The Shawl
She arrived with a male friend and was clearly antipodean: at first it seemed it was he who wanted to have a go, but she was fascinated by the smithing process, watching for ages before asking if she could do a workshop with me. She was wearing a fluffy, pastel-coloured, crocheted shawl or stole – a beautifully crafted rectangle in mauves and pale blues, about five foot long by eighteen inches wide, buttoned, with hidden pockets and in a fine cable design which looked more like knitting. She was so proud of it – she had designed it, just completed it after several months and this festival was its first outing – her pride and joy, she wore it with huge confidence and elan.
She’d waited patiently for the workshop, watching closely as others took their turn and when it came to her go, was a natural – she ‘got’ what she was doing really quickly and needed a minimum of tuition. There is a moment in most workshops when an individual suddenly ‘gets’ what they are doing – they grasp the impact of every hammer blow, understand the need for accuracy rather than force or speed and feel the movement of the hot metal against the anvil. You can see it in their stance, in their body language and in a relaxation into the craft. This happened with her early on and we were able to talk about her New Zealand roots, her trip to the UK and her joy in discovering the festival craft field. She was absolutely delighted with the beautiful hook she made and when it came to a barter, she insisted on giving me the shawl that she was so proud of.
“I can’t possibly accept that – it’s far too much… it’s taken you months of work and I’ve just given you a forty-five minute workshop.”
“But you don’t understand – you’ve given me much more than that… you’ve changed my life. I’ve found my passion and I’m going to go back to New Zealand to find a course and train to be a blacksmith.”
What could I say? What could I do? I gratefully accepted her generosity and her instinctive and deep understanding of the barter process and that shawl has become my comfort bed-jacket – I am wearing it as I write this. And I often wonder about that talented young woman – whether she did achieve her aim and if, somewhere in New Zealand, there is a successful and creative woman blacksmith who found her inspiration in a craft field at a festival in England.
Kate The Wordsmith 