There are yarn bowls that simply hold yarn.
And then there are yarn bowls that look like they’ve been assisting grandmothers, master weavers, and rogue textile artists since the invention of wool itself.
These are decidedly the latter.
Solid, generous, low to the ground—the kind of vessel that refuses to budge even when your enthusiasm for a new project exceeds your actual skill—each bowl features a sweeping cutout and a constellation of guide holes. They aren’t just functional; they’re architectural. A kind of clay engineering that understands the emotional stakes of tangles.
Each bowl’s organic shape fits a yarn ball the way a good chair fits a tired body—with understanding. The cutout guides the strand smoothly, gracefully, as if the bowl were saying, “There will be no knots today. Not on my watch.”
The Yarn Bowl.
For makers who believe every stitch should begin with beauty—and a little bit of magic.
There are yarn bowls that simply hold yarn.
And then there are yarn bowls that look like they’ve been assisting grandmothers, master weavers, and rogue textile artists since the invention of wool itself.
These are decidedly the latter.
Solid, generous, low to the ground—the kind of vessel that refuses to budge even when your enthusiasm for a new project exceeds your actual skill—each bowl features a sweeping cutout and a constellation of guide holes. They aren’t just functional; they’re architectural. A kind of clay engineering that understands the emotional stakes of tangles.
Each bowl’s organic shape fits a yarn ball the way a good chair fits a tired body—with understanding. The cutout guides the strand smoothly, gracefully, as if the bowl were saying, “There will be no knots today. Not on my watch.”
The Yarn Bowl.
For makers who believe every stitch should begin with beauty—and a little bit of magic.
