Merino Wool Through My Eyes

Part Four: Why No Two Feltmakers Ever Create Exactly the Same Felt

In the previous articles, we have talked about wool itself—its origin, its micron count and the many characteristics that influence its behaviour.

But there is one factor we have not yet discussed.

It is the feltmaker.

When we begin learning, we naturally rely on the experience of others.

We watch demonstrations.

We follow tutorials.

We repeat the layouts our teachers recommend.

We buy the same wool they use and try to reproduce the same results.

This is how every craft begins.

And it is exactly how it should begin.

But there is one important truth that is rarely discussed.

No teacher can guarantee that a student will produce exactly the same felt.

Even if the wool comes from the same manufacturer.

Even if the micron count is identical.

Even if the layout follows the same pattern.

And even if every step of the process appears to be the same.

The results will never be completely identical.

Because the material does not respond only to the wool.

It also responds to the person working with it.

Every feltmaker develops their own rhythm.

Their own pressure.

Their own movement.

Their own way of introducing water into the fibres.

Their own pace of rolling, rubbing and fulling.

Some people work gently and patiently.

Others work with more energy from the very beginning.

Some recognise the exact moment when the fibres have locked together and know when to increase the pressure.

Others prefer to build density more gradually.

None of these approaches is necessarily right or wrong.

They are simply different.

And those differences become part of the finished felt.

That is why I never promise my students that they will achieve exactly the same results that I do.

Instead, I hope they will eventually achieve their own results.

For many years I have preferred working with Merino in the 18–19 micron range.

I know its character.

I understand how it responds to my hands, my layouts and the way I work.

But that does not mean it is the perfect choice for everyone.

Another feltmaker may discover that a slightly finer fibre suits their technique better.

Someone else may achieve stronger, more expressive work with a slightly coarser Merino.

Neither approach is better.

They are simply different ways of reaching a successful result.

I believe this is one of the most important lessons in feltmaking.

Our goal is not to become a copy of our teacher.

Our goal is to understand the material deeply enough to develop our own relationship with it.

That relationship grows slowly.

It develops through hundreds of samples.

Through mistakes.

Through unexpected discoveries.

Through projects that fail—and those that succeed beyond our expectations.

Only then do we begin to recognise not only the character of the wool, but also our own character as makers.

Today, when I choose wool, I still begin with a simple question:

How many microns?

But that is only the beginning.

The next question is much more important.

What do I want this material to become?

Will it be a garment worn directly against the skin?

A lightweight jacket that needs softness and movement?

Footwear that must keep its shape after years of use?

A sculptural object?

A bag?

A delicate nuno felt combined with silk or organza?

Or an experimental surface created by combining Merino with other fibres?

Only after answering those questions do I begin thinking about the manufacturer.

If I have worked with that producer before, I already know something about the character of their wool.

I know how it drafts.

How it migrates.

How it shrinks.

How it behaves when combined with other materials.

Experience allows me to choose not simply 19-micron Merino, but a particular producer’s Merino for a particular purpose.

And sometimes the answer is not one wool at all.

Combining different breeds, different fibre preparations and different micron counts can produce results that a single fibre cannot achieve on its own.

One wool may contribute softness.

Another may provide resilience.

A third may create texture or strengthen the structure of the felt.

The important thing is not to mix materials at random.

It is to understand what each fibre contributes to the finished work.

For me, that is where thoughtful feltmaking truly begins.

Today I no longer see micron count as the answer.

I see it as the beginning of a conversation.

Real understanding comes later—

when the fibres are in our hands,

when they meet water,

when they begin to move,

and when they gradually reveal their true nature.

Because in the end, wool is never just a material.

It is a partnership between the fibre and the person shaping it.

And that partnership is unique every single time.

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  If you are looking for Merino Wool, explore materials of my trusted supplier - DHG.