The 2026 Instructor Retreat brought together over 90 instructors from around the country. Program Director Jessa Frost reflects on the time together, and on craft's power to nurture our wellbeing. 

This April, more than 90 active North House instructors and recent alumni of the Artisan Development Program and Internship gathered on campus for a weekend of connection and learning we call the Instructor Retreat. Like professionals in many fields, there’s so much to learn from one another to continue to grow as craft educators. Thanks to donor and foundation support, North House has hosted this unique gathering for the last 14 years, and it’s become a significant moment in the annual folk school calendar. 

The instructor retreat brought together over 90 instructors from across the country

This year’s special guest was Dr. Anne Kirketerp, author of the book Craft Psychology: How Crafting Promotes Health. The core of her work is something that is self-evident to most North House instructors and students: doing crafts of all kinds can contribute significantly to personal well-being, and ultimately offers purpose, fulfillment, and joy. 

Dr. Kirketerp’s book and presentations helped us define and describe more precisely how this big idea plays out in our classrooms and lives. For example, it’s easy to say that craft connects us to one another. Wearing a scarf my mother has woven, drinking coffee from a beloved mug thrown by an old chum, using a knife made by a dear friend: I’ve always known that these things make me feel warm and fuzzy, but I haven’t deeply explored why it's meaningful to have objects made by hands I know. 

Dr. Kirketerp teaching a workshop on craft psychology

Dr. Kirketerp delved into how craft fosters a sense of interrelatedness that’s not just a nice feeling, but an essential part of psychological well-being. The scarf, the mug, the knife hold me in a relationship with the makers that exists beyond time, not only connecting me to family and friends but also something even bigger: to tradition, culture, and my place as a human on the earth in this moment. When students come to North House to learn and make, they are tapping into this bigger psychological need to feel connected to others and ultimately, all of humanity. Whew! That’s a lot to take on in a weekend!    

Beyond digging into big ideas, the Instructor Retreat was full of the sort of things that make for a good gathering anywhere: delicious food, time for connection and conversation, singing, dancing, games, and laughter. We heard about the work to revitalize cedar mat weaving in the Grand Portage Nation from instructor April McCormick. With Resident Artisan Dr. Mathilde Yakymets-Lind, we explored how the tools of historical craft research and folklorists can be accessed by anyone. We played with techniques from improv comedy as teaching methods with Joe Walewski, and we even stacked several cords of wood for this summer’s wood-fired pizza bakes. 

Learning about cedar bark mats with April McCormick and Erik Carlson

The next time you take a class at North House, ask your instructor about their experience at the  Instructor Retreat. Ultimately, this gathering is about shaping and stewarding the culture of this special place for everyone who comes here (or aspires to come here eventually!) to nurture our collective wellbeing. It’s a joy and an honor to host, and we’re grateful for the investment of time and energy our instructor community makes in being together. 

Hide Week returns May 12-18, and North House is excited to welcome an incredibly talented group of guest instructors! Read on to learn more about them and what they're teaching during their stay. 

Kevin Lewis and Darla Campbell 

Kevin Lewis and Darla Campbell are a brother and sister pair  from Ministikwan Lake Cree Nation (Treaty 6 Territory), Saskatchewan, Canada. Dr. Kevin Lewis is a dedicated advocate for Indigenous land-based education and founded kâniyâsihk Culture Camps, a non-profit organization rooted in Cree philosophy and traditions. As an accomplished educator and Cree language revitalization expert, Kevin integrates cultural teachings, language immersion, and traditional practices into transformative learning experiences.

Darla Campbell is nikâwiy to 3 boys, a licensed practical nurse for over 12 years, and has developed her love of hide tanning throughout the years. She facilitates with kâniyâsik Culture Camps, which leads two Hide Camps each year. Together, Lewis and Campbell will teach a Hide Week course called pahkêkinokêwin: Moose Hide Tanning. 

“Moose is supposed to bring people together. The hunt is meant to be done with people,” Lewis said. “It’s a huge animal, very heavy, and skilled hunters bring people together. They share meat, they share the work and unite families. This will create friendships because it takes a lot of people to work through a hunt, butchering, hide tanning, and making projects.” 

Cooperation is something students can expect from their class at North House. Over the course of three days, Lewis and Campbell will guide participants through several hides at different stages of the process—including dry scraping, braining, softening, and smoking—offering a hands-on introduction to each step, and an opportunity to engage in a traditional practice deeply rooted in the North. When asked what students can expect from the course, they said, “Lots of hard work and teamwork.”

Karl Karlsson 

Another international instructor joining us for Hide Week is Karl Karlsson of Stockholm, Sweden. Karlsson started tanning in 2016 and is the third person to have earned the title of Master Tanner through the rigorous three-year training program. His journey as a tanner started while studying organic farming at a folk school in Sweden, where he experimented with tanning on his own and fell in love with the craft. 

Since 2020, Karlsson has  run a small-scale tannery in Stockholm’s archipelago and works at Europe’s largest open air museum, demonstrating and informing visitors about this amazing craft. Although Karlsson said that interest in traditional tanning is quite low in Sweden, a big part of his work involves engaging the public through tanning demonstrations.

“People seem really fascinated by the subject,” he said. 

While at North House, Karlsson will teach Fish Skin Tanning—which he says is a great introduction to tanning—as well as Traditional Scaninavian Tanning Methods, which explores bark tanning methods dating back to the early Middle Ages. 

“We will look into the use of pre tanning methods and take on tanning of a beaver tail. A gorgeous purse found in Ångermanland, Sweden, dated 800-1100 A.D., is believed to be made out of one side of a beaver tail,” Karlsson said. “I’m looking forward to being part of this week, sharing knowledge and always wanting to learn more myself!”

