Planner journaling is something I am just beginning to explore, a quiet practice of writing down my thoughts, intentions, and small snippets of the day as they arise. It feels grounding to give these moments a place to land, even if they are only half-formed reflections or simple notes of what mattered. Alongside this, art journaling remains my creative outlet – a space where colour, texture, and stitching speak when words fall short. It’s a practice I embrace every day, allowing creativity to guide me, offering comfort, expression, and a sense of connection to myself through making.

Stitching tends to come later, often in the evenings when the house is quieter. I don’t always stitch with an end goal in mind; I stitch to slow down. Repeating simple stitches, feeling fabric under my fingers, choosing thread intuitively. It’s meditative, grounding, and deeply comforting. Slow stitching reminds me that not everything needs to be rushed or finished quickly to be worthwhile.

In between, there are other small rituals – tearing paper for collage, crumpling it into momigami, baking something familiar, tidying my creative space just enough to make room for the next idea. These moments may seem ordinary, but together they form a rhythm that supports my creativity and my wellbeing.

These daily practices aren’t about productivity. They’re about presence. They help me stay connected to my creativity in a way that feels sustainable, gentle, and true.

Gratitude has become one of the most important parts of my creative life. Not as a grand gesture, but as a small daily habit – often written quietly in the pages of my journal at the end of the day.

Some evenings, gratitude looks like listing what went well. Other times, it’s noticing something small: the way thread caught the light, a sentence that finally made sense, a moment of calm between tasks. Even unfinished work finds its place here – gratitude for learning, for patience, for trying.

This practice keeps me grounded. It reminds me that creativity isn’t measured only by outcomes, but by presence and intention. Gratitude softens disappointment and amplifies joy, helping me approach my work with humility and openness.

For creatives especially, gratitude creates space. It allows us to honour where we are, rather than constantly striving for what’s next. Ending the day with thanks helps me rest more fully, ready to begin again tomorrow.

PRACTICE GRATITUDE – Take a moment to notice the ways technology quietly supports your day – from staying connected with loved ones, to helping you work with ease, or opening up new paths of learning and inspiration.

• What piece of technology am I most grateful for today, and how did it support or comfort me in a small but meaningful way?

• How has technology helped me feel connected, inspired, or less alone recently?

• What knowledge, creativity, or opportunity has been opened to me through technology that I might otherwise have missed?

The post My Daily Creative Rituals: Stitching, Journaling & Slow Making appeared first on Caroline Webley .

This year, my focus is growth, my word for 2026 is growth – but gentle growth.

One of my main aims for the year ahead is to continue developing my shop. I want it to feel like a true reflection of my creative life: handmade, thoughtful, and rooted in process rather than perfection. Whether that’s stitched pieces, paper goods, or small creative offerings, I want everything to carry the marks of time, hands, and intention. Building it slowly feels important – letting ideas mature, trusting the rhythm of making, and allowing the shop to evolve naturally alongside me.

I’m also returning to my blog with renewed purpose. I want it to feel like a magazine-style space that gathers all the things I love in one place – stitching, art journalling, momigami, baking, seasonal living, and the quiet rituals that shape my days. I imagine it as a place for slow reading, gentle inspiration, and honest reflections. A digital notebook of sorts, where creativity and everyday life are woven together.

Social media will continue to be part of this journey too, but in a way that feels intentional and grounded. I want to grow there organically, sharing my creative process – the in-progress stitches, the pages of a well-used journal, the scraps on my table, the pauses between making. I’m not interested in chasing trends or constant output; instead, I want to show up consistently, honestly, and creatively, trusting that the right connections will form in their own time.

At the heart of everything this year is creativity as a daily practice. Making not to produce, but to process. Slow stitching in the evenings, journalling first thing in the morning, tearing and crumpling paper, recording thoughts, prayers, or small observations from the day. These handmade rituals ground me, and I want to protect them – not rush them – even as I grow.

Just as important as creativity is staying humble and positive. I’m setting the intention to practice daily gratitude, even if it’s just a few lines written in my journal at the end of the day. Gratitude for finished pieces and unfinished ones, for quiet progress, for lessons learned through mistakes, and for the simple joy of being able to create at all.

This year has shaped me in ways I never expected . After a tragic loss in the summer, I am still finding my way through grief, learning how to sit with it rather than rush past it. Choosing growth as my word for 2026 isn’t about forcing healing or pretending everything is fine – it’s about allowing space for change, tenderness, and quiet strength. I hope to grow around what I’ve lost, to let creativity, stitching, and journalling become small anchors on difficult days, and to trust that growth can exist even in sorrow. Slowly, gently, one moment at a time.

