Ancient wool techniques.
Modern wearable ritual.
The Wool Remembers What Love Could Not Save.
Wool is an ancient material. It has been used for warmth, protection, ritual, and survival for thousands of years.I work with wool because it connects me to my ancestors. Wool holds memory.
Through wet-felting, needle-felting, freeform crochet, and hand-dyed fibers, I create sculptural and wearable pieces that carry story, emotion, and transformation.
My work exists at the intersection of craft and ritual. The techniques that I use are slow, intentional, and all done by hand.
Each piece is formed through pressure, water, movement, and time. The process itself mirrors the way we are shaped by our experience. My work is about transformation.
Kristi Yapp -
Wool Alchemist
All of my work is made from wool gathered from local farms in Indiana.
I wash it.
I pick it.
I dye it.
I felt it.
The wool is layered, agitated, and transformed into hats, ornaments, and sculptural fiber forms. I work intuitively, allowing the material to guide the final shape, surface, and presence of each piece.
No two works are ever the same.
Wool remembers what love could not save.
It remembers warmth.
It remembers pressure.
It remembers resilience.
My work is not decorative. It is meant to be held, worn, and lived with. I create objects that acknowledge loss, endurance, and the quiet strength required to continue.
These pieces are offerings.
They are markers of passage.
They are made for people who understand that beauty and sorrow often exist together
Here you will find:
Handmade felted hats
Sculptural fiber art
Wool ornaments and ritual objects
One-of-a-kind wearable pieces
Each work is made slowly, by hand, with intention.
Gallery
Fiber Art Workshops
Upcoming Events
About The Artist
In 2022, my son was killed by fentanyl poisoning while my mother was dying of pancreatic cancer. My life was ruptures in ways language could not hold. Before that year, I had been a preschool teacher for three decades.
After that year, I fell apart.
While living inside profound grief and severe PTSD, art entered my life. I poured my emotions into creation. Becoming an artist was not a choice but a consequence. In the years since, sorrow taught me how to enchant wool—one of humanity’s oldest materials of survival. Through this devotion, I became an alchemist: transformed, undeniable, made stranger and stronger.
Art saved me.
Wool saved me.
God saved me, by placing me on this path.
Today, I am a fiber artist and wool alchemist living in rural Rensselaer, Indiana. My work begins with raw wool sourced from local farms, which I wash, pick, and dye by hand. Through traditional felting and fiber techniques, I create sculptural and wearable forms that explore grief, memory, ancestry, and transformation.
Wool is one of humanity’s most ancient materials. For me, it becomes both subject and medium, carrying stories of survival, tenderness, and resilience. My work bridges personal loss with collective memory, inviting viewers to slow down, touch something timeless, and remember what cannot be undone.
On This Day, Last Year
On Grief, Writing, and Wool
My son died on September 21, 2022.
My mother died less than three months later, on December 13, 2022.
Nothing in my life had prepared me for losing them.
In the years before that, I lived a life built around long-term security. I had a salary, an office, benefits, and a 401(k). I believed I was safe. Looking back, I can see that I was living inside a shell. I was afraid of risk. I was afraid of life without a safety net. I was grinding my wheels but never moving.
Then 2022 happened.
I lost my job. My mother became ill. I cared for her. My son died. Then my mother died.
On June 5, 2023, I began writing what would eventually become a book, but I did not know it at the time. I was in a state of profound grief and post-traumatic stress. I could not explain my behavior, not even to myself. It felt as if there were a physical barrier in my throat and in my heart. I could not speak about what had happened. Or sometimes, I spoke about it too much.
Exactly one year after I first took my mother to the emergency room for what seemed like a simple pain in her groin, I began publicly writing the story of those six months on Facebook. Every morning before dawn, I got out of bed and wrote what had happened the year before. Then I released it into the world.
I wrote the truth.
I wanted people to know what I had lived through. I wanted them to understand why I could not talk, why I could not function, why I seemed to be unraveling.
I wrote about the suffering.
It is not easy to read. It is not for the faint of heart.
In 2024, I rewrote the entire story publicly on Substack. More than a thousand strangers from around the world have read it. I do not know most of their names. I have never met them. The internet is a strange place. Still, people wrote to me. They recognized themselves in my words.
I wrote the story, edited it, and then edited it again until I could not take it anymore. The book is absolutely heartbreaking. It is also beautiful. It is a story of compassion, strength, faith, and love.
When I stopped writing, I put all of my energy into my art.
I woke up every morning before dawn and created for hours. I studied wool. I met farmers, artists, weavers, spinners, and quilters. I found community. I found myself inside a magical, colorful world where I finally felt that I belonged.
The book I wrote about my mother and the six months of her turbo cancer is the greatest achievement of my life. Because I have written it, I am a success. That can never be taken away from me.
I wrote it to remember.
I wrote it to explain.
I wrote it to be understood.
I wrote it because I was angry.
I wrote it because I was hurt.
I wrote it because my heart was broken.
My heart is still broken.
I have learned that I am strong enough to carry it.
The full story remains available on Substack, free for anyone who needs it. I am currently editing the pages and repairing broken links so the work can continue to be read without interruption.
Follow Me On Social Media
Music That Speaks To Me
Music is a part of my studio practice. The sounds playing while I work seep into the wool the same way memory, grief and repetition do. Roots reggae, classic rock, and the occasional modern song help me enter a focused, creative state where time softens and the work unfolds without force. This music informs the rhythym, mood, and emotional temperature of the art, and I share it here as another thread in the process - an invitation into the atmosphere where the work is made.
Contact Me
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Contact Me *
Contact Me
Contact me if you have question or compliment about a hat, sculpture, workshop, or custom order.
I respond to messages within 1–2 days.
You may also follow my work on social media for updates, new pieces, and behind-the-scenes photos
Frequently asked Questions
Do you make everything by hand?
Yes. Every piece begins as raw wool that I wash, pick, and dye before felting it into shape. I felt by hand using traditional techniques.
Where does the wool come from?
Local Indiana farms. I source directly from small flocks.
Are the hats durable?
Yes. My felted hats are thick, structural, and designed to hold their shape for years.
Can I request a custom piece?
You can message me through the contact page to discuss custom work.
Do you teach workshops?
Yes, I teach felting and fiber art classes in Indiana. Dates are posted on the Workshops page.
How do I care for my wool hat?
Spot clean with cool water and let air dry. Felted wool naturally resists dirt and moisture