“Rya has a long tradition and history but that does not mean it is orderly and docile; rather, it’s the opposite. A rya is constantly trembling between chaos and order, crying and bleeding yarn.” Emelie Röndahl
Handwoven: Between Chaos and Order, a major exhibit by Swedish artist Emelie Röndahl, is on view through June 7, 2026 at the American Swedish Institute (ASI) in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
Rya is a traditional Scandinavian technique in which rows of plain weave alternate with rows of knotted pile. Fluffy strands of yarn are knotted around pairs of warp threads to create the soft, luscious pile. In the past, ryas were made for household use. They were often woven as bedcovers, with the pile side turned toward the body to trap warmth, or as wall hangings to prevent drafts. In Emelie Röndahl ‘s vision, the humble ryasbecome works of contemporary art, monumental in scale yet intimate in imagery.
Maxim, a portrait of the artist’s dog
Röndahl holds a Ph.D. in Crafts from the University of Gothenburg, Sweden, and is currently a Professor of Textile Art at the National Academy of Art in Oslo, Norway. Rya has been her area of study for many years, and while she respects the history of the technique, she refuses to be bound by the strict rules she learned as a young weaver. (Three rows of plain weave, one row of knots, repeat.)
Likewise, the imagery in Röndahl’s work has also travelled a path from the political to the personal. “A mix of new and old is significant of what I do,” she writes in the text accompanying the exhibit, “traditional weaving with contemporary images of society and my private life.” Because the exhibit is laid out in chronological order, the visitor is allowed to follow along on her journey of discovery in both technique and imagery. (Starting from either entrance to the second floor of the mansion—the main staircase or the elevator—the visitor encounters her earlier work before her more recent.)
Contemporary art shines in the galleries of the traditional mansion of the American Swedish Institute
Method to Madness: Technical Details
Rather than the traditional bedcovers, Röndahl’s ryas are woven in panels, some sewn together to create massive wall hangings. In the case of Maxim, a portrait of her dog, the piece spans the entire width of the stage in the soaring Turnblad ballroom and is lit by the skylight above. Rather than trimming the pile to even lengths, as is traditionally done, she allows the weft strings to hang, so they appear to be “crying”—that is, bursting out of the fabric to express the emotion of the image. Some of the strings are so long they reach the floor, while others bulge outwards, making the rya sculptural and in the case of Rumpa (Butt), delightfully three-dimensional.
Rumpa (Butt)
In her weaving, Röndahl uses a vast array of yarns of all shades, lengths, and textures, increasing the shaggy, colorful chaos. “Over the years,” she writes, “I have learned how the motif is affected by different lengths, colors, contours, and materials. In that knowledge there is a fascination and wonder that has not diminished.” Although she works from a cartoon, her process at the loom is intuitive, as she chooses the length and color of yarn that seems best to her in the moment. Likewise, once a rya is removed from the loom, she does not make any alterations to it.
Another of Röndahl’s innovation is showing the back side of the rya—that is, the non-pile side. “The technique has a built-in two-sidedness, the front, a hairy, messy fringe, and the back, clean rows of knots,” she explains. Several of the weavings in the exhibits are hung from the ceiling so the viewer can see both front and back and discern the hidden images created by the knots. Others are hung so that the back of the weaving appears in a mirror. In the case of Serial Baby (below), the mirror reveals the smiling face behind the shaggy pile.
Serial Baby
These methods provide opportunities for interaction between viewers and weaving. Rather than passively looking at the rya, visitors can search for images that only gradually appear. Peering at a weaving through a cell phone camera sharpens the contrast between light and dark and can help viewers see hidden motifs more clearly. In one wall hanging, what looks like random blobs of color resolve into the TV character Marge Simpson. Other images, like Maxim, are immediately apparent on first sight, and it is instead the vast scale and colorful explosion of yarn that create the visual impact. All the works reward the viewer both when seen across a room as well as up close, when unexpected details emerge: A doll’s head, a strand of tinsel, weft strings tenderly plaited into a braid. This visual treasure hunt is part of the joy of the exhibit.
A doll’s head peeks from the shaggy rya
Imagery: The Motif Underneath
From the 1700s through the 1900s, ryas in Scandinavia were decorated with folk art motifs such as hearts, flowers, and stylized human and animal figures. This gave way to abstract designs during the twentieth century, especially the Mid-Century Modern era.
Röndahl’s work is figurative rather than abstract or geometric. Her most recent ryas focus on self-portraits along with portraits of friends, family members, and beloved pets. With each portrait, she begins with a photographic image, blown up until it becomes pixelated. The printed version then becomes a cartoon she places behind the loom. But rather than realism, Röndahl’s purpose is to express the (sometimes conflicting) emotions of the figures. Like the exaggerated pile strings bursting out of the rya, the human figures can appear distorted, like the elongated Self-Portrait in a Blue Bikini and the monstrously large heads in her Serial Babies series. The goal is not to recreate the original photos but invite the viewer to contemplate the image and ponder its possible meanings.
Röndahl writes that the question driving her technical experimentation has always been, “How can this image become a rya?” But her more recent weavings explore her emotional connection to the image in all its complexity. Her work expresses both love and discomfort, relationship and loneliness, and what she describes as “the tragicomic everyday.” Her physical experience of weaving is also part of the story, as her woven panels measure 50–100 centimeters, matching the scale of her body at the loom.
While Röndahl’s work has previously been shown in contemporary galleries, the exhibit’s new home in the Turnblad mansion lends an additional aspect to her work. Rather than a cool, neutral space with white walls and no distracting elements, the mansion is a showcase of the decorative arts: Ornately carved wooden doorways, tinted plasterwork ceilings, elegant tile stoves, rich Oriental carpets. This allows Röndahl’s weavings to interact with the setting, drawing out both symmetry and contrast. The soaring ballroom on the third floor is perfectly suited to the massive scale of Maxim, while the open floor invites children to run and play. The fact that the mansion was built as a home, not an art gallery, relates to the intimacy of Röndahl’s work.
Alex, from the frontAlex,from the back
The contrasts, on the other hand, are subversive, even transgressive, as in a room where three of Röndahl’s female figures clash with the mansion’s late Victorian elegance and propriety. Alex (shown above) in her red underwear, stands proudly, legs spread, hands on her hips, while Katerina squats in a deep plie. (Is she a gymnast, ballerina, pole dancer?) The cheeky Rumpa contrasts delightfully with a crystal chandelier and polished tile stove. One can almost hear the gasps of the ghosts.
The End Result: Trembling Discomfort
All these elements—technique, size, imagery, emotional expression, and setting—come together in two recent weavings. Om Bara (If Only) is a self-portrait by the artist. Composed of eight panels, the weaving stretches across the width of a bay window, allowing sunlight to filter through the loosely woven fabric as the weft strings cascade down. Over her many years of working with wool, Röndahl has developed an allergy to the fiber, including breathing issues. Rather than flatter, the self-portrait clearly shows her symptoms, including watery eyes and a red, bloody nose. The effect is that of an enormous sad clown face.
Om Bara (If Only)Portrait of the artist’s mother
Flanking this is Röndahl’s most recent work, a portrait of her mother, portrayed with similar yellow hair and red nose. Röndahl’s caption for the weaving addresses her mother directly, citing their broken relationship. “It will be complicated to stand at the loom and see you up close,” Röndahl writes, “but the energy of the work will drive my understanding deeper precisely because of this trembling discomfort.” Her words are wistful but with no trace of sentiment or self-pity, just trust in her weaving process to reveal and share the complexities of reality and the tragicomedy of the everyday. Her vulnerability is the price she pays for her insight, and the viewer is the beneficiary of her boldness.
“The weaving body possess silent knowledge,” Röndahl writes. Handwoven: Between Chaos and Order gives the visitor a tantalizing glimpse of this knowledge. Rather than relegating ryas to the past, her exhibit stands as testament not just to its technical possibilities but its power to express our deepest emotions—if we are willing to make the journey to the in-between, the space where chaos and order meet.
Lisa-Anne Bauch is a Minnesota-based folk artist whose work is rooted in the traditional weaving techniques and materials of Sweden, Norway, and Finland, as well as their respective immigrant communities. Her writing has appeared in PieceWork, Norwegian Textile Letter, Väv, and Shuttle Spindle & Dyepot.
Thank you to everyone who helps support the Norwegian Textile Letter with donations to cover expenses. Your financial support is crucial and much appreciated. Thank you for being a subscriber!