Matt Richards 

Matt Richards, of Ashland, Oregon, has been tanning and teaching natural hide tanning since 1989. He’s the author of Deerskins into Buckskins and runs a tannery in Oregon. Much of his work has been inspired by making useful, beautiful material from hides that too often go to waste.

“This is a core reason why I’m into tanning,” Richards said. “Most hides these days end up at the landfill, especially deer, goats, sheep, cattle, and even bison. There are exotics such as mink, that are specifically raised for their hides, factory farmed in cages, and of course there are people who trophy hunt, where the hide and its display are a big part of their motivation. We don’t want any part of that, but the hides that otherwise go to waste? I’d argue that tanning those and making good use of them is the most sustainable of all fabrics.”

While here, Richards will teach three tanning courses, including Practical and Magical Chemistry of Natural Leather Tanning, a course that explores the science behind different tanning methods. 

“It will be a combination of theory and hands-on, mad scientist play, with the ultimate goal of participants getting to really understand how skins and different tanning methods work, why they work, and how to use that knowledge.”

Hide Week 2026 courses are open for registration, and all event details are available here.

Registration is open for our summer photography workshop, led by editorial photographer Layne Kennedy! Explore and capture the scenic shores of Lake Superior, July 15-19.

Have you met the mythical House Dragon? How about the Pig of Darkness? Read on to discover the roots behind these whimsical creatures Jake Fee is carving. 

Ever since I could hold a crayon, I drew dragons.

Now, after finding wooden dragons hanging all around Sweden, I’m back to my old habits of dragon-making. I carved this particular turquoise beast from a few funny-shaped branches and a handful of odd wooden leftovers.

Boddrakkar, these House Dragons, or Shop Dragons, are protectors of private spaces. They are the descendants of the Iron Age kronstång, carved dragons which hung just inside your front doors. No polite guest would pass under the kronstång until they were invited into the house.

I recently visited Minnesota New Country School, a project-based school in southern Minnesota, and taught a one-day class on carving these dragons. We had enormous fun, and now there are homes in Henderson, Minnesota which are protected by boddrakkar.

We met another mythical faerie-beast in Sweden, too. She is the mörksuggan, the “pig of darkness,” or “dark sow.” She was originally a boogeyman of the woods, a scary story to enforce a curfew. Don’t go out at night, or the Dark Pig will get you!

Nowadays, people in Sweden and especially Dalarna carve mörksuggans to protect their home. The fierceness of the pig has been domesticated, just like the dragon, and she is now a faithful house-spirit.

Any evil spirits or unfaithful peoples that try and enter into your home will be devoured whole by your trusty mörksuggan!

Since the mörksuggan is not so well known on this side of the Arctic Sea, I wrote a small poem to go along with the pigs. If you buy a mörksuggan from the North House Folk School store, you will find this booklet tied to her tail:

My childhood notebooks are filled with dragons, goblins, and mythical beasts of all sorts. I read all the myths and fairy tales I could get my hands on. These stories became the foundation of my inner world. Now that I am a full-time maker and artist and craft teacher, these stories are blooming for me again. I figure this sonnet to the dark pig is giving back to the canon of kid-tales that nourished me so many years ago.

In a surprising turn of events for many, Greenland has become ground-zero for climate change and expansionist desires to grow American influence in the north. But this is not new: in the 1950s and 1960s, the island was central to America’s Cold War strategy. Featured Speaker Dr. Paul Bierman examines Greenland through the lens of both natural and human history focusing on Camp Century, a nuclear-powered US military base inside the ice sheet. There, Army drillers completed the first deep ice core and from beneath the ice, recovered 12 feet of frozen soil filled with plant and insect fossils: evidence that Greenland’s ice had once vanished before. Unless we address climate change, that ice will melt again, raising global sea level as much as 25 feet and forcing half a billion people to migrate. Dr. Bierman shares vintage photographs, film, and video and includes short readings from his new book, When the Ice is Gone: What a Greenland Ice Core Reveals About Earth’s Tumultuous History and Perilous Future.

Professor Paul Bierman is a geoscientist, environmental historian, and writer at the University of Vermont. Both his research and teaching focus on the interaction of people and Earth’s dynamic surface. He is particularly interested in working at the interface between active research, education, and science literacy at all levels. Bierman currently has active research projects in both the tropics (Cuba, Puerto Rico) and the arctic (Greenland). When the Ice is Gone (WW Norton, 2024), his book about the history and future of the Greenland Ice Sheet, is a New Yorker Best Book selection and was featured in the New York Times and on Minnesota Public Radio.

paulbierman.net

This demonstration was given as part of Wood Week March 2026. Jarrod Dahl makes woodenware at Woodspirit Handcraft and teaches at Woodspirit School in Ashland, WI

Here Jarrod gives a presentation on Japanese turning wood tools and techniques. Jarrod has been using a type of Japanese style lathe and techniques in his production of woodenware since first learning some basics on his first trip to Japan in 2018. Using a modified Western lathe, Jarrod elaborates on how the free floating tool rest, hook tools, and hand held scrapers all work together to produce end grain bowls and cups quickly and efficiently. There are also be in-depth details about hook tool cutting techniques. He briefly talks about two Japanese wood finishes—Urushi lacquer and Hassui ceramic and how they are used in his work.

Part of Wood Week 2026 at North House.

Summer youth camps are open for registration! Spend a week at our lakeside campus exploring new skills and making new friends! Learn more and find all camps here.

The tools we use bear our stories. In this blog post, Mathilde Yakymets-Lind writes about a well-loved spinning wheel they saw in Sweden and shares the story of Inez Attemark and her relationship with this wheel. 

