The Color of Summer
Summer has a way of arriving quietly.
One day the garden is filled with the soft greens of spring. The next, it seems every corner has burst into color. Lavender sways beside the walkway, beebalm competes for attention, and the trees settle into deeper shades of green. Even the evening light changes, lingering a little longer and painting everything in warmer tones.
As a fiber artist, I often find myself paying attention to color long before I sit down to dye wool.
Sometimes inspiration comes from obvious places. A cluster of flowers catches my eye while I'm walking through the garden. How a sunset reflects across the water in unexpected shades of coral and gold. A patch of wildflowers along a trail creates a combination of colors I would never have thought to put together on my own.
Other times, the inspiration is less direct. It may be a feeling rather than a specific palette. The cool shade beneath a tree on a hot afternoon. The brightness of a summer morning before the heat settles in. The soft haze that hangs over a field at dawn.
Nature rarely uses a single color.
A lavender flower is not simply purple. Looking closely reveals shades of silver, blue, pink, and green. A marsh at sunset contains far more than gold and orange. Deep greens, soft blues, rose tones, and shadows all play their part.
The more time I spend observing the natural world, the more I appreciate these subtle shifts. They remind me that color is rarely static. It changes with the season, the weather, the light, and even the memories we associate with a place.
Many of the colorways I create begin long before fiber ever reaches the dye pot or drum carder. They start with moments spent outdoors, walking a trail, tending the garden, sitting quietly with a cup of tea, or noticing how the evening light settles across the landscape.
Those moments become color stories.
Later, when I am blending wool or planning a dye session, I find myself returning to those memories. A sunset becomes a batt. A patch of blooming flowers becomes a set of rolags. A walk beside the water becomes a skein of yarn.
The finished fiber may not look exactly like the original scene, nor should it. The goal is not to recreate nature perfectly. Instead, I hope to capture a feeling, a small piece of what made that moment memorable in the first place.
Perhaps that is why I continue to look for inspiration outdoors.
Nature's palette is always changing, and every season brings new stories to tell.
Summer, especially, seems to have plenty of colors left to share.