Designing the Haytor cardigan: conker trees, yellow leaves – and steeks

There is something quite wonderful about conkers – their shiny newness is irresistible and they invite touch. At the end of a walk, I have conkers for both hands. Some of the leaves are on the ground, some are still clinging to the tree. The colours around me are brown, earthy and strong, with the occasional zing of bright yellow.


Autumn is the time for warm knitted jumpers – for knitting warm jumpers – and the design for the Haytor cardigan grew from the colours of conker trees and a fascination with the myriad variations that can be created using simple, small colour-work patterns. Knitted in Sirri yarn, the small pattern has a big impact, and big needles mean that the cardigan is soon done.


But the steek is the best thing. I love steeking. (If you haven’t tried it, I would encourage you to have a go!) No variable tension issues. No more slow purl rows of colour-work, reading the chart backwards, with working yarns in all the wrong places. Just knit. And finally, it’s two lines of crochet, then snip-snip-snip, and, magically – with the right yarn – everything tucks itself into place ready for finishing. And Sirri is the right yarn: it’s pure wool, with all those wonderful grippy bits; it’s light; and it’s amazingly warm.


I’m ready for autumn!


Minuets, wool, & Faroese history

Along with fish, wool, and tourism, music is now one of the Faroe Islands’ growing export areas. This summer we have made a small contribution to this by releasing an album of tunes from Faroese history:


When we are not running The Island Wool Company, Fiona and I are musicians (horn and clarinet) and a few years ago we joined with two of our Faroese friends (Angelika Nielsen – violin, and Olavur Jakobsen – guitar) to form a folk/classical group called Svabonio.

If we ever worry that we have too many different interests in our busy lives, we just have to turn for inspiration to the man who provided the music for our project: Jens Christian Svabo (1754-1824). He was an accomplished violinist (and artist, as you will see), but his scholarly work covered every aspect of Faroese society. He wrote the first Faroese dictionary (before the language had an agreed written form); he made collections of the old Faroese ballads; he wrote a geographical and ethnographical study of the islands; and he came up with many practical solutions to improve the lives of the Faroese population.


Svabo’s sketch of Tórshavn’s fort (1780’s). Note the British navy ships.

Despite all these accomplishments, Svabo’s work was not recognised in his own lifetime. After many years of struggle in Copenhagen, he returned to his home town of Tórshavn to live out the rest of his life with the help of a meagre pension and the kindness of friends and family. His handwritten notebook of dance tunes (dated 1775) was not found until 1928 when an old house in Tórshavn was being renovated. Hence the title of our album, Lost and Found.

Svabo’s treatise on every aspect of Faroese nature, society and economy (Reports from Travels in the Faroe Islands, 1781 and 1782) contains some fascinating information about the use of wool in the 18th century. It is notable how little has changed since then in the way that sheep are reared in the outfields and mountains.


Svabo’s drawings of some of the ear-markings used to identify sheep.

Svabo even went as far as providing recipes for dyeing wool and when the book was first published in the 1950s, the editors recreated samples:

So although the natural wool colours – white, greys, browns, and black – have been the basis of Faroese woollen clothes for centuries, there is a long tradition of colour dyeing – especially yellows and reds.

There are a couple of drawings in the book, which initially might look like wool sorting and spinning, but they actually show the production of fishing line from hemp:

Svabo’s range of knowledge is quite breathtaking. He was even up-to-date with the latest scientific work of the Swedish naturalist Linnaeus who had only given the Latin name to to the Red-necked Phalarope a few years earlier in 1758:


In the music on our new album, we have been similarly stimulated by seeking connections between the old and the new and between different places. The accepted history of Faroese music has been that is was exclusively vocal: either hymns or sung ballads for dancing. But Svabo himself wrote,

At notable weddings and celebrations, especially in Tórshavn, the Faroese dance is very much starting to fall out of fashion, and in its place, minuets, Polish, English, Scottish dances, reels and contradances, are being introduced.

Luckily, the Faroese dance is still very much alive today. And contemporary music of all genres in the Faroes today is rooted in history, but influenced by a kaleidoscope of sources.

Note: If you would like to explore Faroese music further, a good place to start is at the website of the music label, TUTL.


Knitting the Faroes

I first realised that Clare Glenister was a fellow scandophile at a rehearsal for Beethoven’s 5th Symphony in Cardiff. The contrabassoon only plays in the last movement, so she had plenty of time to read her Swedish novel. Just like Fiona and me, Clare combines work as a professional musician (she was a member of the BBC Symphony Orchestra until 2010) with a fascination for norse languages and northern lands. She has also been studying for an MA in Photojournalism and Documentary Photography at the London College of Communication. Clare made this documentary project in the summer of 2016 and we are delighted to be able to share it with you. The yarn is Sirri, Snældan, and Navia Tradition.

Gløgt er gestsins eyga  – ‘Clear is the guest’s eye’ – is a Faroese saying which suggests that visitors to a place often notice more than the locals do. Knitting the Faroes was a collaborative project designed to explore this phenomenon. The project took place at the Faroese Summer Institute, a language school held at Fróðskaparsetur Føroya (University of the Faroes) in August 2016. International students were commissioned to make pieces of wool work to express their relationships to the Faroes. Their textile interpretations were then paired with my photographic ones, with reference to colour, texture and ideology. Wool work was chosen because of the strong connection between wool and the Faroes. Clare Glenister


© Clare Glenister 2016


© Clare Glenister 2016


© Clare Glenister 2016


© Clare Glenister 2016


© Clare Glenister 2016


© Clare Glenister 2016


© Clare Glenister 2016


© Clare Glenister 2016


© Clare Glenister 2016


© Clare Glenister 2016


© Clare Glenister 2016


© Clare Glenister 2016


© Clare Glenister 2016