On our Artisan Development Program (ADP) trip to Sweden this January, we visited Härnösand, a small city overlooking the Gulf of Bothnia in western Sweden. There, I encountered an old spinning wheel in the collections of the Västernorrlands Museum that moved me with its many marks of loving care.

It is a medium-sized wheel with a strongly slanted table. Its delicate turnings enhance the sense of lightness and motion in its form, as though the spinning wheel were about to take flight. The treadle design is particularly interesting, as it includes a clever latching system to remove the entire treadle and clean and lubricate the pivot points.

This latching system allows the entire treadle to be removed for maintenance. Photo by author.

A date on the underside of the spinning wheel's table reads 1815, and there are signs that it was a hardworking tool for much of its life. There is a dramatic split in the table and multiple repairs to stabilize it: seven large hand-forged iron nails were hammered into the side, and a forged iron band was fitted tightly onto the table end and nailed into place.

A large crack in the table, or the large block of wood that forms the main body of the spinning wheel, is stabilized with iron nails and an iron band. The maker’s mark is stamped into the end of the table. Photo by author.

The feet of countless spinners have worn a portion of the treadle bar almost through. The leather bearings that hold the flyer are also worn, and someone reduced the diameter of a too-large bearing hole by adding an extra piece of leather. Dark oil stains and worn wood show that it was maintained and cared for as an important partner in domestic labor and folk craft for generations, finally ending up in the hands of its last owner, Inez Attemark (1920-2012).

200 years of wear from many hardworking feet can be seen on the treadle of the spinning wheel. Photo by author.

When Inez was six years old, her parents, Elin and Johan Arvid Bylund, bought the spinning wheel for her at an auction. Marked with initials (possibly a maker's mark) on the end of the table, a family mark on top, and the inscription IPS 1815 on the underside, the wheel was old, fascinating, and full of stories. It was already 1926 when they brought the wheel home, long past the point when mills had taken over textile production in Sweden.

An extra scrap of leather was nailed onto the flyer bearing to reduce the diameter of the hole, which was worn loose over the years. Photo by author.

Inez became a proficient artisan at an early age. At just eight years old, she won an award for her needlework at a handicraft exhibition and traveled with her parents from their home in Svarvarböle, Hässjö parish to the nearby city of Sundsvall to receive it from the governor.

Around the age of 14, Inez lost her father, and the resulting financial hardship for her family forced her to leave school and move to Härnösand to work as a maid. As the oldest child of five, she had to support herself and give up much of the handwork that had given her pleasure. After two years of hard work, she moved to Stockholm and found employment in a pastry shop. In 1942, she married, giving up her job to move across town and start raising children, but she returned to textiles later.

Now that life was more settled, she could find time for handwork again, so she joined a vävstuga (weaving group) and rented a loom to weave carpets. Inez passed away in 2012 after a long life dedicated to family, work, and craft. In her final years, the spinning wheel of her childhood made its way back to Härnösand as a donation to the Västernorrlands Museum, reuniting it with the living craft community of her home region.

There is so much we do not know about this spinning wheel: who was the maker? Where was it made? Who used it before Inez? But still, we have so much: here is a beautiful old tool, made and kept with care, and here is a story of one woman's life in relationship with that tool. Through her generosity, the spinning wheel has returned home, waiting quietly in collections storage for those who know how to read the story etched into its body.

Loom technology has changed drastically over time, from completely hand-operated to modern and mechanized. In this blog post, Josie Cooke wonders: which weaving tools make the most sense for her craft?

Good day friends,

There is a topic I have been pondering, which was expanded on during my journey in Sweden. That topic is tools. When you’re first starting out in a craft, the best tool is often the one you have, or can easily get. There’s no need to get stuck (for too long) in the trap of not starting because you don’t know which one you want, or which is best for the job. Almost any tool will provide you with the opportunity to learn a great deal, and from there, decide which direction to head next. I have been on my own tool exploration, trying to find what method suits my needs and goals in weaving. In this blog, I’ll share glimpses of weaving tools through history with examples from Swedish museums, weavers’ studios, and a textilier. 

Early weaving involved heddles and tablets for making bands: crucial elements in the tying of bundles and tethering of animals. A simple but clever loom setup known as backstrap weaving allows for wider widths and incorporates the weaver as the tensioning element. This form of weaving continues to be practiced in cultures worldwide. Looms, as we know them, started out as four stakes in the ground with beams between them to stretch the warp. This evolved into the standing (or more accurately, leaning) version of a warp-weighted loom. Archeologists know these looms were leaned because warp weights, flat circular stones with a hole through the middle, are found along the wall in excavation sites. 

Tablet weaving tools and warp weights at Swedish History Museum, Stockholm.  Warp weighted loom, recreation, Dalarna Museet

These looms slowly evolved into the horizontal version we are familiar with today, much like the one I currently use. Improvements continued to be made as experiments led to adopting or modifying components, giving us inventions like the flying shuttle, the cast iron pedal-powered Hattersley loom, the Jacquard mechanism (for individual thread control—think pixels in a photo), the compu-dobby (a home version computer-controlled loom), and the TC2 (a digital weaving machine). The difference amongst these looms is the degree to which they are weaver-controlled or loom-controlled when weaving. 

For many weavers, which loom to use and what kind of weaving to do is decided by what they enjoy, and what tools they need to make it. Sometimes this is determined by material choice. While in Sweden, I was introduced to some new looms and techniques that expanded my horizons. Large looms (think 14+ feet wide)  are used for large projects using thick wool and a heavy beat. A stunning example is on display at Dalarna Museum:  Helena Hernmarck’s “Mossklyftan.”

