Pocket-Sized Chaos: What Six Camden Makers Actually Carry to a Workshop
Photo: flat lay craft bag contents knitting lino printing jewellery tools, via edifica.com.pe
There is a particular sound a craft bag makes when it is tipped onto a table: the clack of needles, the rustle of fabric, the ominous roll of a stray bobbin. We asked six Camden makers to empty their project pouches and tell us what they actually carry. Not the aspirational kit. The real stuff. The spare needle, the emergency biscuit, the tiny screwdriver that has been in there since 2023. The results were useful, funny and quietly sustainable. Almost nobody was carrying anything new.
Maya, knitter, Gospel Oak
Maya’s bag is a canvas tote from a library sale, frayed at one handle and covered in badges. Inside: two circular needles, a set of stitch markers in a mint tin, a retractable tape measure, three balls of leftover sock yarn, a notebook, hand cream and one dog treat. ‘The dog treat is for Bramble, who comes to craft night and thinks the wool is hers,’ Maya says. ‘The hand cream is because wool dries your hands out. The notebook is for remembering what row I am on, which I never do.’
Her favourite item is a stitch marker made from a broken earring. ‘I lost the pair years ago and could not throw the single one away. Now it marks the beginning of every round.’
Sol, lino printer, Kentish Town
Sol carries an old canvas tool roll that belonged to his grandfather. Unrolled, it reveals lino cutters, a sharpening stone, a pencil, masking tape, a small bottle of oil, a few proof prints and a pack of baby wipes. ‘The baby wipes are not glamorous, but they save the nice tea towel,’ he says. ‘I print at the kitchen table, and ink gets everywhere.’
The proof prints are not precious. They are tests, notes and smudges. ‘I keep them because they show me what went wrong. It is cheaper than buying new lino every time I have an idea.’
Nia, jeweller, Camden Square
Nia’s rucksack contains a suede pouch that opens like a book. Inside: flat-nose pliers, half-round pliers, three files, a loupe, emery paper, a tiny brush and a small envelope of silver scraps. ‘The scraps are not rubbish,’ she says. ‘They become rings, earrings, little balls for settings. I have had some of this silver for four years. It has been melted down more times than I can count.’
She also carries a folded apron and a small tin of plasters. ‘Jewellery is mostly tiny sharp things. The plasters are essential.’
Ben, potter, Chalk Farm
Ben uses a bucket bag that once held a camera. It contains wooden ribs, a sponge in a sandwich bag, a wire cutter, an apron, a notebook, hand balm and a plastic bag for clay. ‘The sponge bag is the most important thing,’ he says. ‘You do not want clay drying out on everything you own.’
The hand balm is a recent addition. ‘A potter friend gave it to me after my hands cracked in the cold. It is not a craft tool, but it is part of the kit now.’
Roisin, visible mender, Queen’s Crescent
Roisin’s kit lives in a tin lunchbox with a faded flower sticker. Inside: sashiko needles, a darning mushroom, embroidery thread, small scissors, a thimble, tailor’s chalk and a pile of patches cut from old jeans. ‘The patches are from my sister’s jeans, my old jeans and a pair of work trousers from a charity shop,’ she says. ‘I know where every piece came from. That matters to me.’
She started visible mending because she was tired of clothes going into landfill for small holes. ‘Now I look for clothes that need fixing. It is a different way of shopping. The lunchbox is a little repair kit for the world.’
Ade, papercrafter, Regent’s Park edge
Ade carries a document folder with a broken zip. Inside: a bone folder, a scalpel, a small cutting mat, glue tape, tweezers, envelope templates and a handful of patterned paper scraps. ‘The templates are from an old greetings card project,’ Ade says. ‘I have used them so many times the pencil lines are almost worn away.’
The tweezers are for tiny paper folds and for removing cat hair from glue. ‘I live with a very helpful cat. The tweezers are non-negotiable.’
What the bags tell us
None of these bags came from a starter kit bought in one go. They are accumulations: inherited tools, repaired pouches, leftover materials, things that were too good to throw away. That is the quiet sustainability of the Camden craft scene. It is not always a manifesto. Sometimes it is a mint tin of stitch markers, a lunchbox of jeans patches or a tool roll that has outlived its first owner.
It is also a reminder that you do not need much to start. A bag, a few tools and a regular craft night will get you further than a cupboard full of shiny equipment you are afraid to use. The dog treats, apparently, are optional.
