Over 25 years ago, I trained as a designer at Central Saint Martins and the Royal College of Art, where I developed a passion for print using traditional letterpress — which quickly grew into a love affair with all heritage crafts. Then, for the next 20 years, I was an interpretation designer for museums and visitor experiences, fostering a range of collaborations with craftspeople, while using diverse methods of making to interpret the stories of people and places at heritage sites both at home and abroad.
As an epilogue to each of those stories, I commissioned a kilt to commemorate each project. As a garment historically associating its wearer with a place, or a people, it became a fitting way to mark a moment — using textiles related to the location of each project and embedding my own artwork within the linings.
It was also a much-loved part of my wardrobe as, since childhood, my mother had made my own kilts for school. This commemoration soon became an idiosyncratic personal tradition (which my husband would describe as an addiction), as well as my daily uniform throughout my professional life.
In those days, my kilts were made for me by a kiltmaker in Edinburgh. I would source fabrics of all types from the places around the globe in which I was working and arrive to his door asking him to construct a kilt.
Then in 2021, came a move to Moray, where I found the Keith Kilt School and began training in the traditional hand-stitched method myself. Kiltmaking extended naturally from my daily design life, where interpretation is fundamental to my role. So, very quickly, curiosity led to invention and I began to develop more contemporary designs in a range of fabrics.
Sometimes, designs were driven by necessity (adding pockets into the pleats to help budget airline travel, or creating culottes underneath so I could ride my bike), whereas other ideas have come from historic research. Each piece tells a unique story, with every element of the garment adding a detail to the tale it tells. As the story behind each new style is shared, I have been fortunate to find clients who appreciate the intricacies of these creations, and it is encouraging to see a more diverse audience developing.
An alternative to tartan seems particularly appealing to women seeking something flattering, elegant and functional, rather than just a version of their male counterpart’s formal attire. I’m keen to highlight the evolution of the kilt, as whilst in modern times we think of it as Scottish national dress, that is only a very recent role in a longer and more international history. The kilt came from beyond our shores, wasn’t always tartan, and was worn by all nationalities and genders in a variety of guises before the military form of the kilt with which we associate today.
A kilt is an enduring garment, made as an heirloom to pass on, and I have many commissions that are commemorative pieces celebrating particular life events that are embodied with a deeply emotional connection. They are the antithesis of contemporary mass-produced fashion garments, so I’m heartened to see more interest in independent makers over and above brands.
For the majority of kilts I make, I use my own collection of vintage, deadstock or end-of-roll textiles, to ensure responsible, resourceful production without waste. This very slow but sustainable means of making is now, sadly, an endangered craft, classified on the UNESCO register of intangible cultural heritage in 2021.
This was during the height of the pandemic, a time when necessity became the mother of many inventions — the Artists Support Pledge being one such endeavour — that particularly struck a chord with me. I adapted the basic principle of the pledge to create a local circular economy system to help support my craft, my community and the global climate emergency, called the IV36 Initiative.
Everything I make with this moniker repurposes local pre- and post-consumer waste to create kilts, knits and kits into products that return 20 percent of their sale price to fund a local person to train in kiltmaking. Using abundant garment, textile and even raw agricultural waste (the local farmers’ fleece), the IV36 Initiative is creating an opportunity in my hometown, Forres, to train in a craft where no opportunities exist, helping to secure the passing on of these skills to the next generation.
I am passionate about the possibilities that stem from collaborations with other artisans to raise awareness of this endangered craft and highlight the diversity of skills where I live. One such recent collaboration is with weaver Sam Goates, the powerhouse behind Woven In The Bone, an historic weaving mill in a shed by the sea, just along the coast from me in Buckie.
Our region was once a textile epicentre, with a history of production spanning three centuries. Both tartan and tweed were produced in several mills in Moray in a circular field-to-fabric industry. Today there are less than a handful, of which Sam’s one-woman micro mill is the most unique. On pedal-powered looms — which Sam maintains herself — textiles imbued with distinctive personality are created for the tailors of Savile Row and beyond.
Over the last four years, we have been jointly developing my own cloth — the Moray Weavers Tweed — destined for the Moray Weavers kilt suit, which is a part of the Moray Kilt Series, crafting eight Highland (work)wear outfits, for eight regional roles. The work aims to help restore our current associations with the kilt to the functional garment it originally was, as well as reconnect the localised circular system we have lost. The endeavour began with 25 fleeces from my local farmers’ sheep, processed into yarn that we will use undyed, alongside Sam’s excess yarn stock left from previous weavings, to create a unique herringbone cloth woven from resources that would otherwise be considered waste.
The cloth also contributes to the IV36 Initiative. My hope is that by supporting training in the field, alongside raising awareness of the history and evolution of the kilt with an international audience (in particular, women), the increase in accessible training and emotional connection with consumers will underpin the preservation of my craft.
Incorporating other crafts in conjunction with kiltmaking is something I have sought to do from the beginning. Combining my passion for printmaking has enabled me to offer a wide variety of unique textile creations, to tell specific tales within each textile, that I then use to create the kilt.