Helena Hernmarck’s “Mossklyftan” far and close up

Silk threads, fine as spider web, are weighted by lingoes (long metal rods attached to cords that go around each thread) and controlled by patterning cards (determining which threads go up and thereby show on the surface of the cloth as it’s made). This system is a type of Jacquard loom, a technology integral to the development of computers.  No longer in use, these looms are on display at  K. A. Almgren Silk Museum in Stockholm. 

K.A. Algren Silk Museum, silk loom punch cards control which threads get raised, weights (lingoes) for individual threads

As production remained the guiding principle for most weaving, it led to innovations in mechanization. This was interesting to see at the Växbo Lin factory, both in their “oldest loom” and the ones they use to weave linen today. To see a video of one of their looms in action, see my post on Instagram.

Växbo Lin’s oldest loom, made in Manchester in 1923, originally driven by steam, refitted with electric motors (left). Two Müller Frick looms, from Switzerland (center, right)

When I first started weaving, I had a 4-shaft Leclerc Artisat loom that was so light it slowly inched across the room with every thump of the beater (packing the weft material into the warp). For a time, I had an 8-shaft table loom, which was more versatile and portable for taking workshops far afield. From there, I got a Glimåkra Standard countermarch, which is unique in that every thread is either being lifted up or pulled down to make an opening to throw the shuttle through (instead of some threads going just up or just down). This loom is heavy, does not inch across the floor, and is capable of weaving everything from fine linen to heavy rugs. In the realm of loom technology nowadays, however, it is unquestionably on the analog end of the spectrum. 

I certainly have not outgrown my loom, but I am pondering what is out there, and where I want to put my time and energy. Some answers you come by through exploration. Would I find a flying shuttle accelerates production without diminishing enjoyment, or that a pedal-powered Hattersley would clear the path to create bolts of material for clothing? How primitive or advanced do I want my tools to be, and what are the advantages of both? How do I find a balance between production and method? Is there a way to use these tools to combat fast fashion, while maintaining the values and joys that brought us to weaving in the first place? I plan to explore these thoughts during my residency, through visits to weavers, weaving schools, and museums.  

Västernorrlands Museet archives, överdel “top”

In Sweden, I also had the opportunity to consider: what is the end product, and why? In museums, the textiles that are preserved are often in the form of clothing. We had the pleasure of examining some archive pieces at Västernorrlands Museet, where I viewed an överdel (“top”). This is akin to the simple garment construction I am currently exploring. 

Registration is open! Summer/fall 2026 courses are now open for registration to all. Click here to find a full list of courses!

We have openings for extended Work Study sessions from July-December 2026. Immerse yourself in campus life, earn course tuition credit, and take a class! Learn more and apply here. 

Craft begins with the materials. In this blog post, Resident Artisan Lauren Newby writes about making chairs and stools, and the differences between working with dry lumber and working with green wood. 

Upon my return from Sweden, I have been dreaming and scheming about a project I am just beginning again, while reflecting on pieces completed during the first half of the residency. Working with traditional, hands-on methods of processing wood requires attention to the grain and species specifications. Most of my chairmaking projects begin with the material itself. A seed of an idea comes from the way a log splits or huge slabs long before I make a drawing. Individual trees hold characteristics that capture my imagination. From its curves, grain, and scale, I gather clues about how a chair might function, the form it may take, and the personality it will hold. 

The projects I am sharing here reflect two approaches: working with dried lumber from a sawyer and working with a freshly felled tree, still full of life and moisture. 

The Cherry Pair

This set of chairs began with a gift: a large slab of cherry from a non-woodworking friend who found it after moving into an old Milwaukee brick factory-turned-artist studios. The slab was sawed from a large cherry tree, wide enough to accommodate a chair seat and long enough to make a pair of chairs. 

The growth rights are wide and expressive, perhaps shaped by wind or hillside exposure. Cathedral grain sweeps dramatically across the surface. Small cracks and sap pockets revealed themselves along the way, requiring inlaid patches. These repairs now read like tessellations and are visible moments of care embedded in the wood. 

I wanted to work from a stick chair lineage, referencing Lost Art Press’s The Stick Chair Book and photos from Mary Tripoli’s visit to the Welsh Stick Chair exhibition. Their resurgence in the United States often utilizes easy-to-find lumber from the sawyer. The vernacular tradition often uses natural bends or straight-grained pieces joined with round mortise-and-tenon in inventive ways. The result is sturdy, timeless, and comfortable with a handmade charm that resists ornamentation.

Designed for resting, these chairs have a generous lean and armrests ready to hold a book or warm drink. Because they exist as a pair, I wanted subtle variation between them. After drawing and building models, I landed on backrests that splay either inward or outward. The gesture suggests either invitation or containment. In a home, which might you choose: the open posture that welcomes you, or the narrower curve that lets you feel held?

I don’t often work with dry wood for chairmaking. Its precise nature pushes me to focus on surface, silhouette, and texture. After sawing square spindles and legs from boards, I removed the corners on the shavehorse with a drawknife to create octagons and tapers. From there, I shaved the corners again, revealing faceted spindles, arms, crests, and posts. Working these pieces by hand leaves a texture I’m after, with a nod to the old Welsh stick chairs while still feeling present and intentional.

Ash Stool 

Meanwhile, I had the chance to cut down an ash tree with an uncle on family land for chairmaking material. Splitting a six-foot log into useful dimensions is both exciting and daunting. It requires a balance of control, through technique, attention, and a willingness to work with the tree as it reveals hidden knots and subtle twists. From a single tree, I can produce a stock of legs and spindles and teach eight new chair makers through building stools.

One chair in particular became an experiment in preserving the natural curves and irregularities of the wood. Using a shorter section near the top of the trunk, where stress and branching had shaped the fibers, the split pieces arced beautifully. I established centerlines to reference square, then used mirrors and careful sighting to drill for stretchers, forming a post and rung stool. Green wood invites responsiveness. It can feel like a loss to shave away every trace of a tree’s life in pursuit of uniform parts. With this stool, the curves remain. It feels alive and still carries the memory of the tree it came from. 