Click on the image for easy Paypal donation. To send a check, the address is here. Thank you! Robbie LaFleur
Have you ever judged a literal book by its cover? I’ll often pick up a gorgeous hardbound book just to feel it in my hands and marvel at its cover. Such is the case with “Vovne Skattar,” a book about historical woven bands of the Åmli district of southern Norway, near Kristiansand.
Its authors, Olga Maria Breivik (now deceased), Eldbjørg Breivik Smeland and Magnhild Peggy Jones Gilje have created a book that is filled to the brim with exquisite photos of 49 cataloged and registered bands. The authors researched and registered over 120 patterns and 100 artifacts in total, some of which date back to the early 1800s. Each photograph is presented along with details of interest for each band. These details include band length, width, type of material used, number of warp threads, number of mid and edge pattern threads, whether fringed or tasseled, and finally, place of origin within Åmli. Places of origin may be a region or a specific farm.
While much of the book is in Norwegian, it has five key sections in English along with translation of band specifics needed by the weaver.
The first section, “Woven treasures,” tells of the process of cataloging the over 120 different weaving patterns from the region.
The second section, “Pick-up band weaving in Åmli”, shows the equipment used to weave the bands, documents the historical use and type of pick-up bands, and provides some pictures of original weavers in traditional dress.
My favorite section of the book, “Catalogue of artifacts”, presents 49 bands, many of which have been recreated, a colorful photograph of each band, and band characteristics.
Section four,” Endless possibilities with patterns,” displays the pick-up patterns, both the middle and edge patterns, and the warp threadings that have been documented thus far.
The final “how to” section of the book provides detailed instructions for weaving three specific bands. This section is in Norwegian, with a statement referring the English speaker to comprehensive “how to” books, in English; Norwegian Pick-Band Weaving by Heather Torgenrud and Susan J Foulke’s books and online resources under “The Durham Weaver.”
As an active weaver since 2017 and a beginning band weaver, I recommend this book for its historical significance, pattern templates and inspiring content. As far as I can tell, the book is only available in Norway at Husfliden shops. Look for your copy of Vovne Skattar during your next Norwegian adventure!
Nancy Ebner started weaving in earnest at the Minnetonka Center for the Arts in 2017 and has since tried her hand at a multitude of four- to six-shaft weave structures. She continues to explore techniques via classes for the opportunity to learn and to connect with other makers. She is drawn to bright, vibrant colors and especially the color PINK! As a bonus, textile-related travel has taken her to 5 countries and 3 US States.
On January 1, 2026, Needle & Skein, a cozy yarn shop in suburban Minneapolis, Minnesota sent a cheerful New Year’s greeting to their followers on Instagram: “Here’s to another year of inspiration, creativity, and community together. Welcome 2026!” The post garnered a few polite “likes.”
A week later, everything changed when Renee Nicole Good was shot and killed by ICE agents deployed by the Trump Administration, sparking vigils and protests. Her execution by ICE was followed by that of Alex Pretti on January 24.
Mary Skoy was one of the first in our Scandinavian Weavers Study Group to knit a red hat.
Minnesota has a long and proud history of civic engagement and creative activism. Since December, when “Operation Metro Surge” began, Twin Cities residents had found ways to support their immigrant neighbors in hiding as well as those in detention. Now, their efforts redoubled. The staff at Needle & Skein rose to the challenge when knitting designer Paul Neary premiered the “Melt the Ice” hat.
The shop’s Instagram post on January 15 read, “In the 1940s, Norwegians made and wore red pointed hats with a tassel as a form of visual protest against Nazi occupation of their country. Within two years, the Nazis made these protest hats illegal and punishable by law to wear, make or distribute. As purveyors of traditional craft, we felt it appropriate to revisit this design.”
The post included an invitation to a “resistance knit in” where the red hat pattern would be sold, with proceeds donated to community organizations.
“This event isn’t meant to replace direct action or policy work,” shop owner Gilah Mashaal clarified. “It’s a way to gather the community, raise funds that will be redistributed locally, and connect our community to organizations doing on-the-ground support. We believe mutual aid, visibility, and community building all matter, and this is one way we can contribute as a small local shop.”
Immediately, the shop was inundated with requests for the red hat pattern, which appeared the next day on Ravelry, a popular knitting platform, for a five-dollar fee. It was quickly followed by a crochet version.
Word spread like wildfire through the knitting community, both in person and online, while local TV stations provided coverage of the efforts. New knitting groups formed all over the world to knit and wear the red hats. As shortages of red yarn were reported, knitters improvised, knitting or wet-felting smaller hats as lapel pins, creating sewn versions, and even dyeing their own yarn. Artists drew illustrations of loons—Minnesota’s state bird—knitting and wearing the red cap.
By February 15, Needle & Skein posted that knitters from over 53 countries had donated funds and/or downloaded the original patterns. By March 15, $850,000 had been raised for more than 25 organizations, with no signs of stopping.
What is the history of the red resistance hat in Norway? And why did a pattern based on it strike such a chord in 2026?
From Nisse to Jössings: The History of the Red Hat
Vesterheim Instagram post showing an impromptu display.
On February 26, Susan Kolstad and Kristin Propson presented “Red Hats as a Symbol of Resistance in WWII Norway” as part of Vesterheim Norwegian-American Museum’s ongoing “Folk Art Online Presentations.”
According to their webinar, the red hat has deep roots. The red “Phrygian Cap” was adopted during the French and American Revolutions as a symbol of liberty. (The hat recently made a comeback during the Paris Olympics in 2024 when it appeared as the plushie mascot of the Summer Games.) At the same time, Norway was struggling for its own independence from Danish and Swedish rule, which it achieved on May 17, 1905. In the century leading up to independence, traditional craft skills and cultural symbols were promoted in order to define and celebrate a unique national identity, or “Norwegian-ness.”
The nisse is one such symbol. In Norwegian folktales, this little bearded creature—the ancestor of today’s garden gnomes—lived on farms, hidden in the hay loft. He came out secretly at night, providing help or hindrance to the farm family depending on how well he was treated. At Christmas, a bowl of porridge was left out to appease him. Wearing a cheerful knitted red stocking cap, the nisse became a symbol of Christmas in Norway, frequently appearing in greeting cards and periodicals.
In 1940, everything changed. On April 9, the Nazis invaded and occupied Norway, installing a puppet government under collaborator Vidkun Quisling.
Symbols of Norwegian cultural identity took on added urgency, raising morale and building solidarity. Ordinary Norwegians knitted and wore red hats to show their opposition to the occupation as well as support for the Jössings, those doing the heroic and dangerous work of organized resistance. A writer who was a child during the occupation shared her wartime memories:
We would always find ways to annoy the Germans and the Nazis…We would all wear red knitted hats which meant we were “Jossings” or against the Germans. And on the king’s birthday we wore a red rose on our clothes. Everyone knew what it meant, but they could not arrest everyone.
On February 26, 1942, the red hats were banned. A photo from the Hjemmefrontmuseet (The Norwegian Resistance Museum) shows an announcement from a Trondheim newspaper declaring the wearing of red hats punishable by law. If the person wearing the hat was under 14 years of age, their parents would be punished.
Still, the Norwegians knitted on. Artifacts from this period include little Norwegian flags and tiny knitted red caps that could be secretly sewn into clothing. Organized resistance continued until Norway was liberated on VE Day, May 8, 1945.
Threads of History: The Red Hats Today
In a televised interview about the red hat pattern, Gilah Mashaal, noted that the project clearly “hit a nerve” with knitters the world over. What are the threads of this worldwide story and how are they knit together, 84 years after the original red hat ban?
In the case of Minneapolis, the historical parallels with World War II Norway are clear: An armed and hostile occupying force, driven by fascist ideology, wielding indiscriminate violence against a civilian population. Mashaal said that in the face of “Operation Metro Surge,” she and other metro residents had been feeling despair and helplessness. The red hat project gave them an immediate, concrete, and practical method of helping those who were being targeted. The money raised is donated to food shelves, legal funds, and other community-based immigrant aid organizations.
Alla Hale’s cap hid the message, “Make good trouble.”
Making and wearing the red hats also reminds knitters of the courage and integrity shown by the Norwegians in World War II, qualities they hope to emulate. Many Minnesotans are descended from Norwegian immigrants, and for them, knitting the red hats is an expression of pride in their heritage. As Needle & Skein employee Bethany Penna said, “It’s a beautiful tribute to our Norwegian ancestors.” Many have shared stories of family members who endured the occupation and participated in resistance efforts.