So this year, instead of resolutions, I’m choosing intentions: to create with care, to build slowly, to remain curious, and to notice the good in each day. If I can do that – stitch by stitch, page by page – then this new year will be exactly what it needs to be.

The post A Gentle New Year: Intentions, Not Resolutions appeared first on Caroline Webley .

Perhaps it’s the slower days, the soft winter light spilling through frosted windows, or the way the world outside seems to pause. Maybe it’s the memory of my first handmade cards, my early attempts at momigami – the crumpled, textured papers I now love so much – or the smell of mince pies baking in the oven. Whatever the reason, Christmas seems to invite me to slow down, pick up my scissors, my needle, my journal, or my rolling pin, and simply make.

The Meaning in Handmade

Making things by hand during the holidays isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. Every fold of paper, every stitch, every page added to a journal, or even the careful decorating of a batch of cookies, is a tiny act of intention. A piece of momigami I’ve crumpled and stitched carries not just texture, but a story – and the same is true for a tray of spiced cookies shared with loved ones.

At Christmas, this feels especially important. A handmade card, a stitched heart, a journal page, or a batch of baked treats isn’t just decoration or food. It’s a little gift of time and care, something tangible that can be touched, tasted, and remembered year after year.

Stitching, Momigami, and Winter Calm

I’ve always loved the rhythm of stitching. One stitch after another, steady and unhurried, almost meditative. When combined with momigami – soft, textured paper that I’ve crumpled, folded, and sometimes stitched – the process becomes a gentle winter ritual.

Baking has a similar rhythm. Measuring, mixing, kneading, and watching dough transform in the warmth of the oven has a meditative quality of its own. Both crafting and baking slow time down, giving the hands something to do while the mind drifts over memories, ideas, and small joys. Even a simple tray of cookies feels like a handmade piece of the season, much like a stitched ornament or a journal page layered with textures. (Pop along to my Recipes category for my favourite, go-to recipe treats.)

Journaling and Documenting the Season

Art journaling at Christmas is my favorite way to capture the season. I don’t aim for perfection or for full pages every day. Sometimes it’s a tiny collage of wrapping paper scraps, a pressed leaf, or a few lines written by lamplight. Sometimes it’s the faint trace of flour on my fingers from baking that finds its way onto the page.

What matters is the act of noticing. The small comforts, the wintery landscapes, the fleeting moments of peace – capturing them slowly in a journal makes the season feel richer, fuller, and more intentional.

Crafting and Baking Against the Rush

Christmas can feel noisy, hurried, and filled with expectation. Handmade traditions and home baking give me permission to step aside from all that. Using what I already have – bits of paper, scraps of fabric, leftover ribbons, or simple pantry ingredients – becomes a way to celebrate the season without excess.

Crafting slowly, thoughtfully, and intentionally reminds me of old traditions: making do, mending, and creating joy from simple things. Baking cookies, sausage rolls, or small sweet gifts with care carries the same intention and warmth. Both are acts of love, slowed down and savoured.

The Quiet Joy of a Handmade Christmas

A handmade Christmas isn’t about doing more. It’s about doing less, with attention and care. One stitched ornament instead of a tree full. One journal page filled with momigami, little notes, or even a sprinkle of flour instead of a perfect Instagram-ready project. One small batch of homemade treats instead of a pile of store-bought gifts.

The joy lingers long after the season ends. Handmade pieces, stitched hearts, textured pages, and trays of baked goods remain, holding memory, warmth, and the quiet pleasure of creating. At Christmas, choosing handmade – in paper, in stitching, in journaling, and even in baking – is really choosing presence. And for me, that has always been the most meaningful gift of all.

The post A Handmade Christmas: Crafting, Journaling, and Baking with Intention appeared first on Caroline Webley .

There are few things more comforting than a tray of sausage rolls coming out of the oven – puffed, golden, and smelling faintly of butter, onion and something quietly savoury. These are the sort of sausage rolls I make when the house feels a little colder, when the kettle is always on, and when simple food feels like a small act of care.

This version is easy but full of flavour. A layer of onion and garlic chutney is spread directly onto the pastry before adding the sausagemeat, giving a gentle sweetness and depth that makes them feel just a little bit special.