The Still Garden Kilt was created in 2022 for Jane Porter, a gardener-designer who created a Scottish show garden at the Chelsea Flower Show that year and wanted to capture its story within a kilt she would wear at its opening.
I began by drawing each of the Scottish species she was planting, charting the colours of the blooms and foliage to form a palette for the piece that was then edited to showcase the most suitable elements for printing in each of the various ways (silkscreen, lino block and letterpress) onto the copper-coloured Scottish linen I had sourced.
Six layers of handout stencils form the groundwork in bronze and burgundy, overprinted with a layer of pale pink blooms made from linocut blocks, and a last layer of letterpress in an acidic yellow create the overall random repeat onto the cloth. The lining is silk painted with an exploded detail from the centres of the smallest flowers.
Process
My process begins with a consultation to establish the style and aspirations for the piece, as it’s always surprising to clients how many different types of pleating are possible and the variety of effects this can give, both in style and function. With tartan, the kiltmaker’s skill lies in reading the pattern (or sett, as it is called), and interpreting the range of colours and grid lines to create the balance of features combined with fit that make your kilt truly bespoke.
Colours can be highlighted at the front of each pleat, or hidden within the inside of the fold, changing the pattern from the front to the back of the kilt and offering the opportunity to create dramatic effects as the pleats move. The swing of a well-made kilt is a beautiful sight, made all the more interesting when contrasting colours are revealed within the depth of the pleats as the garment sways.
Traditional kiltmaking uses 8 to 9 metres of fabric, folded entirely from one long rectangle into the shape of the wearer, with no shaped seams or darts — and no machine. Very short needles are used to pleat, allowing for greater speed, accuracy and very small stitches, taking up no more than four threads each time. Basting stitches are used to tack the stitches in place and an invisible fell stitch begins the task of crafting 27 to 33 or more individual pleats to create the shape of the body.
Once complete, the excess on the inside of the pleated area is carefully cut away, then canvased in layers that secure the pleats in place.
My bespoke leatherwork and vintage buckles add another feature that embellishes the subject of the story. I enjoy trawling vintage shops and sites to find something “just right” to work with the cloth, as well as adding a kilt pin to the final garment — a special finishing touch as a surprise for each client.
♦♦♦
From Isabelle Fish | A detour on our trip to the Isle of Skye, Scotland, took us to Andrea Chappell’s tiny studio in Forres. It was awe-inspiring. Andrea’s strong-minded and against-the-grain personality is absolutely aligned with the lore and traditions of the kilt as a symbol of rebellion and subversion of authority.
How not to share the story of a woman who is single-handedly saving the endangered heritage craft of kiltmaking?
Over 25 years ago, I trained as a designer at Central Saint Martins and the Royal College of Art, where I developed a passion for print using traditional letterpress — which quickly grew into a love affair with all heritage crafts. Then, for the next 20 years, I was an interpretation designer for museums and visitor experiences, fostering a range of collaborations with craftspeople, while using diverse methods of making to interpret the stories of people and places at heritage sites both at home and abroad.
As an epilogue to each of those stories, I commissioned a kilt to commemorate each project. As a garment historically associating its wearer with a place, or a people, it became a fitting way to mark a moment — using textiles related to the location of each project and embedding my own artwork within the linings.
It was also a much-loved part of my wardrobe as, since childhood, my mother had made my own kilts for school. This commemoration soon became an idiosyncratic personal tradition (which my husband would describe as an addiction), as well as my daily uniform throughout my professional life.
In those days, my kilts were made for me by a kiltmaker in Edinburgh. I would source fabrics of all types from the places around the globe in which I was working and arrive to his door asking him to construct a kilt.
Then in 2021, came a move to Moray, where I found the Keith Kilt School and began training in the traditional hand-stitched method myself. Kiltmaking extended naturally from my daily design life, where interpretation is fundamental to my role. So, very quickly, curiosity led to invention and I began to develop more contemporary designs in a range of fabrics.
Sometimes, designs were driven by necessity (adding pockets into the pleats to help budget airline travel, or creating culottes underneath so I could ride my bike), whereas other ideas have come from historic research. Each piece tells a unique story, with every element of the garment adding a detail to the tale it tells. As the story behind each new style is shared, I have been fortunate to find clients who appreciate the intricacies of these creations, and it is encouraging to see a more diverse audience developing.
An alternative to tartan seems particularly appealing to women seeking something flattering, elegant and functional, rather than just a version of their male counterpart’s formal attire. I’m keen to highlight the evolution of the kilt, as whilst in modern times we think of it as Scottish national dress, that is only a very recent role in a longer and more international history. The kilt came from beyond our shores, wasn’t always tartan, and was worn by all nationalities and genders in a variety of guises before the military form of the kilt with which we associate today.
A kilt is an enduring garment, made as an heirloom to pass on, and I have many commissions that are commemorative pieces celebrating particular life events that are embodied with a deeply emotional connection. They are the antithesis of contemporary mass-produced fashion garments, so I’m heartened to see more interest in independent makers over and above brands.
For the majority of kilts I make, I use my own collection of vintage, deadstock or end-of-roll textiles, to ensure responsible, resourceful production without waste. This very slow but sustainable means of making is now, sadly, an endangered craft, classified on the UNESCO register of intangible cultural heritage in 2021.