Working between dry lumber and green wood reminds me that design is both intention and listening. One asks for precision and surface articulation; the other responds and trusts. Both begin with the same curiosity in paying attention to the material of a tree.

Back in the studio, I’m revisiting material gathered with the help of former intern Mia. During her capstone project, she harvested a black ash tree from a friend’s forest. Parts of the tree became baskets, chairs, and board games. With black ash thriving in wet ground, this tree had large exposed roots. I was able to harvest sections and have been experimenting with bending some and splitting others. I am left working these pieces into future chairs. 

Part of Fiber Week 2026 

More about the artist: 

Maggie Thompson had her first solo exhibition Where I Fit at All My Relations Gallery in Minneapolis in 2014, and was most recently included in the 2025 exhibition Contemporary Anishinaabe Art: A Continuation at the Detroit Institute of Art. Recent solo exhibitions include Intentions, Museum of Contemporary Art, Santa Fe, NM (2025), Loves Me, Loves Me Not, Mardag Gallery, Franconia Sculpture Park, Shafer, MN (2023); Just Friends, Bockley Gallery, Minneapolis, MN (2022), and Dakobijige/ She Ties Things Together, Watermark Center, Bemidji, MN (2021). She has exhibited in numerous group exhibitions including Shape of Power: Stories of Race and American Sculpture at the Smithsonian American Art Museum, the 2023 Renwick Invitational, the Plains Art Museum, Minnesota Textile Center, Walker Art Center, and Minneapolis Institute of Art.

Thompson has been awarded grants and awards, including the All My Relations and Bockley Gallery Jim Denomie Scholarship, Jerome Foundation Jerome Hill Artist Fellowship, and First Peoples Fund Seeding Cultural Treasures and Business Leadership Grants. Others have been awarded from the Minnesota State Arts Board and the Native Arts and Cultures Foundation. Her work is collected by the Kemper Museum of Contemporary Art, Minneapolis Institute of Art, the Minnesota Museum of American Art, Minnesota Historical Society, North Dakota Museum of Art, Hood Museum, Tia Collection, and Field Museum, among others.

In addition to her fine arts practice, Thompson runs a knitwear business known as Makwa Studio. She has also worked on curating special exhibits in Minnesota’s Twin Cities, including at Two Rivers Gallery, the McKnight Foundation and the Minnesota Museum of American Art.

In Sweden, craft consultants support professional craftspeople and engage local communities in craft education. Jake Fee writes about their work and poses a question—what would the Midwest look like if we had craft consultants here? 

There is a special kind of job in Sweden, a position that does not (yet!) exist here in Minnesota: o, be ye in awe of the Craft Consultant! Attached to regional governments, museums, or schools, craft consultants engage their local communities in craft education and practice.

A great joy of our trip was meeting with the craft consultants associated with the Västernorrlands Museum in the city of Härnösand. As you can see, we geeked out about knitting together with a large group of wonderful local fiber freaks. It was a splendid day of slöjd.

We learned that craft consultants have two goals: to raise the general level of craft skill in their community, and to support professional craftspeople working at a very high skill level. Our entire group was wowed by the idea of a government setting aside funds to support craft traditions. Could you imagine!

Perhaps naively, I had assumed that craft consultants and government-funded hemslöjd (hand-craft) projects were in the realm of cultural protection and traditional heritage. Not so! In fact, we were told that hemslöjd education was actually a strategy of economic resilience for rural people in Sweden.

At North House Folk School, as our mission statement so elegantly states, craft is the mechanism through which we build community. A strong community is our primary joy, and craft is how we get there. This is not exactly the case, historically, for craft in Sweden. As a poor country with thin soil, Swedish folk needed more than just agricultural revenue to stay self-sufficient. Thus: the craft consultant. What better way to make an extra buck than to spin, weave, paint, knit, carve, forge, embroider?

The Dala Horse, for example, was an economic invention for rural people to support themselves with an accessible craft. Anyone can learn to carve and paint a Dala Horse, and the country leaned into the horse as a symbol, and there you have it: a sustainable side hustle for anyone with a knife and a paintbrush, supported by craft consultants, encouraged by the public use of the Dala Horse as a semiotic lure for attracting tourists.

The region of Dalarna, we learned, especially thrived from craft. Different villages had their own specialties, such as coopering barrels, weaving bands, or knitting mittens. People would travel to Stockholm and beyond to sell their crafts in order to support their families. In this way, Dalarna became a nucleus of craft traditions in Sweden, which is still true today.

I wonder what a modern Midwest might look like if we had similar craft programs. More handknit sweaters, more handcarved spoons, more handforged knives. You could be forgiven for thinking that an acrylic sweater from Walmart or Target is cheaper than a handmade woolen sweater from a local sheep. But in fact, just like buying paper plates rather than nice ceramic dishware, the cheaper option is more expensive in the long view. Wool rarely needs to be washed, and acrylic yarns have a particular talent for absorbing armpit smell. Wool becomes stronger over time, and can be easily repaired, while acrylic yarn sheds microplastics and weakens in structure very quickly.

This is true of many materials and many objects. Wooden chairs last longer than plastic chairs. Wooden spatulas make more delicious food than silicon spatulas. Leather burnishes beautifully over time, while rubber crumbles into crusty crumbs.

During this trip to Sweden I was repeatedly reminded that well-crafted objects made from natural materials are not luxuries, or empty eco-conscious virtue-signals, or antiquated historical artifacts. Not at all. Beautiful objects are good investments in yourself and in the future of the world.