Ingredients

• 1 pack ready-rolled puff pastry
• 450–500g pork sausagemeat
• 1 small onion, very finely chopped
• 2–3 tablespoons onion & garlic chutney
• Salt and black pepper, to taste
• 1 egg, beaten (for glazing)
• Cheddar cheese
• Garlic Pepper

Optional additions:
A pinch of dried sage or thyme, or a small handful of finely chopped fresh herbs.

Method

1. Prepare the filling
   Place the sausagemeat into a bowl and add the finely chopped onion. Season with a little salt and plenty of black pepper, then mix gently until combined. Try not to overwork it – a light hand keeps the filling tender.
2. Prepare the pastry
   Unroll the puff pastry onto a lightly floured surface and cut it widthways into three long strips.
3. Add the chutney layer
   Spread a thin layer of chutney down the centre of each strip of pastry. You don’t need much, maybe one teaspoon – just enough to add flavour without overpowering the sausage.
4. Add the sausagemeat
   Divide the sausagemeat mixture in three and shape it into a long sausage along the centre of each pastry strip, directly on top of the chutney.
5. Roll and seal
   Brush one long edge of the pastry with beaten egg, then roll the pastry over the filling to enclose it. Press gently to seal and place seam-side down.
6. Cut and glaze
   Cut each long roll into individual sausage rolls – as small or generous as you like. Place them on a lined baking tray and brush the tops with beaten egg, and sprinkle some cheddar cheese and garlic pepper.
7. Bake
   Bake in a preheated oven at 200°C (180°C fan) for 25–30 minutes, or until puffed, golden, and cooked through.

To Serve

These are best enjoyed warm, straight from the oven, with a mug of tea and perhaps a little extra chutney on the side. They’re perfect for quiet afternoons, sharing plates, or packing up for a walk when the air feels crisp.

Simple food, made slowly, has a way of anchoring a moment – and these sausage rolls always feel like home.

The post Recipe – Golden Puff Pastry Sausage Rolls with Caramelised Red Onion Chutney appeared first on Caroline Webley .

I touched on Autumnal fashion in my previous post – Autumn:A Season to Gather and Let Go. But I am so fascinated by it that I delved a little deeper…

Autumn has always been a season of reflection – a time when the world slows just enough for us to notice colour, texture, and detail. For makers and artists, it’s also a season of inspiration: the layered fabrics of a coat, the muted gold of falling leaves, the worn softness of a vintage scarf can all find their way into journal pages, collages, or textile experiments. Fashion, in this sense, is not just clothing; it’s a palette, a texture, and a story waiting to be captured on paper or fabric.

There’s something timeless about autumn fashion. Each year, as the air turns crisp and the light softens, we reach instinctively for layers, textures, and warmth – not just for comfort, but for the quiet pleasure of dressing for the season. Autumn style has always carried a sense of reflection. It’s a pause between the brightness of summer and the simplicity of winter – a moment for deep colours, heavier fabrics, and thoughtful details.

Looking back through the decades, autumn has always inspired fashion in its own way.
In the 1920s, the flapper’s straight silhouette was softened by long coats, cloche hats, and fir trim. The tones of russet, olive, and gold echoed the countryside walks of a changing world – where women were beginning to embrace independence, both in life and in their wardrobes.

By the 1940s, with rationing and repair, autumn style became practical yet quietly elegant. Wool skirts, tailored jackets with shoulder pads, and sensible shoes spoke of resourcefulness. Yet even then, a handmade brooch, a carefully darned cardigan, or a flash of lipstick added that touch of spirit – small acts of beauty in uncertain times.

The 1950s brought structure and grace: full skirts in plaid or tweed, fitted coats, and matching gloves. Autumn fashion turned romantic again, often inspired by Hollywood – think of brisk walks in swing coats and scarves tied under the chin.

In the 1970s, autumn style became bohemian – corduroy, suede, and folk-inspired embroidery. The season’s palette matched the decade perfectly: burnt orange, chocolate brown, and mustard yellow. It was earthy, creative, and free.

And by the 1990s, we saw a return to simplicity – soft knits, vintage finds, and layers that told their own quiet stories. The spirit of autumn, always evolving yet somehow constant, remains a reflection of who we are: thoughtful, transitional, embracing change.

Today, as makers and artists, we still draw on these histories – those fabrics, cuts, and tones that evoke memory. The muted rusts of an old trench coat, the pattern of a plaid skirt found in a vintage shop, or the worn softness of corduroy – they remind us that fashion, like art, is cyclical and deeply human.