Knitters also see the red hats as a way to engage in peaceful protest, to express opposition to ICE, and to show solidarity with their neighbors, while the physical act of knitting gives knitters something to do to ease their anxiety and agitation. As one knitter baldly stated, “We knit to keep from unraveling.” Ravelry designer Mary Heather concurred, writing, “Of course, we’re knitting and crocheting…otherwise we’d probably combust.” Mary Heather noted that knitting and crochet are only one of many efforts that include contacting government representatives, contributing to mutual aid organizations, and protesting. In addition, “Using our crafting time to make projects in protest and connection with other crafters around the world helps us remember we’re not alone.”
Peg Hansen made a red hat for herself and for a volunteer in Red Wing.
Another thread in this story is the color red, long associated with protest movements and power struggles. Red hat knitters have spoken about taking the color back from MAGA movement they feel have co-opted it. Others noted resonance with other causes such as the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women movement (MMIW), which uses powerful images of red dresses and red hands to draw attention to the high rates of murders of Native women and girls. In this vein, Mary Heather wrote:
In uncertain and scary times, our handmade creations can provide powerful warmth and connection. This post is a celebration of that warmth, as seen through recently completed projects Ravelers have made using rich reds, oranges, and yellows. These cozy and warm colors can carry meaning, too… after all, warmth melts ice. Knitting and crocheting can be deeply personal forms of self-care, and in overwhelming times, that care becomes its own kind of resistance. Choosing to make something beautiful and warm when the world feels cold is a powerful act.
These deep levels of meaning are common to creative activism. “Crafters have been at the heart of many protest movements,” Mashaal wrote in her initial Instagram post. The red hat project is only one of many artistic responses to the occupation, from music to street art, T-shirts to tattoos, a surge of creativity and community-building in the face of injustice. In the end, how we spend our time and the things we create express the values we believe in and the type of world we want to build. In the end, what we create, creates us.
Note: Despite official statements of a drawdown, the total number of ICE agents remaining in Minnesota is unclear, with ongoing reports of continued ICE activity throughout the state. Further, “The total number of arrests during Operation Metro Surge cannot be independently verified based on information released by the administration.” Many of those disappeared by ICE remain in detention under horrific conditions. For others, even their whereabouts remain unknown.
We knit on.
Lisa-Anne Bauch is a Minnesota-based folk artist whose work is rooted in the traditional weaving techniques and materials of Sweden, Norway, and Finland, as well as their respective immigrant communities. Her writing has appeared in PieceWork, Norwegian Textile Letter, Väv, and Shuttle Spindle & Dyepot.
The author’s hat. She used the Sisu Designs pattern because she had the correct size needles (5) on hand, and red yarn in her stash.
Thank you to everyone who helps support the Norwegian Textile Letter with donations to cover expenses. Your financial support is crucial and much appreciated. Thank you for being a subscriber!
Click on the image for easy Paypal donation. To send a check, the address is here. Thank you! Robbie LaFleur
Lisa-Anne Bauch wrote about the red hat movement sparked by ICE actions in Minnesota, in this issue: ““We Knit to Keep from Unraveling”: The Red Hat Resurgence.” One of the key early supporters of Needle & Skein’s red hat project was the Red Hat Factory, a Norwegian company that sells hand-knit beanies in the style of traditional Norwegian knitwear. Founder Benjamin Andersen had previously researched the red resistance hat and shared its history on the company’s YouTube channel. On January 27, 2026 he shared a message on the company’s Instagram account:
Though I am by no means a representative of the courage and real sacrifice my countrymen showed back then, I will attempt to use my little voice to honor them and remind you all of what the symbol stood for.
I do this in honor of my mom, the even keeled countryside knitting woman, believing that most of us are just like that — peace loving and would rather knit than fight.
And in honor of my grandma who smuggled a bar of chocolate for the Norwegian Resistance movement as a young teen — believing that even small good deeds matter.
My contribution to this movement is to mark the date, and to build a small creed to remind us all of some of the values the Norwegian Resistance Movement stood for — values we need all the more in trying times.
Andersen called for a worldwide day of unity Thursday, February 26, 2026, asking everyone to wear their red hats. (This was the anniversary of the day the original hats were banned in Norway.) He noted that the Norwegian resistance not only fought against the Nazi ideology but fought for their own, embodied in the principles of Democracy, Unity, and Menneskeverd, a Norwegian word for the intrinsic value of any human being, simply for being human. The Red Hat Factory’s full statement is well worth reading and can be found on redhatfactory.com/creed
Note: The Red Hat Factory sells finished hats rather than knitting patterns.
“Memories of Three” was sold at auction in 2025 for “an astonishing SEK 2,801,400 ($302,193) including buyer’s premium and taxes — a record-setting result that underscores the surging esteem for Ryggen’s work among international collectors.”
The thought-provoking essay includes a section on tapestry as interior architecture. “A work like Memories of Three transforms a room not through grandeur but through gravity. Against lime-washed plaster or walnut-paneled walls, its vegetal palette lends warmth and authority. It absorbs sound, modulates light, and softens modern rigor with tactile intellect. In luxury design today, this is the new opulence: silence, authenticity, and craft as conscience.”
This conceptual, historical project involving rag rugs will appeal to many Norwegian Textile Letter readers who love (and weave) rag rugs. “The artist Matilda Kenttä traces the heritage of the Tornedalians, a Swedish minority whose quiet endurance speaks of belonging across generations. She lives in Kiruna, in the far north of Sweden. Today, almost all of old Kiruna is being demolished because the state-owned company LKAB’s iron ore mine is expanding and causing the ground beneath the city to shake. In Sju omvävnader (Seven Re-weavings, 2022), an art project created in connection with Kiruna’s urban transformation, Matilda unravelled Kiruna residents’ rag rugs and rewove the strips according to the exact measurements of seven spaces in the city that have now disappeared.”
Anne Knutsen works with flatwoven textiles in a minimalist formal language. By exploring the possibilities of thread and weave, she seeks to give the woven surface immaterial qualities.
Throughout her artistic practice, Knutsen has worked in large formats, creating conditions in which fleeting and unstable effects emerge depending on the angle of the light and the viewer’s position in the room. Read more about the exhibit.
Even if it is too late to see her exhibit, visit anneknutsen.no for amazing photos of her linen works. Especially recommended: I det grønne.
It’s time to choose among the many in-person and virtual fiber art classes recently announced for Vesterheim Folk Art School, Summer 2026. Browse the full list here. One tempting offering is Norwegian instructor Monika Ravnager‘s class in weaving a boat rya on a warp-weighted loom.
Historical Lichen Dyes (Webinar) June 20, 2026 (10:00-11:00 am CT)
Join artist and instructor Jane Addams for an introduction to natural dyes on pieces in the Vesterheim Collection. Jane will share how traditional Scandinavian makers used lichen to color textiles. She will explore what these dyes reveal about culture, place, and everyday life. Register here. If you read this after April 12, check the Vesterheim YouTube site for the archived talk. (You’ll find many other interesting webinars, too!)
Thank you to everyone who helps support the Norwegian Textile Letter with donations to cover expenses. Your financial support is crucial and much appreciated. Thank you for being a subscriber!
Click on the image for easy Paypal donation. To send a check, the address is here. Thank you! Robbie LaFleur
While experimenting with methods for double weave on the warp-weighted loom, I began to think about double-notched heddle-rod supports, wondering if they might provide any insight. These implements, discovered in the 1970s by Norwegian archaeologists excavating medieval layers in Trondheim, have been interpreted by today’s researchers as being attachments for the warp-weighted loom, possibly used for weaving twill. I reasoned that anyone who knew anything about the warp-weighted loom (as the weavers of 17th century double-weave coverlets obviously did), would likely have known how to weave twill, a durable and dense fabric commonly used for clothing in northern Europe. Perhaps the role these implements played in weaving such a standard cloth had carried over into double weave?
If there was any connection to be found between double-weave and double-notched supports, I never discovered it. Instead, my experiments with these implements led in a completely different direction.
Double-notched heddle-rod supports found in the medieval layers of Trondheim, Norway. Image: Katherine Larson. NTNU University Museum Collection
To provide a little background, those who study the warp-weighted loom owe a debt of gratitude to Norwegian researcher Marta Hoffmann, who in the 1950s suspected there might still be women in her country who knew how to use this ancient and seemingly extinct loom. To her credit she searched for these weavers and found two traditions, both of which used the loom to produce plain-weave coverlets: a single family in western Norway, and a small community of weavers in northern Norway. Interest in their coverlets had almost disappeared after World War II, but these women still knew how to warp and weave on their looms, and by documenting their methods Hoffmann was able to record this last link in a chain of weaving skills that had passed from mother to daughter for thousands of years.
