Colours of Bhutan: Cloth from the Wild Nettle
High in the Himalayas, a nettle leaf holds its ground. Its roots grip the mountainside through monsoon rains and winter frost, drawing strength from thin soil and thinner air. Its stem bristles with hundreds of tiny stinging hairs, a plant that has spent centuries learning how to defend itself. Touch it carelessly and it will make you regret it. And yet in the hands of Bhutanese weavers, this same fierce, defiant plant is stripped, boiled, beaten and spun until it yields, transformed into cloth so fine it can fall like water across the shoulders. This is the story of Colours of Bhutan, Selvedge's newest addition to the Selvedge Artisan Goods Shop.
Keep reading to find out more and discover a Five Minutes with a Friend interview with weaver, natural dyer, and founder, Wangchuk Lhamo.
Above: Wangchuk Lhamo sorting and preparing hanks of yarn. Below: Bright Madder throw by Colours of Bhutan, created with a supplementary warp technique that introduces subtle pattern and texture across the surface. The Dorji (Vajra) motif appears sparingly within the design.
Wangchuk grew up in a small village in eastern Bhutan, where weaving was simply part of daily life. As a child she wound yarn into balls and gathered madder roots from the forest, the same roots that would later dye the deep red worn by Buddhist monks. She learned to weave from her mother, absorbing skills passed down entirely through memory and oral tradition, since none of it was ever written down.
Artisan weaver at Colours of Bhutan, holding woven fabrics snipped fresh from the loom.
At the centre of her practice sits zangru, the ancestral craft of nettle weaving. Himalayan nettle, or Girardinia diversifolia, grows wild along Bhutan's forest streams, and turning it into yarn is gruelling work. Villagers strip the thorny bark by hand, then boil the fibres in ash water, wash them repeatedly (sometimes in whey left over from cheese-making), and beat them with wooden paddles until they soften. It takes eight kilograms of nettle to yield under two kilograms of usable yarn, spun on a traditional drop spindle called a york pa. The whole process can stretch across three weeks.
Hand-twisting the finished weaves.
Wangchuk weaves this hard-won yarn on a backstrap loom, a technique the Bhutanese call HINGTHAM, weaving with the heart. She dyes with madder, walnut hulls, indigo, dogwood leaves, marigold and onion skins, following recipes learned from master dyers in central and eastern Bhutan, adapted through her own experiments into softer, contemporary shades. As she puts it, working with nettle takes its toll: the fibre dries out the hands so thoroughly that silk will no longer glide across the skin afterwards.
A selection of Colours of Bhutan throws, available in the Selvedge Artisan Goods shop.
Sourcing the yarn is its own small odyssey. Some comes from villages near the Indian border with no direct road in, meaning deliveries sometimes detour through India before re-entering Bhutan by public transport, just to reach Wangchuk's studio in Thimphu.
What arrives in the shop, then, carries all of that: the sting of the leaf, the patience of the spinner, the memory of a grandmother's dye recipe, and the particular texture only a backstrap loom can give.
Five Minutes with a Friend: Founder of Colours of Bhutan, Wangchuk Lhamo
Wangchuk, what is your earliest memory of a textile?
My earliest connection to textiles began before I was old enough to remember. In eastern Bhutan, a mother traditionally weaves a long handwoven cotton baby carrier (called a Sari in my local language) before her child is born. I was carried on my mother’s back in one, so textiles have been part of my life from the very beginning.
My earliest memories came later, making colourful friendship bracelets and necklaces from yarn with other children. We used our feet to keep the tension on simple handmade looms, and although it felt like play at the time, it was my first experience of creating something with my own hands. Looking back, I realise those small moments quietly marked the beginning of my journey into textiles.
How would you describe what draws you to textiles and the world of making?
For me, textiles begin long before they become cloth. They begin in forests where wild Himalayan giant nettle grows, in fields where cotton is cultivated, with sheep grazing in the highlands, silkworms spinning their cocoons and plants that become natural dyes. What I love most is how textiles connect people, nature and tradition. Every textile reflects the landscape it comes from and the many hands that brought it into being. I don’t see textiles as separate from life; they carry the stories of the people who made them and the places they came from. For me, a textile is never just an object; it is a record of people, place and time.
If you create textiles, where do you feel most inspired to work?
While the studio is where ideas come together, I find my greatest inspiration while travelling to villages across Bhutan.
Meeting weavers, farmers and local communities, collecting fibres, and spending time in the landscapes where dye plants originate reminds me that every textile begins with people and place. I return to the studio carrying those experiences with me.
What has sparked your imagination or inspired you recently?