For creative journaling, collage, or textile work, autumn fashion offers a world of inspiration. A swatch of tweed can become a page corner, a photo of a vintage coat might spark a colour palette for your next project, and a carefully pressed leaf beside an old scarf can tell a story as vividly as any fabric or paper. In celebrating these layered decades, we honour not just style, but texture, mood, and the quiet artistry of everyday life.

As the leaves turn this Autumn, look around – in fabrics, colours, and layers – for inspiration. Capture a llittle of each decade, each texture, each story in your own journals and collages.

The post Autumn: Fashion Through the Decades appeared first on Caroline Webley .

As the nights draw in and autumn leaves crunch beneath our feet, Halloween arrives. A night filled with mystery, mischief, and just the right amount of magic. We know it today for costumes, candy, and glowing pumpkins, but the origins of Halloween reach back thousands of years. Rooted in ancient Celtic traditions, folklore, and the human love of a good ghost story.

From Samhain to the Modern Spooky Season

Long before trick-or-treaters and plastic spiders, ancient Celtic people celebrated Samhain (pronounced Sow-in), marking the end of the harvest and the beginning of winter. It was believed that during Samhain, the veil between the living and spirit worlds grew thin, allowing souls to wander freely.

To keep the peace with these wandering spirits, people lit great bonfires, wore disguises, and left offerings of food outside their homes. Early echoes of today’s Halloween traditions.

From Faith to Folklore – The Birth of Halloween

As Christianity spread through Europe, old pagan customs were adapted rather than erased. The 1st of November became All Saints’ Day (also called All Hallows’ Day) – a time to honour saints and departed loved ones. The evening before was known as All Hallows’ Eve, which gradually became Halloween.

Even as beliefs changed, the themes of remembrance, reflection, and light in the darkness remained. Communities continued to gather, share food, and tell stories that blurred the line between the living and the beyond.

The History of Halloween in the UK

Many beloved Halloween customs in the UK have deep historical roots. During the Middle Ages, people took part in “souling”, where children and those in need would go door-to-door offering prayers for the dead in exchange for soul cakes. It was a charitable, community-minded practice – and the ancestor of today’s trick-or-treating.

Before pumpkins appeared, people carved turnips into eerie lanterns to ward off evil spirits. The famous Jack-o’-lantern tradition only swapped to pumpkins after the holiday travelled to North America, where pumpkins were larger, softer, and far easier to carve.

How Halloween Is Celebrated Around the World

Halloween has transformed and travelled, taking on new life in different cultures. Here’s how the spirit of the season shines globally:

• United States & Canada – Big celebrations with costumes, haunted houses, and streets lit with pumpkin lanterns.
• Ireland & Scotland – Bonfires, fireworks, apple games, and storytelling keep the Celtic roots of Samhain alive.
• Mexico – Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) is a beautiful celebration of ancestors, filled with marigolds, candles, music, and remembrance.
• Japan – Halloween has become a pop-culture spectacle, full of creative costumes, themed cafés, and lively parades.
• Italy & Spain – Families visit cemeteries to light candles and leave flowers, honouring loved ones with tenderness and tradition.

The Heart of Halloween

Today, Halloween blends the ancient with the modern – equal parts spooky and joyful. From carved pumpkins on doorsteps to community events and creative costumes, the celebration reminds us that even in the dark, there’s room for laughter, light, and connection.

Whether you celebrate with a ghost story, a pumpkin spice treat, or a candle in the window, Halloween invites everyone to take part in its magic. A night where history, imagination, and community come together beneath the autumn moon.

The post The Story of Halloween appeared first on Caroline Webley .

There’s a hush that falls with autumn — a soft shift in light, a scent of woodsmoke, and that unmistakable feeling that the year is beginning to turn inward. It’s the season of in-between, where everything feels alive yet fading, golden yet fleeting. The air is cool enough to make you reach for your favourite shawl, yet the sun still lingers — a bittersweet companion before winter settles in.

The Symbolism of Change

Autumn has always whispered of transformation. Nature teaches us the art of letting go – leaves falling without resistance, colours deepening before they fade. It’s a gentle reminder that we, too, can shed what no longer serves us and trust the quiet work happening beneath the surface.

In creative life, this feels like a clearing – a moment to gather inspiration, to harvest ideas, to restock the soul before the darker months.

In old folklore, autumn was the time of harvest and gratitude – of bringing things home. I like to think of that symbolically: gathering memories, textures, and stories to store away for future creations. Every leaf becomes a thought, every rusted hue a spark of imagination.

A Joyful Palette

The colours of autumn are nature’s most generous gift. Burnt orange, mustard, sienna, olive, plum – all layered together like pages of a well-loved journal. They speak of warmth and nostalgia, of bonfires and well-worn books.