Missing from Hoffmann’s observations was the method by which twill was once woven on the warp-weighted loom. Twill had developed into an essential fabric in northern Europe since its appearance in the late Bronze Age, but the weaving of twill had been transferred from the warp-weighted loom to the more efficient floor loom long before the 20th century in Norway. Fortunately for textile historians, several sources of information survived in Iceland, in 18th century drawings that portrayed the loom set up to weave twill, and in descriptions from two elderly Icelandic women who remembered weaving twill on this loom in their youth. Hoffmann described what was known of this Icelandic tradition, including intriguing details such as the slanted rods (meiðmar) used to hold forward selected heddle rods, and the long warps the Icelandic weavers wove as lengths of cloth for trade. But the basic premise of the Icelandic technique was the practice of creating sheds for 2/2 twill by using pairs of neighboring warp threads, first to form the forward and back layers of the natural shed, and following this principle to form the three remaining heddle-rod controlled sheds with heddles that enclosed pairs of neighboring warps.
Twill on the warp-weighted loom, a drawing published by Olaus Olavius in 1780. Image: Norsk Folkemuseum. Royal Danish Library Collection.
The Icelandic information was first published in 1914, but during the 20th century other ideas were suggested for how twill might have been woven on the warp-weighted loom. These methods fell into two main camps. In the method first proposed by German textile historian Karl Schlabow, the Icelandic tradition of treating the warps as pairs was dispensed with, replaced by heddles enclosing single warp threads, and the warp was no longer divided in half by a shed rod but hung in four individually weighted layers, manipulated by four heddle rods. This loom setup was followed by a number of subsequent researchers. Meanwhile others studying twill followed the basic premise of the Icelandic method, setting up the loom with two warps per heddle, but choosing to utilize the heddle rod supports known from the Norwegian tradition rather than the slanted rods used in Iceland. This method also had a number of adherents.
Marta Kløve Juuhl weaving twill for the Lendbreen exhibit at the Norsk Fjell Museum using two warps per heddle and single notched supports. Image: Randi Andersen, Osterøy Museum
Drawing elements from both of these school of thought was yet another idea proposed by A. E. Haynes in an article published in 1975. Following the description given by Hoffmann, Haynes had noted that warp tension was uneven when weaving with the Icelandic method, resulting in unclear sheds. This problem was ascribed to pairs of warps being tied to the same weight when half of the pair enclosed by a single heddle was drawn forward. To solve this problem Haynes, like Schlabow, suggested four separately weighted warp layers. Unlike Schlabow, however, the loom’s fixed shed rod was retained but in a reduced role: only the foremost of the four layers passed over the shed rod, and from this position those warps could be joined by the warps of two other layers, pulled forward consecutively to form two of twill’s four sheds. Since these sheds were to form behind the foremost layer they required another innovation, a heddle rod support with a notch at the halfway point: a double-notched support. (The remaining two sheds were formed in front of the foremost layer in the normal manner, by pulling the final two heddle rods to the outermost notches.) At the time when this proposal was made, double-notched heddle-rod supports had not yet been discovered in Trondheim, and therefore this was quite an imaginative proposal.
If this system sounds a bit confusing, it became slightly more so after the discovery of actual double-notched supports. At that point Danish weavers at the Historical-Archaeological Research Center in Lejre gave the Haynes method further consideration, adding several refinements to improve the system. Retaining Haynes’s novel idea of forming sheds in different ways (using variously one or two heddle rods and forming sheds either behind or in front of the foremost layer), they realized that the heddles on each rod needed to be of graduated length, since the three back warp layers each hung at different distances from the front of the loom. They further revised the order of heddle rod placement, with heddle rod II on the top supports and I and III on the lower supports. Despite the somewhat involved nature of this revised system, the researchers concurred with Haynes, reporting that many different weave structures were now possible with this improved method: “tabby, basket-weave, 2/2 and 3/1 twill and different floating lacings and pattern effects.” This method is usually referred to as the “four-weight-row” method, and has been adopted by numerous textile historians.
Weaving twill using double-notched supports in the four-weight-row method. Drawing: Anne Batzer. After Stærmose Nielsen, 1999.
After studying all the ins and outs of the four-weight-row method for using double-notched supports, I decided to begin my twill experiments with the more straightforward description provided in the recent book, The Warp-Weighted Loom, Clinking Stones (2016). I hoped to get a feel for how twill worked on the warp-weighted loom before trying the double-notched supports method. However it became immediately apparent when weaving with the two-warps-per-heddle method from Clinking Stones that there was a problem with heddle jamming. This was especially noticeable whenever the middle heddle rod was drawn forward, an observation that brought to mind a Faroese saying described by Hoffmann, but first noted by Margretha Hald in 1935, that problems with the middle shaft were comparable to disagreements between neighbors – obviously others before me had noted this difficulty!
Although heddle jams can be cleared fairly easily by tugging on the affected heddle rods, this requires extra effort that not only interferes with the smooth flow of weaving, but would likely wear on the affected warps and heddles if continually repeated. Since the jamming appeared to be caused by slack heddles when manipulating the middle heddle rod, it occurred to me that here was a problem begging to be fixed by double-notched supports, which I just happened to have waiting in the wings. With this idea in mind, I began to wonder if the two-warps-per-heddle idea, the only twill-weaving method that is actually attested in historical records, might warrant further consideration.
After promising results from some initial experiments, I proposed the idea of using double-notched supports for weaving twill to Monika Ravnanger and Marta Kløve Juuhl. Monika is a curator at Osterøy Museum near Bergen, an institution central to the study of the warp-weighted loom, and Marta, one of the authors of Clinking Stones, was a proponent of the two-threads-per-heddle method described in her book. They were both intrigued by this idea and agreed on a program to test its effectiveness. We were especially interested to find how the use of single notched supports compared to using those with double-notches, and also to consider how this new method for using double-notched supports compared to the four-weight-row method.
Test loom with three pairs of heddle-rod supports. The “inner notches” in the top two pairs were created with moveable pegs to allow adjusting the distance from the loom. Image: Monika Ravnanger, Osterøy Museum
Our tests, described in detail in our article, provided positive support for our idea. As a result we believe our proposed use of double-notched supports to be simpler and more intuitive than that proposed in the four-weight-row method: Our suggested method employs only one heddle rod at a time to open all but the natural shed; the heddle-rod sheds are always formed in front of the foremost layer; heddles are all tied at the same length; and heddle rods are ordered and utilized in a logical fashion from top to bottom.
We further note that in proposing what became known as the four-weight-row method, Haynes was attempting to solve a problem that did not actually exist. As it turned out, several factors were overlooked in Hoffmann’s description of the Icelandic method, and a more careful reading of the original Icelandic reports some years later revealed details that solved the tension problem at the heart of the Haynes argument. Seen in this light, the Haynes method could be viewed as an inventive rethinking of how a woven structure can be achieved. Yet perhaps not enough consideration was given to the fact that this innovative method strayed from what may have been a foundational element for weaving twill on the warp-weighted loom: using neighboring pairs of warp threads as the basis for both dividing the warp over the shed rod, and pulling forth neighboring pairs of warp threads to form subsequent sheds.
While no one can say for sure how twill was woven on the warp-weighted loom, if double-notched heddle-rod supports were used, a method similar to that proposed by our research would seem to be the most likely. For more details and complete citations, the full article inArchaeological Textiles Review No. 67 can be read here: “Twill on the warp-weighted loom: reconsidering double-notched supports” by Katherine Larson, Marta Kløve Juuhl and Monika Ravnanger.
For a translation of the original Danish report describing refinements that became known as the four-weight-row method, read: “The Warp-Weighted Loom, New Experimental Observations” by Anne Batzer and Lis Dokkedal, translation by Katherine Larson.
Thank you to everyone who helps support the Norwegian Textile Letter with donations to cover expenses. Your financial support is crucial and much appreciated. Thank you for being a subscriber!
Click on the image for easy Paypal donation. To send a check, the address is here. Thank you! Robbie LaFleur
Editor’s note: This article originally appeared in The Spinning Wheel Sleuth, #130, January 2026, and is reprinted with permission.
A box loom with the date of 1849 and a name decoratively painted on it was in the collection of the Vesterheim Norwegian-American Museum in Decorah, IA, for some time before more was learned about its background and the original use for that type of loom. Not a plain box, the loom has sides cut at a sloping angle and the top cut with decorative scallops. Museum staff remarked that it looked like a cute doll bed, started calling it the “cradle loom,” and the name stuck.
According to the museum’s records, the inscription on the front says “Beiret Colbiön Datter B” [Photo #1] and “1849” on the back [Photo #2]. The owner was probably Beret Colbjørnsdatter Rund, who was born in 1828 in Krødsherad in southern Norway. She emigrated in 1851. She and Ole Blekeberg married, and she died in 1910 in Decorah, IA.