As weaver Josie Cooke traveled through Sweden, a set of questions guided her journey. How did people make textiles long ago? What does it mean to continue these crafts? And what will her contribution to the story of textiles be?

Today I fly home, over the deep valleys and mountains of Norway, the fields of heather and rock of Iceland, and the frozen plains of Labrador. For three weeks I have been exploring Sweden—the Scandinavian journey part of the Artisan Development Program.

The first ten days we travelled as a group: the other three artisans in my cohort, two members of the staff (Executive Director Greg Wright and Grants Manager Libby Larson), and lead instructor Tasha Miller Griffith. As a group, we spent time in Stockholm, Dalarna, and Härnösand, visiting friends and artisans, dancing, carving, knitting, and fika fika fika. This trip has given me the opportunity to meet deeply knowledgeable craft consultants, explore museum archives, and expand my understanding of Scandinavian history and craft. 

As a textile person, this trip was absolutely thrilling. Being in a country with a long, unbroken tradition of handmade textiles (before industrialization) provided an opportunity to see prehistoric tools, 500+ year old clothing and embellishments, as well as many incredible examples of craftsmanship and ingenuity. 

In some ways it felt like an exploration, much like a mystery or crime novel. I found myself searching for clues and asking questions like, “What were people using to create their fabrics long ago?” “When and how did looms spread from one region to another?” “What was commonplace clothing like in different eras, who was making it, and how was it worn?” “What does it mean that we do these crafts today, and how do we build on the knowledge of the past?” 

On this trip—as I explored museums and met weavers, tool makers, archivists, curators, craft consultants, and craftspeople involved in historic garment recreation—new areas of understanding were illuminated. Like pieces of a puzzle put into place, a picture is being formed. In this picture, the answer isn’t typical of a mystery “whodunit” style; instead, the central questions remain: How do I fit into this tradition of creation? What contribution do I make to the continued story of craft and textiles? And what can I learn from the past to build on and bring into the future? 

Here I share some bright moments from the trip:

The Vasa Museum houses an absolutely massive ship from 1628 that sank on its maiden voyage, where it stayed for 300 years, a well-preserved glimpse of life as it was then. Artifacts included tankards, chests, wooden bowls and spoons, money, games, and thirty unfortunate souls who went down with the ship. One man, Helge, was found near a canon, possibly with his foot caught beneath it. His clothing included a twill woven jacket and plain weave knee-length breeches. Seeing these clothing examples provides context to what people used to wear, everyday, long ago.

Linen had an abbreviated history in our country, but has long roots in Scandinavian culture. Several moments on the trip offered an opportunity to see and understand so much more about the history and current practice of linen production. 

At Sätergläntan (a folk school in Dalarna offering study up to three years), we got to see their flax processing equipment and touch the processed but unspun flax. It was eye-opening to be able to feel the fineness of the material before it becomes thread to be woven—to understand that level of refinement is possible. It brought home the phrase ‘flaxen hair.’

Tools for linen weaving include the hackle (to remove the chaff from the stalk and extract fibers for spinning), the distaff (to hold your unspun flax while you are spinning), and the mangle (to press your woven linen as a finishing technique). These tools are both historically useful and intricately embellished, particularly the mangle, as they were given as courting and marriage gifts. Not only is the craftsmanship in decorating these tools impressive, but it speaks to how important these materials were in people’s lives—to warrant the time and skill required to make them so beautiful. 

Above: Distaffs and mangles from the Dalarna Museum

Above: From Kirsi Manni's private collection

At the Swedish History Museum there was an exhibit of medieval women’s clothing, from 1027 to 1527 CE. The primary materials were wool and linen, and displayed the changing styles and construction of the time. In the handmade era, many skills had to be employed to make these pieces: from spinning to weaving, sewing to embroidery, and tanning to blacksmithing. I have a keen interest in making both modern and historic clothing with my handwoven cloth, so this exhibit was very engaging. 

Another highlight was a visit to Växbo Lin, one of three linen mills in Sweden (about 3 hours north of Stockholm). This mill was opened in 1990 in an effort to preserve the knowledge and industry of linen weaving in Sweden. Seeing the machines at work and the variety of woven fabrics was inspiring. In my own weaving I often explore materials and keep the structure and colors simple. Sometimes I wonder how this kind of weaving fits in a world that values more busy color and pattern. When I saw the plain weave dinner napkins in the shop, also of plain weave and in gentle colors, akin to my own aesthetics, it was like someone reached in and gave my heart a little pump. In terms of my mystery novel analogy, I felt like I was onto something. 

Left: Växbo Lin mill loom, Right: Växbo Lin dinner napkins (on left) & my woven cottolin dinner napkins (on right)

I also had the good fortune to speak to many talented weavers during my trip. These conversations about my personal journey and about weaving in the world today were essential. My thanks to the weavers who took time to meet, chat, and engage in conversations that expanded my mental landscape and gave me a sense of connectedness.  

Left:  Maria Jufvas studio & loom, Right: Miriam Parkman & I

In the dark of winter, craft brings unexpected color. In this blog post, Mathilde Yakymets-Lind writes about the braids, bands, and mobiles they found on their trip to Sweden. 

Above photo: Tassels on pick-up woven Sámi bands. Ájtte Museum, Jokkmokk. Photo by author.

I love handmade embellishments that surprise us with sparks of delight in unexpected places. A needlework flower nestled in the corner of a pillowcase, a sweet pulled-thread picot edge on a cuff, a hand-carved branch hook glowing with bright milk paint on a plain wall: these details remind us of the magic of the human hand in the mass-produced surround of contemporary life.