In collage work or fabric play, this palette has a magic all its own – muted but full of emotion, imperfect yet harmonious. When creating, I often find myself drawn to those same tones: a reminder of life’s gentle impermanence, and the beauty in things that are changing.

Nature’s Quiet Work

There’s movement everywhere, even in stillness. Leaves curl, birds gather, the soil settles with quiet intent. Autumn is not an ending, but a pause – a preparation. The natural world turns inward, conserving energy for the rebirth that will come.

It’s comforting to remember that beneath every bare branch, new growth is already waiting.

Fashion Through the Decades

Fashion, too, mirrors the rhythm of the season. I love the history of fashion…

In the 1920s, women wore wool coats and cloche hats, walking through parks scattered with leaves, a sense of independence in every stride.

The 1950s shimmered with polished elegance – rich jewel tones, gloves, and swing coats that spoke of optimism.

The 1970s embraced autumn’s soul most freely – velvet, corduroy, suede, and warm earthy browns that felt grounded and artistic.

By the 1990s, minimalism crept in, yet even then, autumn brought soft layers and subdued tones – comfort disguised as cool.

Today, we blend it all together – vintage knits, handmade scarves, boots with stories. Every outfit a reflection of mood, memory, and individuality.

Fashion, like autumn itself, is cyclical – each decade reinterpreting comfort and expression in its own way. It’s the wearable art of the season, rich in texture and tone.

A Season to Embrace

Autumn is for embracing the in-between – the imperfect, the unfinished, the beautiful mess of change. It invites us to create slowly, to collect and collage, to reflect on what has been and dream of what’s to come.

Like a favourite journal page, it’s layered with memory, texture, and warmth.

So gather your scraps, your fabrics, your thoughts. Watch the trees turn gold. Brew something warm. Let autumn remind you that transformation is not the end – it’s simply another form of creation.

From My Studio Desk This Autumn

As I sit surrounded by threads, papers, and the scent of coffee, I feel the quiet rhythm of the season weaving its way into my work. The soft light through the window turns everything gold – the lace, the fabric scraps, even the pages waiting to be stitched or collaged.

Autumn always feels like an invitation to slow down, to notice the small details, to gather stories in colour and texture. Each creation becomes a tiny reflection of the season – a moment of warmth before the world turns cold again.

The post Autumn: A Season to Gather and Let Go appeared first on Caroline Webley .

In a world that often feels fast-paced and overwhelming, finding ways to nurture positivity and inner calm is essential. One powerful practice that combines creativity, mindfulness, and gratitude is art journaling. This simple yet transformative activity allows space for self-expression while fostering a deeper sense of appreciation for life’s moments.

The Connection Between Art and Positivity

Art has long been recognized as a tool for emotional release and self-discovery. When creating, the mind shifts away from stress and focuses on the present moment. This act of slowing down and engaging with colours, textures, and shapes naturally encourages positivity. Each brushstroke or collage piece becomes a reminder that beauty can be found in the process, not just the outcome.

Gratitude in the Pages

An art journal is more than a sketchbook – it’s a visual diary of gratitude. By combining words, images, and creative expression, it becomes a space to record what feels meaningful. Writing down a few things to be thankful for and then surrounding them with doodles, paint, or collage transforms gratitude into something tangible. Over time, flipping through the pages becomes a reminder of abundance and joy, even during challenging days.

Finding Inner Calm Through Creativity

The repetitive motions of painting, drawing, or layering paper can be meditative. Art journaling encourages slowing down, breathing deeply, and letting go of perfection. This mindful practice creates a sense of calm, grounding the mind and body. The journal becomes a safe space where emotions can be released and transformed into something beautiful.

Simple Ways to Begin an Art Journal

• Start with a blank notebook or sketchbook.
• Choose a few colours that reflect your mood.
• Write down one thing you’re grateful for and decorate the page around it.
• Experiment with collage, watercolor, or simple doodles.
• Let go of expectations – focus on the process, not the result.

The Ongoing Journey

Art journaling is not about creating masterpieces; it’s about cultivating positivity, gratitude, and peace within. Each page is a step toward a more mindful and joyful life. Over time, the practice becomes a gentle reminder that creativity and gratitude can transform even the simplest moments into sources of light and calm.

By embracing art journaling, positivity becomes more than a fleeting feeling – it becomes a practice woven into daily life.

You can see my art journal pages on my Instagram – Caroline Webley.