Lila Nelson (1922-2015) was curator of textiles at Vesterheim from 1964 to her retirement in 1991. In the 1970s she engaged the help of woodworkers to make cradle looms based on this 1849 loom with some modifications. The unfinished looms were for sale at the museum store.
One of the woodworkers was Merlin Lee, a retired pharmacist in Zumbrota, MN. He also made various Norwegian-styled chests, benches, cupboards, candle holders, and more for the museum store. People bought wooden items for rosemaling (a traditional Norwegian-style of folk painting) and other folk arts such as wood carving. Cradle looms are challenging to make with slanted sides. Early ones were made with dovetailed joins. Merlin Lee said that it was tricky to cut the notches in the ratchets for the ratchet-and-pawl tension system on the front and back beams. I remember one time when he said, “Mrs. Nelson thought we should also offer a larger size, so people could do larger weavings on cradle looms.”
I bought several cradle looms from Merlin Lee. The loom I had painted blue was an earlier smaller one. It is 11” long and 9” wide at the bottom and 15” long and 9” wide at the top. It is 8” high [Photo #3]. The unpainted one, with the rigid-heddle pick-up band, measures 11” by 10½” at the bottom,15” long and 10½” wide at the top, and 8” high. I also have a large cradle loom that is 11” long, 13½” wide at the bottom, 15” long and 13½” wide at the top, and 8″ high.
In 1977 Lila Nelson wrote a 27-page booklet about cradle looms that included some history about the geometric slit-tapestry bands that were originally woven on them. She also gave ideas for weavers to try other uses of the handy little looms such as weaving small tapestries using string heddles and a shed rod, using it as a rigid-heddle loom, or using it for card or tablet weaving.
Norwegians have a long tradition of weaving bands in decorative pick-up techniques with a rigid heddle back-strap style loom, but it is handy to tension the warp in a loom such as the cradle loom, although that was not historically done.
I took several classes in various Norwegian weave structures from Lila Nelson. I also saw her at meetings of the Scandinavian Weavers Study Group. She was a close friend of my aunt.
Weavers find the cradle looms handy to carry along to weave away from home. It is self- contained, with room in it to take along scissors, shuttles, extra yarn, and so on with no chances of items falling out of the solid bottom. I once heard Lila Nelson mention that there is room to weave on a cradle loom on your lap while in the passenger seat of a car. She sometimes wove on a cradle loom while her husband was driving.
Evidence has been found of looms of this type in Germany in the 1600s, and it is thought to have spread from there to Norway. It was not widespread in Norway but just found in a few southernprovinces. There was no shedding device originally on the looms as the weaving done was little squares over 2-, 3- , or 4-warp threads as in kilim weaving. It is a very slow and time-consuming weaving technique. A needle was found to be handier than a shuttle. It reminds me of one of the steps in hardanger embroidery where squares are needle-woven in. The designs go with colors in stair-step fashion, so there are no long slits anywhere and the slits are barely noticeable. The squares are not interlocked as they are in some other Scandinavian weaves.
Vesterheim has an apron with a decorative band of slit tapestry weaving sewn on at the bottom. It is pictured on the cover of the cradle loom weaving booklet. The 1977 booklet was redone in color in the second edition in 2018. Vesterheim has only two other old pieces woven in that technique that are hanging near the 1849 loom in the display case. For about the last 20 years Mike and Becky Lusk of Lusk Scandia Woodworks in Coon Valley, WI, have supplied the cradle looms for the Vesterheim museum store. They offer a small loom, 16” long, 10” wide, and 8” tall; and a large one that is 16” long, 14” wide, and 8” tall. Mike says, “We have seen interest in cradle looms greatly increase the last few years as more people find out about them. We even have had orders from some other countries such as Great Britain, Czechoslovakia, and the Netherlands.”
Vesterheim is the oldest and largest museum of any ethnic immigrant group in the United.States. There are thousands of items in the main museum building and an open-air museum including buildings made by Norwegian immigrants in pioneer days. Also some log buildings from Norway have been taken apart and moved here. Vesterheim has a highly regarded folk-art school where weekend and weeklong classes are available.
Addendum from the author:
Marta Hoffman’s book, Fra Fiber til Tøy: Tekstilredskaper og bruken av dem i Norsk tradisjon (Textile Equipment and its Use in Norwegian Tradition, Landsbruksforlaget, 1991), has a little about a similar loom and the slit tapestry bands (p. 167-168), including a pattern that could be 15 warps with 3 ends per square. This description was included in a caption. “Box loom for weaving kilim bands. Heddles are not used, the shed is picked up by hand. There are slits between the different colours of the weft. The warp spacer was not used traditionally. Similar box looms are known from European pattern books dated to the 16th and 17th centuries, and bands of the same technique – in silk and gold thread – can be found on medieval vestments.”
That is the pattern I have on my blue cradle loom. I have done it with 10 warps with 2 per square.
Nancy Nodland Ellison is a former home economics teacher who has been spinning and weaving since the late 1960’s. Her studio which is filled with spinning wheels and looms takes up half of the barn on her farm at Zumbrota, Minnesota. She recently wrote her memoir entitled Belle Creek and Beyond. Her website is www.ellisonsheepfarm.com
Editor’s note: Lila Nelson was responsible for the burst of interest in the cradle loom in the Midwest. This is a photo from around 2005 of one of Lila’s cradle looms along with a band she wove on it.
To see several Norwegian versions of the cradle loom, click on this search of the Digitaltmuseum.no (the Norwegian Digital Museum) for the Norwegian term: bandestol. This cradle loom is from the Hallingdal Museum, as pictured in the Norwegian Digital Library.
Nelson, Lila. Using the Norwegian Cradle Loom. Revised 2018 edition in color. Based on original 1977 publication. (Order from the Vesterheim Store.)
Lusk Scandia Woodworks, N906 County Rd. PI, Coon Valley, WI. (608) 452-3472. Luskscandiaww@yahoo.com,
Vesterheim Norwegian-American Museum, 520 W. Water St., Decorah, Iowa 52101. (563) 382-9681. https://vesterheim.org/
Author’s note: Thanks to Laurann Gilbertson, Chief Curator at Vesterheim, for the pictures
Thank you to everyone who helps support the Norwegian Textile Letter with donations to cover expenses. Your financial support is crucial and much appreciated. Thank you for being a subscriber!
Click on the image for easy Paypal donation. To send a check, the address is here. Thank you! Robbie LaFleur
Edtor’s note: This article first appeared in Vol. 19, number 2, 2021 of Vesterheim, the beautiful magazine published by Vesterheim Norwegian-American Museum.
Our immigrant forebears would have enjoyed the high-tech footwear of today, or a sturdy set of Red Wing boots. From the article:
The first immigrants traveled across the ocean by sailing ships. After 1875, travel was by faster steam ship. Either way, from the ship they generally traveled west as far as a train would take them and the rest of the journey was by wagon or, as commonly, on foot. Immigrants reported the trauma of walking 25, 100, and even 300 miles on foot. For instance, the Larson family: parents, children, grandmother, uncles, and aunts decided to finish their journey to DeSoto, Iowa, on foot in 1870, walking 25 miles.
“It was a hot day and the clothes which were so comfortable in Norway in the middle of May were anything but comfortable in Iowa in early July. . . . In the evening we finally reached our destination, a weary, discouraged, footsore group. For a week Mother was unable to walk.”
Thank you to everyone who helps support the Norwegian Textile Letter with donations to cover expenses. Your financial support is crucial and much appreciated. Thank you for being a subscriber!
Click on the image for easy Paypal donation. To send a check, the address is here. Thank you! Robbie LaFleur
Editor’s note: This article originally appeared in Vol. 19, number 2, 2021 of Vesterheim, the beautiful magazine published by Vesterheim Norwegian-American Museum..
I have chosen three sets of mittens in Vesterheim’s collection to share their stories with you. All are everyday mittens belonging to individuals doing their everyday living. It was a difficult decision not to choose the bright and colorful, the embellished and embroidered. Those readily catch the eye. But these mittens would have been touched and used daily and relied upon. Their pattern was known, made frequently, and perfected by the skilled craftswomen who wanted to make a mitten just so.
You will find more evidence that mittens are important objects in Norway if you search the Norwegian digital museum site, Digitaltmuseum.no, with the word votter (mittens). More than 2400 records of mittens, or photographs including mittens, come up.