Sweden in winter is impressive in so many ways, from its warm Falun red farmhouses perched like cardinals in the snow to its abundant fika pastries (semla season is upon us!) to the walkable streets of Stockholm. On our Artisan Development Program trip this January, we encountered wildly talented artisans, were treated with perfect hospitality, and saw some of the best of the best of Swedish craft. I came away with my cup filled (likely with strong coffee!) as a craftsperson and lover of material culture. How to capture such a rich experience? I decided to focus on some small details that bring unexpected color into the everyday: braids, bands, and mobiles that create warmth and movement in the dark season of the Northern year.

Braids and bands

Nordic minimalism? No no! Sweden was aglow with embellishments. Everywhere we looked, there were delightful details: hanging lights in the windows, beautiful stitching on the textiles, meticulously faceted woodcarving, colorwork mittens, and on and on. 

I marveled at many complex, finely woven bands and belts in Sweden, but to me, the most astonishing thing about them was the finishing work. The bands show a variety of techniques and are often finished with tassels and braids. At the end of a band, the weavers often split the warp threads into 2-4 braids and finish each with a tassel and sometimes beads. The split itself is also often covered with fringe. Pick-up and fingerwoven bands from Sámi people were some of the most exciting to me, and the Ájtte Museum in Jokkmokk has a stunning display case of them. Of course, I took home a book on Sámi fingerweaving and some yarn from Stoorstålka, and I have been churning out little samples ever since. 

Above: Sámi pick-up woven band. The edge has a single green strand that creates a subtle decorative border. Ájtte Museum, Jokkmokk. Photo by author.

Another great center for handwoven narrow wares is Dalarna County, where they have a special band loom for weaving almost impossibly intricate ribbons. Going to Dalarna is like a pilgrimage for a folklorist like me; it is renowned for its material culture and its massive role in the history of folklore studies. Dalarna’s traditional culture inspired figures like Ottilia Adelborg, a founding member of the Swedish Handicraft Association (Föreningen för svensk hemslöjd, formed in 1899), to document daily life, collect folk art, and set up local institutions to safeguard traditions. The Dalarna Museum opened to the public in 1892, and it was astonishing to be welcomed by Dalarna’s handicraft consultants, Fredrik Eriksson and Kattis K Hofvander, and go into the collections of this legendary institution.

Above: Woven ribbons from Kirsi Manni’s collection, Leksand. Photo by author.

One of my favorite parts, though, was finally meeting Kirsi Manni in Leksand after being friends on social media for many years. Kirsi is an absolute powerhouse as a craft researcher, collector, and artisan, and we got to see her home studio and handle her handmade reproduction Leksand cape. She showed us her collection of local band looms and woven bands. Her handwork is simply on another level! I was in awe during the entire visit and could have spent days there. Even better, she is kind, open, down to earth, and has a magical ability to make others as enthusiastic as she is about the handwork she studies and practices.

Mobiles and ornaments

The other exciting theme for me throughout the trip was finding mobiles and other hanging ornaments virtually everywhere we went. In the United States, we often associate northern European mobiles with Finnish himmeli, made mainly from straw, while mobiles with embellishments like cut paper are more often associated with central Europe, especially Poland. Unexpectedly, I found that the Swedish ones can be made from any number of materials. Most of my favorites were adorned with little pieces of wallpaper (called tapetkrona, or wallpaper crowns), but my absolute favorite was in the Dalarna Museum and was made from birch polypore, a type of shelf fungus! Overall, hanging ornaments seemed to be ordinary features of indoor spaces, at least for people in the craft world. I found them spinning in humble places like the corners of offices and kitchens, not just in more visible public spaces.

Above: Mobile made of birch polypore, straw, and fabric. Dalarna Museum, Falun. Photo by author.

Above: Mobile made from wood shavings. Sätergläntan. Photo by author.

As I write this, I am en route back to Minnesota, and I have been preparing to teach a sampler class for Fiber Week on plaited ribbons and woven bands. I’ve been thinking about how to combine narrow wares like these with mobiles. My inspiration is one of the simplest mobiles I saw in Sweden, which just features a hoop with scraps of fabric hanging from it. It reminds me of the tutt, a tassel made from scraps of colorful cotton fabric used on fingerwoven belts on Kihnu island, Estonia. I’m thinking about attaching my many colorful sample braids to a hoop and hanging them as a little mobile when the class is done.

Above: Mobile made of strips of cotton fabric. Beth Moen’s studio, Leksand. Photo by author.

The harmony of handwork

The handmade embellishments I saw in Sweden made me reflect on how ornaments often do not register as individual items. Instead, they come together to provide color and texture in folk dress and domestic spaces. Zoom in, and you see the details; zoom out, and there is light and movement that pleases the eye but can be difficult to describe. 

While at North House, two practices with a similar quality have become increasingly important in my life: mobile making and community singing. The trick of a mobile or a choir is that there can be flaws at the individual level, like bent straw and rough voices, but if you put enough of them together, all you get is harmony (never uniformity!). This is another way to find beauty in the details of craft: the little flaws of natural materials and inconsistencies of handwork become joyful variety and texture when taken as part of the whole cloth of the everyday. Likewise, people in our infinite varieties, including those of us who see ourselves as difficult or flawed, are all part of the balance and rhythm of community, making together, singing together, and sharing the labor and delights of life on Earth. 

Above: Tapetkrona (wallpaper mobile), Sätergläntan. Photo by author.

Travels in Sweden continue! In this blog post, woodworker Lauren Newby writes about the log construction she noticed throughout the Dalarna region.

As a participant in the Artisan Development Program, I had the opportunity to travel to Sweden. Alongside my wonderful cohort, we have had engaging conversations with craftspeople and deepened our understanding of craft in everyday life and how craft is being continued and nurtured. Enamored with beautifully-made objects crafted for use and joy, it was wonderful to see the ubiquitous presence of color and skill in many homes. However, I was not expecting the prevalence of log homes, and I enjoyed conversations with craftspeople about the homes they built and rebuilt. 