The post Nurture your inner calm appeared first on Caroline Webley .

Introduction:
In the realm of paper arts, Momigami stands out as a unique and fascinating technique. Originating in Japan, Momigami involves transforming ordinary paper into a resilient, leather-like material through a process of crumpling, stretching, and treating with natural oils. In this guide, we’ll delve into the captivating world of Momigami and explore how to create your own using the nourishing properties of coconut oil.

What is Momigami?
Momigami, which translates to “kneaded paper,” is an ancient Japanese craft dating back centuries. Traditionally, artisans used Momigami to create durable materials for clothing, umbrellas, and household items. The process involves crumpling and folding the paper repeatedly, breaking down its fibres and imparting strength and flexibility. The resulting material is both visually striking and remarkably resilient, with a texture reminiscent of leather.

Step-by-Step Guide to Momigami:

Step 1: what you need:

• Paper. You can try with any paper – junk mail, brochures, printer paper, collage paper, patterned paper, etc.
• Coconut oil
• or Konjac Powder made into a paste

Step 2: Prepare Your Workspace
Set up a clean and spacious workspace where you can comfortably work with your materials.

Step 3: Apply the Coconut Oil
Generously apply the coconut oil to your hands and rub in. Crumple the paper inbetween your hands. Do this several times.

Step 4: if using the Powder
Make up a small amount of the powder with water. A small amount goes a very long way! Don’t make it too thick. Brush onto your paper, both sides. Crumple and stretch.

Step 5: Crumple the Paper
Take your chosen paper and crumple it into a tight ball. Unfold the paper and repeat this process several times, ensuring that the paper becomes soft and pliable.

Step 6: Stretch the Paper
Gently stretch the crumpled paper in different directions, being careful not to tear it. This step helps to further break down the paper fibres and enhance the leather-like texture of the Momigami.

Step 7: Allow to Dry
Place the papers on a flat surface and allow it to air dry completely. This process may take several hours, depending on the thickness of the paper and the climate of your workspace.

Conclusion:
Momigami offers a captivating blend of tradition, creativity, and craftsmanship. By following this step-by-step guide and infusing the process with the nourishing properties of coconut oil or Konjac Paste, you can embark on a creative journey that yields beautiful and durable works of art. So gather your materials, unleash your imagination, and immerse yourself in the ancient art of Momigami. Try both and see what you think. I personally prefer using the Konjac Paste as it makes the paper very strong. Give it a go!

The post Momigami – Step by Step appeared first on Caroline Webley .

To begin your project, select the egg cartons that will serve as the foundation for your bowls. These humble cartons will soon be shaped and moulded into charming bowls that are as functional as they are visually appealing. I used x2 12 egg cartons, plus one 6 egg carton to make three cereal sized bowls.

Tear the egg cartons into small pieces. Put into a large bowl and cover with water. Leave to soak for about two-three hours.

Then use a food blender to blend the soaked cartons to a pulp. The water then needs to be squeezed out, so I created balls as I squeezed. Then mush them together to gradually create a dough. Next, prepare your paste mixture!

Combine the dough with a handful of plain flour, a sprinkle of salt, some pva glue and a squirt of washing up liquid. Create a soft pliable dough, which stays moulded when you want it to. Always add a bit of water if the mixture is too dry.

Put some plastic clingfilm into your chosen bowls, or use a plastic bag as I did. Press the mache into your bowls. As you sculpt and mould your paper mache bowls, let your creativity guide your hands, allowing each curve and shape to reflect your individual style and personality.

With each step of the crafting process, you have the opportunity to infuse your creation with a bit of magic and wonder. Whether you opt for a simple design or a more intricate pattern, each bowl will be a testament to your artistic vision and skill.

Then comes some patience. The bowls will take a while to dry. When you think the structure is safe enough to do so, lift the mould out of the bowls and remove the plastic. Pop them onto a wire cooling rack to allow the air to circulate and speed up the drying. Depending on the humidity, this may take a week.

When they are completely dry, trim the edges with scissors. Take your chosen method of decoration and go! I used some pretty napkins and coordinating paint to decorate mine. I then sealed with some Gloss Medium, or you could use pva glue.

So, gather your supplies, clear a workspace, and let your imagination take flight as you embark on this delightful crafting adventure. Get ready to experience the joy of transforming everyday materials into something truly extraordinary, and prepare to showcase your paper mache bowls with pride in your home. Let the magic of crafting inspire you and bring a touch of whimsy to your surroundings.

The post Egg Carton Bowls – How to appeared first on Caroline Webley .