Editor’s Note: The object chosen by the author for this in-depth study about communicating with museum audiences is the mula mitten used by fishermen in Norway. This article is a shortened version focusing on the mitten itself. The full article, with much more discussion of museum practices and how to communicate history to audiences, is available in English here (text only), The original Norwegian version, published in Sjå Jæren 2011, the yearbook of the Jærmuseet, is here.
This article is based on a study in museum communication at Oslo University College in the spring of 2009. Starting with the theme “Museum – Collection and Communication,” we were to focus on an object that we selected from a collection and about which we wished to communicate to others. Most museums have objects that are not well documented and that have been kept more or less hidden in storage. We could ask questions such as why do we collect, or what kind of values could such collections have? Many objects deserve to be brought to light, but for this thesis I wanted to choose a textile object and decided on a mitten, a “mula” mitten, chosen from the collection of the regional museum in Jæren, Jærmuseet. The mitten appeared in an exhibition about herring fishing, but was gray and anonymous and did not make much of a statement. At the same time it fascinated me, lying there large and spacious, with two thumbs.
Mula mitten from the collection of Jæren Museum. Photo: Ingeborg Nærland Skjærpe. Jærmuseet
I wanted to find out more about such mittens. Why do they look like this? How are they made? And who made them? Good mittens were important for fishing, and it was a lot of work for the women to arrange everything the men needed to bring with them. Could this be conveyed to children so that they would understand it? And could it have any meaning for us today?
What is a mula mitten?
My first encounter with the word was in Hauglandsviså [Haugland’s Song], a song of unknown origin that was released as a record in 1980 by the group “Vind i gardhol” [Wind in the Farmyard]. This song was about someone who does everything backwards when they have to bring in the hay and is played and sung a lot in this area. Although it mentions someone wearing mula mittens it doesn’t say much about what a mula mitten is.
The registration card for the museum says the following: the mitten is made of wool, brownish gray, spøta (knitted) and a little felted. It has two thumbs and was used by herring fishermen. It came to the museum in 1998 together with other things from the estate of Olav O. Nygård, born in 1906 at Bratland in Varhaug.
This was an everyday work mitten. In Jæren, the words spøting and stikking both mean knitting and are used interchangeably. “Mula mitten” must be a local name and in Jæren it is still in use among older people. Tobias Skretting writes in the book Jæren sing i merg og minne [a book about the Jæren dialect]: “Mula mittens: Home-knitted work mittens that can have one or two thumbs. Those with two have the advantage that they can be turned over and thus distribute the wear. In most work, the mittens wear most in [the palm of] your hand.”
They must have been named because of their appearance, reminiscent of a muzzle on a horse or a cow. In the literature that mention these mittens, they have names such as sjøvottar (sea mittens), fiskjevetter (fish mittens), skålpavette, and lovottar (palm mittens) among others. They were not only used for the herring fishery but also for fishing locally, for the Lofoten fishery and for cod fishing. The word mitten, vott, is found in Old Norwegian as Vottr and in other places as Vettir.
Svein Molaug in Vår gamle kystkultur [Our Old Coastal Culture] describes when they were going to go fishing in Lofoten: “They had to have sea mittens, three pairs. The mittens were knitted and well felted.”1 And Gunvor Ingstad Trætteberg writes in the book Skinnhyre og sjøklær [Leather Gear and Sea Clothes] that the fishermen’s work mittens were lovottar. This means that the back of the hand and four fingers fit into the mitten, while the thumb is held separately. She further writes that in western Norway the mittens were called vavette. The word vad means line or fishing line. The mittens had long straps that were wrapped around the wrist. For rowing they used lovottar (palm mittens)or roavottar (rowing mittens). In the 19th century there were two types of mittens in use for fishing: one-thumb mittens and two-thumb mittens. Four pairs of mittens were part of the equipment for a full-time fisherman in Lofoten in 1880, two of each kind.
Fishermen in oilskins and leather gear in Kvæfjord, Troms. Norsk Folkemuseum.
“The northern Norwegian mittens were particularly good, spacious and made of special wool, so when the ‘southerners’ were in Lofoten, they often bought a few pairs of ‘skålpavette,’ as they called them, according to fishermen from Bømlo in Sunnhordland. Skålpavette were large, heavy mittens with plenty of room in them, much wider than other mittens.”2
Many from Jæren travelled far north to fish, so we can assume that clothing has been fairly similar along the entire Norwegian coast, with some quality variations, and that sea mittens is a generic name for all variations.
In most contexts, it is the “fine” examples of an object that are preserved. We have many richly decorated mittens, with beautiful patterns in various techniques for fine use. But not so many useful, practical work clothes have been preserved. They were preferably used until there was nothing left of them. And they had little “value” as a collector’s item in the past. But the mula mitten can be an example of the great diversity and variations in mittens. Annemor Sundbø has been collecting knitted garments for many years. She describes the mittens she has found as follows:
“… some mittens are specially adapted to the climate and working life, for example sea mittens and palm mittens. They are to be used in snow, rain, salty seas and storms. The mittens were knitted in double size and were felted until they fit the hand. This made them unusually thick and strong. If dipped in water before use, they were also windproof. Wool insulates heat even when wet. Other gloves are clearly made for fine use. They are knitted from very thin yarn…»11
This mitten has been in several different cultural contexts. We can start with the wool from the sheep and the work process from sheep to finished mitten. It can be used as an image of the work the coastal women did in preparation for fishing. Then we can continue to the equipment chest, which shows the quality of the women’s work. The mitten can then tell about fishing, about wind and weather, catch and toil, and its eventual reuse for shore work. Finally, it can end up in a collection of mittens and help to show diversity.
Preparing for fishing
Before the men would set off, there was a lot that had to be done, and there was usually a clear gender division in this work. The men prepared, arranged and procured fishing equipment and the like. The women arranged food and clothing. There were rules for how much each man should bring with him and it was a huge job to get everything ready.
In the book “-Utmed havet” kystkvinners liv og virk 1920–1940 [“–Along the coast” Coastal Women’s Life and Work 1929-1940], which was prepared for the 50th anniversary exhibition of the AOF [Norwegian Workers Education Association], the foreword states: “Women’s daily life and social work have been underestimated and partly hidden in historical writing and research. This is a result of the production system that has placed women and their tasks at the bottom of the ladder in our society, a society that has primarily been characterized by men’s value norms and positions.”
This was in 1981 and fortunately a lot of research and documentation has been done on the subject in the years since. Elin Strøm lets Tora tell the story in her article in the same book: “What chaos it is in January when Father goes cod fishing! Mother is hardly in bed at night. She has to check over and mend all his clothes, and there is a lot of clothing. Huge sweaters and underwear, thick sea boots, sea mittens and wadmal pants. Everything is made of wool. As the saying goes: Cotton does not protect your health.»14
The sheriff’s report for Sund and Austevoll, 1861–1865, mention the following clothing requirements for a man engaged in the spring herring fishery:
3 shirts
2 vests
3 undershirts
3 overshirts
3 underpants
3 or 4 pairs of socks
1 oiled or leather shirt
1 oiled or leather trousers
1 sou’wester [hat]
1 pair of sea boots
1 pair of shoes
2 pairs of mittens
The number of mittens varies in different lists. Klausen mentions 4–7 pairs of mittens for the Lofoten fishery in addition to small mittens.15
«After used for a time, all mittens became too small and hard like felt. When the fishermen came home in the spring, they were completely worn out and cast aside, looking like a crab claw; new ones had to be made each year.”16
Wool
The mitten can tell us about wool, the material it is made of and the good properties it has. The sources mention the sheep breeds vilsau, utegangarsau, trøndersau and spælsau as well as different names for these breeds with extra qualities of their wool. People stay warm even if their mittens get wet. Natural wool, [untreated with chemicals], will become felted and thicker in use and warmer afterwards and thus these “fish mittens” were also very good afterwards for using in soil cultivation and stone working. In previous times they were really thick, warm and durable. In the book Skinnhyre og sjøklær Gunvor Ingstad Trætteberg writes that sources from the second half of the 18th century and later agree that wool from the vild-fåret (wild sheep, spælsau) was the best wool for sea use.
Villsauer at Vistnestunet. Photo: Ingeborg Skrudland.
This wool has long, smooth guard hair, which allows water to run off and at the same time provides warmth. The wool that was to be used for sea mittens was taken from the back, and halfway down the thighs and sides of the animal. In western Norway, mittens made of wool combined with horsehair and goat hair were also used. These did not shrink like mittens made of pure wool and did not absorb moisture either. She also mentions dog and fox hair, and mittens made of women’s hair mixed with wool.