This was during the height of the pandemic, a time when necessity became the mother of many inventions — the Artists Support Pledge being one such endeavour — that particularly struck a chord with me. I adapted the basic principle of the pledge to create a local circular economy system to help support my craft, my community and the global climate emergency, called the IV36 Initiative.
Everything I make with this moniker repurposes local pre- and post-consumer waste to create kilts, knits and kits into products that return 20 percent of their sale price to fund a local person to train in kiltmaking. Using abundant garment, textile and even raw agricultural waste (the local farmers’ fleece), the IV36 Initiative is creating an opportunity in my hometown, Forres, to train in a craft where no opportunities exist, helping to secure the passing on of these skills to the next generation.
I am passionate about the possibilities that stem from collaborations with other artisans to raise awareness of this endangered craft and highlight the diversity of skills where I live. One such recent collaboration is with weaver Sam Goates, the powerhouse behind Woven In The Bone, an historic weaving mill in a shed by the sea, just along the coast from me in Buckie.
Our region was once a textile epicentre, with a history of production spanning three centuries. Both tartan and tweed were produced in several mills in Moray in a circular field-to-fabric industry. Today there are less than a handful, of which Sam’s one-woman micro mill is the most unique. On pedal-powered looms — which Sam maintains herself — textiles imbued with distinctive personality are created for the tailors of Savile Row and beyond.
Over the last four years, we have been jointly developing my own cloth — the Moray Weavers Tweed — destined for the Moray Weavers kilt suit, which is a part of the Moray Kilt Series, crafting eight Highland (work)wear outfits, for eight regional roles. The work aims to help restore our current associations with the kilt to the functional garment it originally was, as well as reconnect the localised circular system we have lost. The endeavour began with 25 fleeces from my local farmers’ sheep, processed into yarn that we will use undyed, alongside Sam’s excess yarn stock left from previous weavings, to create a unique herringbone cloth woven from resources that would otherwise be considered waste.
The cloth also contributes to the IV36 Initiative. My hope is that by supporting training in the field, alongside raising awareness of the history and evolution of the kilt with an international audience (in particular, women), the increase in accessible training and emotional connection with consumers will underpin the preservation of my craft.
Incorporating other crafts in conjunction with kiltmaking is something I have sought to do from the beginning. Combining my passion for printmaking has enabled me to offer a wide variety of unique textile creations, to tell specific tales within each textile, that I then use to create the kilt.
The Still Garden Kilt was created in 2022 for Jane Porter, a gardener-designer who created a Scottish show garden at the Chelsea Flower Show that year and wanted to capture its story within a kilt she would wear at its opening.
I began by drawing each of the Scottish species she was planting, charting the colours of the blooms and foliage to form a palette for the piece that was then edited to showcase the most suitable elements for printing in each of the various ways (silkscreen, lino block and letterpress) onto the copper-coloured Scottish linen I had sourced.
Six layers of handout stencils form the groundwork in bronze and burgundy, overprinted with a layer of pale pink blooms made from linocut blocks, and a last layer of letterpress in an acidic yellow create the overall random repeat onto the cloth. The lining is silk painted with an exploded detail from the centres of the smallest flowers.
Process
My process begins with a consultation to establish the style and aspirations for the piece, as it’s always surprising to clients how many different types of pleating are possible and the variety of effects this can give, both in style and function. With tartan, the kiltmaker’s skill lies in reading the pattern (or sett, as it is called), and interpreting the range of colours and grid lines to create the balance of features combined with fit that make your kilt truly bespoke.
Colours can be highlighted at the front of each pleat, or hidden within the inside of the fold, changing the pattern from the front to the back of the kilt and offering the opportunity to create dramatic effects as the pleats move. The swing of a well-made kilt is a beautiful sight, made all the more interesting when contrasting colours are revealed within the depth of the pleats as the garment sways.
Traditional kiltmaking uses 8 to 9 metres of fabric, folded entirely from one long rectangle into the shape of the wearer, with no shaped seams or darts — and no machine. Very short needles are used to pleat, allowing for greater speed, accuracy and very small stitches, taking up no more than four threads each time. Basting stitches are used to tack the stitches in place and an invisible fell stitch begins the task of crafting 27 to 33 or more individual pleats to create the shape of the body.
Once complete, the excess on the inside of the pleated area is carefully cut away, then canvased in layers that secure the pleats in place.
My bespoke leatherwork and vintage buckles add another feature that embellishes the subject of the story. I enjoy trawling vintage shops and sites to find something “just right” to work with the cloth, as well as adding a kilt pin to the final garment — a special finishing touch as a surprise for each client.
♦♦♦
From Isabelle Fish | A detour on our trip to the Isle of Skye, Scotland, took us to Andrea Chappell’s tiny studio in Forres. It was awe-inspiring. Andrea’s strong-minded and against-the-grain personality is absolutely aligned with the lore and traditions of the kilt as a symbol of rebellion and subversion of authority.
How not to share the story of a woman who is single-handedly saving the endangered heritage craft of kiltmaking?