Prior to my time at North House, I experienced rebuilding a log home, originally built in 1840 by a Norwegian immigrant. The sustainability of building and reusing log homes with the material that grows around us was encouraging to see in modern cities and villages.

UNESCO world heritage site in Falun

On our first night in Dalarna, we were welcomed into the warm home of a wonderful host for dinner. She described the Falun neighborhood as the old city, built around a 17th-century copper mine. The street is filled with old log homes, some exposed and others covered with siding. Many had storefronts facing the street until the mid 20th century. The only visible clue to the age of our host's home was the exposed beams in the ceiling and a masonry heater. 

Later in the week, we visited weaving instructor Maria Jufvas and her family. I was struck by the reappearing topic of log homes, particularly their durability and the practice of relocating them. On her property, there are a handful of log buildings, all of which feature exposed logs painted red, a protective linseed oil paint. Many have been moved around and have changed function over time. This includes Maria's beautiful studio, which houses an incredible 14’ loom. The interior is warm and bright; the only evidence of log construction is again seen in the ceiling beams. 

After sharing pizza and conversation, our group shuffled down to a beautiful lakeside sauna for a steam and cold plunge. The sauna was built out by her father, but the structure originally came from a neighbor. Owing to this history, the sauna is communal. 

On a visit to the Dalarna Museum, we were introduced to Adam. Trained in log building and preservation, Adam described the continued functionality of traditional methods in stacked construction. Wood beams are notched and lock at the corners with a layer of wool between the scribed and channeled logs. This allows them to be deconstructed and moved, including the interior wood panels, which are often painted with decorative folk paintings. When covered by modern material, moisture often gets trapped, leading to rot and deterioration. However, when cared for properly, log homes from the 1700s retain their beauty and function. Adam also talked about their use for growing families—adding buildings for multigenerational living or taking a part of the log estate to a new area. 

Härvre or Stolpbod, historically used to store food and precious items. Being off the ground, and with a strategically placed board called a mouse shelf, rodents are kept out.

Each year, our four Resident Artisans take a trip to Sweden! In this post, Jake Fee writes about why handcraft flourished in Sweden, and the lessons that handmade toys can teach us. 

I recently returned from a trip to Sweden, as part of the Artisan Development Program. We toured museums, archives, folk schools, and workshops, establishing new connections and warmly greeting old friends.

I took 2,447 photos during our two-week trip, and learned many lessons about the nature of craft.

1. Everyday items are vessels of beauty. Over and over again, we saw everyday objects such as spoons, bowls, chairs, dressers, shoes, hats, and belts that were thoughtfully made and beautifully decorated.

This absolutely stunning bag was in the collection of Kirsi Manni, master weaver and stunning craftswoman. What a joy to carry everyday things in such a vibrant vessel!

Here is a very similar bag from the Dalarna Museum. Wow! Think of the time and care that went into this small piece. Think how much more engaging our own surfaces and fabrics could be!

2. Creativity without constraint. I learned on this trip that Sweden has been astoundingly impoverished for a fair portion of their history. Ordinary folks made their own tools, clothes, homes, and entertainment. Because of this, the level of craft skill was exceptionally high, and many areas of Sweden have done an excellent job maintaining those skills. This is, in part, a reason why North House is so engaged in the Swedish craft tradition, among others! It is a very rich seam indeed.

What this means in practice is that people were amazingly creative without being constricted by formal designs or rules. This blue wooden box was totally unique, and we didn't see anything like it for the whole trip. It was made in 1721, and after 305 years of use, the container still fit snugly.

Here, again, another object totally unique from the others, demonstrating an amazingly high skill level and an amazingly singular creative style. After this trip, I feel more inspired to be free and innovative with designs, colors, mechanisms, and stories. Craft is about techniques, I think, rather than rules.

3. Time was cheap. Nowadays, labor cost is often more expensive than material cost. This is part of the reason why so many of our everyday objects - houses, cutlery, bluetooth speakers, underwear - are made as efficiently as possible. Labor is costly. Get it done quick and cheap. There are only so many hours in the day. In the past, it seems, this was not so true. Our cohort discussed this often during our trip.

Before automated farming, milling, logging, mining, and other raw-material industries, materials were much more expensive. These expensive materials were worked by a large, cheap labor force of highly-skilled but impoverished workers. The result was a world of well-made, highly-decorated, beautiful and practical items. This is a wide generalization, of course, but a consistent theme in the story of craft.

4. Toys are teachers. I love making toys and games, so of course I took a luxurious tour of the Stockholm Toy Museum during our trip. I was surprised to learn that the very oldest toys in the historical record are wooden models of Noah's Ark, made by the early clergy in an attempt to Christianize the hammer-swinging, troll-talking Nordic pagans. A blatant piece of propaganda, no doubt, but I would argue that all toys are teaching one worldview or another.

This wind-up toy from the late 1800s wobbles, stumbles, and drunkenly attempts to fit a key into a door over and over again. He is a very blatant teaching tool to warn children of the dangers of alcohol. Toy looms were sold before the industrial revolution, and miniature cast-iron steam engines were sold afterwards. Dollhouses were made with the latest fashions in mind, and spaceships were made in conjunction with the latest governmental ambitions. All of these were purposeful tools of propaganda, for better or worse. What kinds of toys should our kids play with? What sorts of games create a future we want to live in?

Many more thoughts to come in the future as I chew through my camera roll of museum archives and workshop inspirations. Thanks for tuning in.

First Fridays Community Weekends continue! Join us Friday evening, February 6 for a community contra dance, followed by free drop-in printmaking with Nan Onkka on Saturday.