“No mitten was warmer than these.” But for rowing, pure wool rovottar (rowing mittens) pure wool mittens were the best.17 The women gathered their combed out hair and spun it together with wool into yarn. This made extra strong socks and mittens.18
Nordstrand writes in Kystkvinner; kvardagsportrett frå Hordalandskysten [Coastal Women; Everyday Portraits from the Hordaland Coast] that wool was the most important product from the utegangarsau (primitive sheep) and it was carefully sorted. The animals have long, coarse outer hairs and finer undercoats, fibers very suitable for clothing. The long outer fibers were often collected separately and used to make mittens. This way the fisherman did not freeze even if his hands were wet.19 The grey Trøndelag sheep was called the sjøvott-sau (sea-mitten sheep) because it was well known for having very good quality wool and making very warm clothing. Undyed wool was used because it was the warmest.
How is the mitten made?
The mitten can be a starting point for telling the whole story from sheep to mitten. We can start with shearing the sheep, carding and spinning the wool, knitting the mitten and finally felting it. This will allow one to visualize how much work was needed to provide warm clothing for the whole family in the past. The oldest mittens were made with nålbinding (knotless netting). Trætteberg did not find any existing nålbinding mittens used for fishing, the preserved specimens are for finer use. Knitting is newer, but known in Norway from at least the 17th century.
“The finished mitten could be up to half a meter long and have a thumb so big that the whole fist could fit in it. A fisherman from Kanstadfjorden, Lødingen in Nordland, said that the mitten his father used was so big that when he was little, his upper body would slide right into the mitten.”20
New sea mittens! This is how mittens look before and after felting. Photo: Bjørnar Pedersen, Helgeland Museum.
Elin Strøm relates: “Ole (9 years old) has to felt sea mittens. A sea mitten is huge when it is finished, and it has two thumbs. Ole puts the mitten in warm water and it shrinks. He then rubs the mitten against a felting board so that it becomes fluffy. A felting board is a wooden board with grooves. It resembles a washboard. Ole has to rub for hours before the mitten is finished. But by then it has become thick and good. Such mittens keep warm even when they are wet.”21
In Det store lappeteppet [The Great Patchwork Quilt], Clayhills notes that “It could be a matter of life and death. All the clothes had to be extra warm and extra durable. The underwear, the mittens and what the men wore on their feet were literally vital. If their hands froze and went numb, the catch could be lost and the boat capsized. It was woolen garments that made it possible to work despite the cold and wet. …The sea mittens that Lofoten fishing required were truly super mittens. For these, they used the finest wool, spun into thick yarn. They were knitted on coarse needles and made so large that they only fit after they had been felted and thus became strong and dense. There were several ways to felt. Some dipped the mittens in boiling water, smeared them with soft soap and rolled them on a tovfjøl (grooved wooden board). Others folded the tip of the mitten in half and secured it with a piece of thread. When the mittens had felted from use in salt water, they cut off the binding and the mittens were still big enough. Many people carded the mittens on the inside so that they would be extra warm and comfortable.”
Such mittens often had two thumbs so that they would wear evenly all around. The sailors had to carry several pairs with them on the boat, to replace those that became frozen solid. One way to thaw frozen mittens was to hang them over the edge in the sea.22
Not everyone liked this type of mitten. The extra thumb got in the way during work. The mittens also became very felted and hard when used on both sides. In Jæren, people started buying the yarn ready-made when the spinning mill came in at the end of the 19th century.
Who knitted – and when?
Everyone had to learn the techniques they needed to produce clothing. Grandmothers knitted while they cradled small children. Everyone knitted whenever they could – even when they were out walking or rowing. From the age of seven, the children had to take part in the adults’ working lives. Until the age of ten, both boys and girls lived with their mothers and had roughly the same work tasks. The women usually always had knitting in hand. They fastened the ball of yarn to their clothes with a hook and knitted while they walked. Some men also used their free time to knit. Jørgen Skjæveland from Bjerkreim has described knitting:
“It was primarily women who knitted, but men could also help in the evenings when they had time… women knitted at all times. They knitted wherever they went, when they went to and from the hayfield and the market square, when they hunted the cows and went to other farms. Then they had the yarn under their left arm. Yes, during the midday break when the men took a nap, the women would often sit and knit. They would knit when they were tending to the food, when they were cooking, when they were sitting and reading the Bible. Often the wives would gather on the farm and sit and talk about other people and knit so much that the needles rattled. They didn’t have to think about the knitting, it happened automatically. Occasionally they would stick the spare fifth needle up in their hair. They didn’t say they were going for a visit, but that they were going “with the knitting”… In the evenings, the grown-up girls would gather and compete in knitting. They would measure out a certain length of thread and tie a knot, and then see who would reach the knot first. They would sit for so long in the evenings that their eyes would droop and the knitting fall into their laps. Then they put a broken match as a small prop on the eyelid so they couldn’t fall asleep. This was called a “plunntre”. But on Sunday the needles were put to rest, because it was a great sin to knit on a holy day.”23
Knitting for extra income
Some women discovered that there was money to be made from knitting. “The women were happy to trade when it was necessary. Especially those who lived near Bergen could make a few kroner at the town market. They often accompanied the men when they went to the market square to sell fish. The goods sold were butter, eggs, berries and perhaps leather. They also sold socks and mittens… ”24
Grimstvedt, in the article “Spøt til salg, strikking som binæring i Rogaland før 1900” [“Knitting for sale, knitting as a secondary occupation in Rogaland before 1900],” indicates that a lot of knitted goods were traded at the market square in Stavanger. Goods were also sent to Flekkefjord, Kristiansand and Arendal. What is mentioned is often socks, sweaters and hats, but in several places the products are only described as knitted goods. Mittens are mentioned in a list of local products sent to an exhibition of fishing equipment in Boulogne in 1866. Fishing equipment and fishing products were prominent, however out of 57 submitters, ten sent knitted goods.
Grimstvedt has used a fishing mitten as an illustration for the article, so we can probably assume that they are counted among the knitted goods. Grimstvedt has said that she interviewed Magna Kristine Husebø, born in Sirevåg (12/22/1906). She moved to Jåsund, Tanger when she got married. There she knitted mittens and delivered them to Danielsen Skipshandel [ship chandler] in the 1930s.
Fishing mittens were knitted large and were felted through use. They often had two thumbs, so that they could be worn on both sides. From Sirevåg it is said that after the mittens were felted for fishing, they were used for stone work. At that time they were called ‘lo-vette’ ”.25
Today
Clayhills ends her book with thoughts about textile work up to the present day. She writes that this is a women’s tradition, and if industry now takes over production, women still continue to create things with their hands. This can take the form of copying ready-made patterns, or through using creative, free imagination. But there is a danger that knowledge and techniques will be forgotten if we do not consciously collect documentation, maintain it, and find new uses for old techniques. She points out that the background must be recorded and that textile techniques and women’s work must be given a greater presence in rural areas and museums. “…all materials are important, they should finally come out of chests and drawers, even those that have never had status or been seen as nice. All pieces must be included in the great patchwork quilt if it is to have the right pattern.”26
New sea mittens! This is how mittens look before and after felting. Photo: Bjørnar Pedersen, Helgeland Museum.
Fortunately judging from my experience, things have changed since then. But there is still much that can be done, and done better. It is equally important to document, film, and collect the lessons to be learned from those who know how to do things in practice.
In recent years, knitting and felting have become relevant again. The technique has been used in many new patterns for slippers, mittens, nissar (elves), scarves, hats, and more. Fashion and clothing designers have made dresses and coats. At the same time, we have knitting cafés as a new alternative to going “with knitting” as they did in the past.
It also seems that sea mitten knitting has experienced a resurgence, as coastal and craft associations have in recent years organized courses in knitting sea mittens. For an exhibition in Vefsn Museum in 2007 called Masker mellom generasjoner [“Stitches Between Generations],” a competition was announced: “Knit sea mittens! The traditional sea mittens were important for fishermen when they were at sea in the old days. But what would they look like if women were to wear them? General Manager at Vefsn Museum, Janicken Olsen, encourages knitters to participate in the competition to knit sea mittens, designed for women.”
Today the tradition has been interrupted, it is “no longer practiced as a holistic connection in one and the same place” according to Amy Lightfoot. She is the American who came to Norway and has taught Norwegians about their own traditions. In the project “Sea Mittens,” she has had to travel to Shetland and the Faroe Islands among other places to gain insight into the connection between sheep farming methods and the production of wool suitable for sea clothing. This also applies to tools and their use in the production of clothing.
