Deer to my heart: the joys of making a Christmas jumper

Katie Long is trying to get me to love glitter. She's the manager of Pine Forest Arts Centre, near Glencullen, Co Dublin, and she doesn't get my kind up here too often. There's a famous episode of Seinfeld where Jerry, trying to silence disturbing laughter at his happy-go-lucky nature, says: "I'm not happy, I'm not lucky. And I don't go."

In my case, I’m not hugely Christmassy, not mad on arts and crafts, and harbour a slight phobia for shiny things. It’s a tough sell, but Long, high priestess of arts and crafts, is keen to win over this slightly embarrassed unbeliever – and everyone else, it seems.

“Christmas jumpers have become really popular, but we can offer something a bit more original and personal,” she says. “We want people to realise you can actually wear art. It’s the perfect time of year for it. You just need to bring a jumper, as we have all the fabric and decorative stuff. It’s upcycling, I suppose.”

I’m willing to try making my own festive geansaí, even if the last time I willingly wore one, U2 were still considered cool. The Christmas jumper has become hip over the past decade in certain quarters, albeit in an ironic way. Since 2011, it has gone viral, with the Twelve Pubs of Christmas crowd in the vanguard. As they maraud down Camden Street, leaving smashed pint pots and scorched earth in their wake, the LED lights on their jumpers generate enough wattage to attract passing aircraft.

“You see all these locked people bouncing around pubs in December wearing the same thing, like zombies,” says Claire Bracken. Like Long, she’s passionate about craftwork. “Before, people would pick up a cheap jumper that looked a little bit interesting from a charity shop, which was great. Now, most of it is really ugly: the Santas, the elf costumes. The lights are fun, though.

“We wanted to let people put their own personality into what they wear. By making presents and doing things yourself, Christmas can still be meaningful, less commercial.”

We’ll see. I feel a certain trepidation driving up from Rathfarnham, although I am slightly distracted by the incandescent autumnal hillsides around me. It’s like New England in the fall up here.

The art centre, a collection of buildings and wooden chalets near Johnnie Fox’s pub, usually plays host to a gaggle of schoolkids. Today, it’s the adults’ turn. We’ve been instructed to bring an old jumper. As I didn’t own any, I bought a €12 one in Penneys, and went for a jog in it to give it that lived-in feeling.

The jumper for me

Long shows me examples of Chrumpers (my word, not hers) they’ve made. One features a Christmas pudding lit from behind by a circle of white lights. It’s pretty impressive. There’s also a slightly feminine one festooned with LED lights, and a green one draped in baubles. Just when I’m about to give up hope, they point to a fetching red fox jumper made solely out of fabrics. Bingo.

I ask for a similar one, a brown deer on red felt. Cutting the felt, it feels strangely pleasurable to be working with one’s hands, rather than writing or clicking.

“Would you like some baubles, or some of these?” asks Long, showing me shiny snowflake patterns. I demur and smile politely. They’re a patient lot, in fairness.

After cutting the reindeer silhouette and attaching it to the brown felt, I want to see what a fat deer would look like. It backfires.

“He looks pregnant,” Long says, laughing. I reluctantly give our transgender stag-doe a Caesarean section.

The arts centre has been going for more than 40 years. Art teacher Mary Carroll, now 81, saw a summer art school in the US and wanted something similar. It was one of the first in Ireland.

Long first came to it as a teenager to help out. "They used to hire huge marquee tents. It was pretty basic, but had a great atmosphere." She went on to work in jewellery-making at London's Hatton Garden, before returning to Ireland as a primary-school teacher.

No sparkles?

We’ve made a good start, but it’s a bit drab, so I ask how to make some simple white snowballs.

Sensing a fresh opportunity to convert me to shiny things, Long shows me more intricate designs. In the end, we go for some white felt circles, giving a more Christmassy effect.

They obviously love what they do. “It’s a great privilege to be able to be creative for a living,” says Bracken.

“So, definitely no sparkles?” asks Long with a smile. Bracken suggests a sort of doily pattern, jumper pockets and elbow decorations. They sound great apart from the doily (it’s a bit too much like a negligee), but I want to make sure we get the basics right first.

Instead, a piece of tweed cloth – houndstooth – materialises, which we affix behind the deer. As a measure of how far I’ve come, I’m a bit worried it’ll clash with the brown. It works.

Although there’s a smattering of pine, most of the trees in the valley outside are firs or spruce. There are also the 7,000 native saplings Carroll planted in the adjacent field. A mist creeps across the valley, swaddling the trees and the chalet in the pale afternoon.

“Sometimes the cloud comes down so low you can’t see what’s on the other side of the valley,” says Long. “One day I was in the office and cloud started rolling through the window. It was a bit too much.”

From that comes an idea for a cluster of trees on our jumper hill, which works well until it comes to glue-gunning them on.

With most of it done, I’m asked if I want words. I didn’t realise this was possible. After considering the respective merits of “Calm down, deer”, “Deery me” and “Rutting season”, I go for the slightly more tasteful “Oh deer”.

Bracken shows me a genius system for writing it backwards, using a window, on to the felt.

With the decorative shapes laid out, the moment of truth has arrived: sticking them all on. This involves a lot of dunking and squeezing J-cloths in water, ironing, and a few choice words when I realise I’ve ruined the composition a bit.

But Long is encouraging. “You might have moved them over slightly, but never mind, it’s still lovely. It’s great that you’re getting your ideas. That’s what this is all about; everyone’s an artist deep down.”

I’m probably biased, but my geansaí looks great. I feel genuine pride at having made – or decorated at least – an actual Chrumper, even if it is on the conservative side. Now, which way to Whelan’s?

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