Recently, I came across a teaching from our traditional wisdom that reminded me of something I have always appreciated. It speaks of art not simply as something beautiful, but as something that can benefit others. Reading it again encouraged me to pause and reflect on why I make. It was a gentle reminder that intention matters just as much as craftsmanship. I think it is a beautiful message, and it continues to inspire the way I approach my work.
What is your most treasured textile, and what story does it carry?
My most treasured textiles are a small collection of historic everyday textiles from ancient Bhutan that I have collected over the years. Among them are plain-woven cloth made from handspun nettle, cotton and hemp, a monk’s rope and other simple textiles made for everyday use.
These humble textiles tell the story of a time when communities in ancient Bhutan relied on locally grown and handspun fibres, and weaving was an important part of everyday life. In the past, textiles from this region were also offered as a form of tax or tribute.
Many people are drawn to intricate patterns, but I find myself returning to these plain-woven textiles. Their rustic textures connect me directly to the land. Without decoration competing for attention, the fibres, the weave and the traces of everyday use become the story. They remind me that the true beauty of textiles is not always found in ornament, but in the stories of the people whose lives they quietly record.
Where did you first learn your craft, and who shaped your early approach to making?
I grew up in eastern Bhutan, where weaving is traditionally passed from mother to daughter. Learning to weave, like preparing natural dyes, was simply part of everyday life and one of the household skills traditionally passed from one generation to the next.
One childhood memory has stayed with me. During school holidays, my grandmother would boil eggs with madder roots until they turned a beautiful earthy red, then give one to each of the children. I remember waiting for those red eggs every year, never realising that those moments would one day inspire my own journey with natural dyes.
Although weaving had always been part of my life, I never imagined it would become my profession. After graduating from university, I found it difficult to find suitable employment, so I returned to the skills I had grown up with. Today, my work not only sustains me but also supports weavers, farmers and artisans while helping to keep Bhutan’s textile traditions alive.
Is there a piece of music you return to while you work, that sets the rhythm of your making?
I rarely listen to music.
I enjoy the rhythm of the loom, birds outside the studio and the quiet sounds of nature. Silence helps me stay present and allows me to listen more closely to the materials.
What material or technique are you currently experimenting with or curious to explore further?
Madder remains the natural dye I work with most, but recently I’ve become curious about herbal dyes such as myrobalan, gooseberries and artemisia. I enjoy exploring the different colours and qualities each plant brings to the fibre.
I’m also beginning to experiment with natural indigo fermentation. Every indigo vat has its own character, and I’m still learning to understand it. That process of observation, patience and discovery is what makes it so rewarding.
Alongside these explorations, I’ve become increasingly interested in historic Bhutanese textiles. Studying how earlier generations worked with local handspun fibres and simple weaving techniques has deepened my appreciation of our textile heritage and continues to inspire my own work. The more I learn, the more I realise there is still so much traditional knowledge waiting to be rediscovered.
If you could collaborate with any maker—past or present—who would it be, and why?
I would choose Khandro Sonam Pelden, from the 12th century, a revered figure in Bhutan’s history and culture. She is honoured as the founder and patron of Bhutan’s weaving tradition, credited with transforming wild Himalayan nettle into cloth and I believe her contribution deserves to be more widely known.
Because my own work centres on Himalayan giant nettle, I often wonder what it was like to work with this remarkable fibre in her time. How was it harvested? How were the fibres prepared? What knowledge has been carried forward, and what has been lost over the centuries? More than learning techniques, I would hope to understand the wisdom and values that shaped her relationship with weaving and the natural world. I imagine it would feel less like meeting a historical figure and more like sitting beside a great teacher
What does a perfect day of making look like for you?
There isn’t really a typical day in the studio. My work follows the rhythm of the seasons, and much of it is made to order.
Whenever I begin work, I start with a short simple purification prayer. I then clean the studio before preparing my tools and materials. It helps me settle my mind before I begin working.
Some days are spent weaving, others dyeing yarn, preparing fibres or simply observing how the materials are changing. When larger commissions come in, the studio becomes a shared space. I work alongside dyers, weavers and fibre processors from the local community, and my family also joins in to help. I value this way of working because it reflects how textile knowledge has always been passed on in Bhutan through families and communities.
The seasonal nature of my work also gives me time to be with my family, do gardening, take part in community events, visit temples , attend spiritual gatherings and continue learning. Those moments keep me grounded, and I believe they quietly find their way into the textiles we create.
. . .
Further Information:
Find Colours of Bhutan on the Selvedge Artisan Goods Shop
Read their story in Selvedge Magazine: Colours Of Bhutan in Selvedge Issue 113, Raw
. . .
Image Credits:
Lead: Hanks of yarn prepared for threading onto the loom, at the Colours of Bhutan studio.
All further images courtesy of Colours of Bhutan and as credited in captions.