“Everyday textiles and their associated craft traditions reflect less visible values. The men’s efforts in Lofoten fishing, and the money they brought home, have been appreciated. But the women and their efforts to equip the men for the very same fishing have only been mentioned and valued in recent years. The women prepared men’s equipment almost all year round, and only the best was good enough. The women at home were also judged by the contents of the chest!»27
Translation by Katherine Larson Affiliate Assistant Professor Department of Scandinavian Studies University of Washington, Seattle
Notes
1 Molaug p. 280
2 Trætteberg p. 162-166
3 Lecture at Oslo University College 19 February 2009
4 Suzanne Keene p.172
5 Gardner p. 189.
6 Falk and Dierking p. 137
7 Hooper-Greenhill p. 21
8 Hooper-Greenhill «Model» p. 35
9 Hooper-Greenhill p. 67
10 Hein p. 73 – 79
11 Sundbø p. 133
12 Sivertsen p. 32
13 Sivertsen p. 116
14 Strøm 1981 p. 15
15 Clause p. 24
16 Trætteberg p. 166
17 Trætteberg p. 163
18 Schrumpf p. 53
19 Nordstrand p. 43
20 Trætteberg pp. 162 – 163
21 Power p. 16
22 Clayhills pp. 83 and 84
23 Grimstvedt pp. 31 – 32
24 Norstrand p. 33
25 Grimsvedt p. 46
26 Clayhills pp. 144 – 147
27 http://www.nfk.no/artikkel.aspx?MId1=582&AId=3714 (Note: this link is dead, 4/8/2026
References:
Arbeidernes Opplysningsforbund. (1981). –Utmed havet: Kystkvinners liv og virke 1920 – 1940. Oslo: Tiden
Blythe, T. (1998). The teaching for understanding guide. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass
Clayhills, H. (1984). Det store lappeteppet: Også ei kvinnehistorie. Oslo: Samlaget
Falk, J. H. & Dierking, L. D. (2000) Learning from museums: Visitors experiences and the making of meaning. American Association for State and Local History book series. Walnut Creek, CA: Altamira
Gardner, H. (2000). The disciplined mind: Beyond facts and standardized tests, the k-12 education that every child deserves. USA: Penguin
Grimstvedt, M. (1983). Spøt til salg: Strikking som binæring I Rogaland før 1900. Årbok for Stavanger Museum. Stavanger: Gjøstein
Hein, G.E. (2004). The constructivist museum. I: Hooper-Greenhill, E. The Educational Role of the Museum. London & New York: Routledge
Helgeland museum. Strikkekonkurranse. Lokalisert på verdsveven 17. april 2009:
Holtet, M. (2006, oktober 06) Grå trøndersau. Norsk Landbruksmuseum. Lokalisert på Verdsveven 27. april 2009.
Hooper-Greenhill, E. (2004). ). Education, communication and interpretation: towards a critical pedagogy in museums. I: The Educational Role of the Museum. London & New York: Routledge
Keene, S. (2005). Fragments of the World: Uses of Museum Collections. Great Britain
Klausen, A. K. (2005). Masker mellom generasjoner: Strikking som husflid, hobby, mote og symbol. Helgeland Museum
Molaug, S. (1985). Vår gamle kystkultur 1-2. Oslo: Dreyer
Nordland Fylkeskommune & Den kulturelle skolesekken. Ivott. Lokalisert på Verdsveven 27. april 2009:
Nordstrand, H. (2000). Kystkvinner: Kvardagsportrett frå Hordalandskysten. Bergen: Eide
Norsk Landbruksmuseum.
Pedersen, R. (2008). Gjenstand og tekst. Tradisjon og fornyelse: Festskrift til Liv Hilde Boe: By og bygd XLI. Oslo: Norsk Folkemuseum
Sivertsen, J. (2002). Vitenskap og rasjonalitet. Oslo: Gyldendal
Schrumpf, E. (1981). Først oppe og sist i seng. Kvinner langs kysten i mellomkrigstida. – Utmed havet: Kystkvinners liv og virke 1920 – 1940. Oslo: Tiden
Shuh, J. H. ((2004). Teaching yourself to teach with objects. I: Hooper-Greenhill, E. The Educational Role of the Museum. London & New York: Routledge
Skretting, T. (1998). Jæren syng i merg og minne. Bryne: Jærbladet
Strøm, E. (1981) Tora forteller. – Utmed havet: Kystkvinners liv og virke 1920 – 1940. Oslo: Tiden
Sundbø, A. (1994). Kvardagsstrikk: Kulturskattar frå fillehaugen. Oslo: Samlaget
Trætteberg, G. I. (1999). Skinnhyre og sjøklær: Fiskarbondens utrustning på 1700- og 1800-tallet. Oslo: Landbruksforlaget
Valberg, L. (2006, november, 06) Strikk sjøvotter. Helgeland Arbeiderblad. Lokalisert 27. april 2009
Personal communication
Grimstvedt, M. Samtale 3.04.2009
Pedersen, R. Førelesing ved Høgskolen i Oslo 18.02.2009
Rogan, B. Førelesing ved Høgskolen i Oslo 19.02.2009
Thank you to everyone who helps support the Norwegian Textile Letter with donations to cover expenses. Your financial support is crucial and much appreciated. Thank you for being a subscriber!
Click on the image for easy Paypal donation. To send a check, the address is here. Thank you! Robbie LaFleur
At the Weavers Guild of Minnesota the Scandinavian Weavers Study Group often sets up a group project to learn a new weaving technique. For those members who already know the technique, it’s an opportunity to experiment and share the joy of seeing a wide variety of color and patterns develop on the same warp. Sometimes members of our group warp their own looms at home and weave along. The next group warp for the Scandinavian Weavers will be set up for Flesberg technique, and we are inviting you to weave along at home during the same time frame (May-September). Our Weavers Guild members will be weaving on a Glimåkra loom in Minneapolis, but we’d like to hear from others, no matter where you are.
Robbie LaFleur, Flesberg rug.
Flesberg is a style of three-shaft boundweave, named for the Flesberg area of Norway where it is popular. The style allows the weaver to create a multitude of curved motifs.
We will be warping our Glimakra loom with 12/6 seine twine at a sett of 10 EPI. Our weaving width will be 14″, suitable for a runner or pillow top. Weavers will experiment with a variety of wool weft yarns.
How can you participate? Use the basic threading and tie-up, written by Kay Larson, linked below. (Please note that Kay’s draft calls for black seine twine yarn. Our project will use a neutral shade instead, as black warp threads can be visually tricky if you haven’t woven this style before.) There are also links to pattern PDFs created by Anna Bakken.
The basic threading and tie-up are here. The draft calls for Rauma åklegarn for weft at a sett of 6 epi, a yarn that is no longer made. Nancy Ebner used Swedish mattgarn at that sett and it worked well. (See photo below.) For a thinner weft yarn, like Rauma prydvevgarn or Frid yarn, a sett of 10 epi works well. For our Weavers Guild project on the Glimakra loom, we are warping at 10 epi.
The November, 2020, issue of the Norwegian Textile Letter included several articles about Flesberg. It’s filled with information and inspiring photos of historical and contemporary pieces.
If you choose to try out the technique, we’d love to see what you weave. Here is a short form to report the details about your weaving. Please respond by September 30, 2026. At the end of the year we’ll publish galleries of submitted photos from our Fun with Flesberg project on the Scandinavian Weavers Study Group blog.
For inspiration, here are more Flesberg weavings done by members of the Scandinavian Weavers Study Group.
Flesberg weaving by Nancy Ebner
Nancy Ebner wove the Flesberg wall hanging above, using the instructions from the Norwegian Textile Letter. (See link above.) . She reports that Flesberg is one of the most fun weaving styles she has done.
Robbie LaFleur, Flesberg rug woven with fabric strips
Nancy Ellison wove the above sampler in a class she took from Katharine Dickerson at Vesterheim Norwegian-American Museum. “After weaving with the black, gray, and white yarn and drafts supplied in the class we were encouraged to try something on our own, so I wove a row of red covered bridges with blue sky and green grass as the covered bridge at Zumbrota, Minnesota is a local tourist attraction here.”
Nancy Ellison created the weaving above for an exhibit of the Flesberg Study Group in Decorah in October 2005. Nancy writes, “[This weaving] was in natural colors of brown, gray, and black yarn from Shetland and Icelandic sheep in my flock at the time.” She spun the white yarn from wool she purchased during a textile tour of Norway.
If you try your hand at the technique, tell us your story by September 30, 2026.
Thank you to everyone who helps support the Norwegian Textile Letter with donations to cover expenses. Your financial support is crucial and much appreciated. Thank you for being a subscriber!
Click on the image for easy Paypal donation. To send a check, the address is here. Thank you! Robbie LaFleur
