When you picture a fiber artist at work, you might imagine someone alone at a loom, lost in the quiet rhythm. Or maybe you see a knitter tucked into the corner of a couch, tea nearby, soft music in the background. These images are accurate.

But fiber arts have never existed only in isolation.

For as long as humans have worked with thread, fiber has brought people together. Around hearths, under trees, and in communal courtyards and spinning circles, fiber has been a point of connection. It’s how knowledge was passed. It’s how stories were shared. And in many cases, it’s how communities held themselves together—literally and figuratively.

Modern connection might look different than it did generations ago. Maybe you meet fellow fiber artists at a guild meeting, a workshop, or a local yarn shop’s knit night. Maybe you find them through Instagram, Discord, or a quiet corner of Ravelry.

Or maybe—if you’re lucky—connection finds you.

A few weeks ago, I saw a Leclerc counterbalance loom listed on Facebook Marketplace. It was local(ish)—about an hour and a half away—but priced well beyond my $100 budget. I messaged the seller anyway, just to comment on her lovely loom and politely ask if her price was negotiable. In the conversation that followed, I learned she was leaving her longtime teaching job and letting go of the loom she'd used in her classroom. I was between jobs, too—with very little income but a deep need to weave on a floor loom and experience creative flow, which I talked about in this post.

She ended up gifting me the loom, refusing any payment. “Just come get it,” she said. “This loom helped me through some hard times. I hope it brings you the same comfort.” She even included a bench and a warping board.

I was giddy.

A pile of beautiful maple “loom bones” waiting to be reassembled.

I met her at the school during off-hours and gifted her a beautiful piece from a local potter to show my appreciation. Then I dismantled the vintage Leclerc Mira loom for transport, reducing it to the bundle of sticks nearly every loom is at heart. This was familiar territory—I’ve worked on many looms before (I offer loom services, if you’re curious).

Over the course of a week, I gave the loom the care it needed: new cords, brake adjustment, tightened bolts, a bit of oil, etc. Once it was whole again, I selected a pattern from handweaving.net and got to work creating a warp from some recently thrifted wool.

Braided warp of sport-weight wool, warped for handweaving.net pattern #33584

Her act of generosity reminded me how much we rely on one another, even in a craft that often looks solitary from the outside. That gifted loom hasn’t just helped me make cloth; it serves as a reminder that behind every finished piece is a web of shared knowledge, quiet encouragement, and unexpected kindness.

That kind of connection doesn’t only come from big gestures, though. Sometimes it shows up in much smaller ways. Sometimes it’s as simple as commenting on someone’s weaving progress or swapping book recommendations online. These small gestures remind us that we’re not working in a vacuum.

The truth is: you don’t have to be a social butterfly to benefit from community. You don’t have to be the loudest voice in the room or someone who loves group projects. You can be someone like me—someone who prefers quiet mornings and solo projects—and still find deep value in being part of something bigger.

Because community isn’t just about company. It’s also about connection.

Where to Find Connection (Even If You're Not Sure Where to Start)

Local Yarn or Fiber Shops (LYS)

Knit nights or drop-in hours where you can bring a project and chat
Classes in everything from felting to lace knitting to rigid heddle weaving
Access to unique tools and yarns you won’t find online
Connection to local teachers, events, and other makers

Fiber Festivals & Fairs

Vendors offering hand-dyed yarns, handspun fibers, and artisan tools
Demonstrations in weaving, spinning, dyeing, or felting
Workshops taught by experienced fiber artists
Encounters with fellow makers that often spark new friendships

Guilds & Weaving or Spinning Groups

Monthly meetings with guest speakers or show-and-tell
Hands-on workshops and skills exchanges
Lending libraries of books, patterns, or equipment
Mentorship opportunities with experienced members

Community Centers & Libraries

Craft classes or fiber arts workshops for all ages
Drop-in sessions where you can bring your own project
Bulletin boards and flyers for local events and maker gatherings

Online Communities

Instagram & TikTok: Use hashtags like #fiberarts or #weaversofinstagram
Ravelry: A classic home base for knitters and crocheters
Discord & Slack: Niche fiber communities for everything from spinning to natural dyeing
Newsletters & blogs: A low-pressure way to connect and learn asynchronously

Workshops & Retreats

Weekend or weeklong retreats in beautiful locations
One-day intensives in local studios or art schools
Hands-on instruction and creative connection with fellow makers
New relationships that often continue beyond the retreat

For the Homebodies (Like Me)

Quiet curiosity is still my default mode. My studio (meaning wherever my tools are) is where I’m most myself—surrounded by yarn, tools, and thought. But even from that quiet corner, connection still finds me. Through students. Through kind emails. Through a stranger who gave me her loom and wished me well.

Progress pic. Shirt by a talented dyer over at peace, love and happy dyes

While solitude is part of my creative process, even the most hardcore homebodies need community sometimes—we just tend to engage with it differently. Even the most independent makers can benefit from moments of shared understanding. It’s good to be reminded that your curiosity, your care, your process—all of it lives in a larger ecosystem of making.

Yards of my colorful handwoven wool cloth destined to be accent pillows, once I rehab my thrifted vintage sewing machine (hello, future blog post!)

We may not need to weave our own cloth to stay warm these days, but making something from start to finish still matters. It builds patience. It teaches problem-solving. It connects us to a slower, more deliberate way of living.

The cloth I wove on my newly restored loom—gifted by a fellow maker—isn’t perfect. But it’s mine. Every pick and color choice holds a piece of a story: of generosity, repair, and return.

Whether you’re stitching, spinning, or weaving some cloth, you’re not just making a thing. You’re joining a lineage of makers who understood the value of working with their hands, and who found comfort and connection in the doing.

Have a question? Want to share your latest project? I’d love to hear from you! Get in touch or sign up for my newsletter for occasional updates, resources, and upcoming events.

In Good Company: Finding Community Through Fiber Arts

When you picture a fiber artist at work, you might imagine someone alone at a loom, lost in the quiet rhythm. Or maybe you see a knitter tucked into the corner of a couch, tea nearby, soft music in the background. These images are accurate.But fiber arts have never existed only in isolation.