In an era defined by mass production and disposable goods, Jamie Dun is reviving the quiet, tactile art of pre-industrial craft.
Operating out of a studio on a historic flower farm in North East Somerset, Dun is the artisan behind Bristol Broomworks, a workshop dedicated to hand-tying heirloom-quality, non-electric sweepers inspired by Appalachian, Shaker, and European traditions.
Rooted in the vast, ancient landscapes of the Rocky Mountain Front in Montana, Dun brings a deep-seated respect for natural materials, folklore, and heritage to every piece.
For this week’s Sunday Series, Dun shares the journey from self-taught flat-tyer to master artisan, reflecting on the therapeutic rhythm of broomcorn, the rugged beauty of working with raw timber, and the enduring power of objects built to last a lifetime.
Let’s get into it.
What was the initial spark or moment of curiosity that convinced you to start tying brooms right at home in your flat?
Moving into a flat in an old Bristol townhouse, I wanted to replace our ten-year-old plastic brooms with something natural that could reach under appliances, down the side of the fridge, and behind radiators. Finding no full-size, hand-tied house sweepers in the UK and facing double the price to import from North America, honestly I decided to just teach myself how to make my own. I've since made that initial house broom at least three times and sold it every time!
Your work honours non-electric, traditional methods. What was the steepest learning curve in mastering such a physical, pre-industrial process?
Mastering hand-woven caps and grips was my steepest learning curve. My early attempts were quite Frankenstein-like until I took an online class with Cynthia Main of Sunhouse Craft, who taught me how to trim stalks and maintain tension while keeping the Appalachian-style weave aligned. Her guidance on proper ergonomics and posture made a massive difference for such a physical craft.
You've built a life in the UK, but your roots are in the big skies of Montana. What is one small piece of American home or childhood memory that you carry with you?
My roots are in the Rocky Mountain Front of central Montana. My maternal grandparents lived in Augusta, right under those peaks, where the Front rises like a wall spanning the entire horizon and as far north and south as one can see. It’s a landscape of vast scale - if you've seen Yellowstone, you know the look - but the reality is actually even more awe-inspiring: rolling plains that suddenly meet a vertical wall of mountains.
It’s a place that still feels ancient and wild, famous for dinosaur digs and a buffalo jump. It’s a history shared by the Indigenous peoples who stewarded this land long before we arrived, and the Amish, Mennonite and Hutterite colonies who built their own communal farming history here. When I’m in the UK, I think of the image of sunlight catching the wildflowers on the sides of the road, deep winter snows that blanket everything, the relentless wind that blows across the plains - it’s far more consistent here than even in the windy city of Chicago - and the way the peaks glow like they are on fire with the rising sun. That landscape is always with me.
You draw inspiration from Appalachian, Shaker, and European traditions, as well as folklore. How do these narratives express themselves in your finished pieces?
I draw on the structural roots of European round brooms, the functional minimalism of Shaker styles, and intricate Appalachian weaving techniques, letting the wood’s natural character determine each piece's final shape. These styles are deeply intertwined with some of the folklore I grew up with in rural Montana, where brooms were often seen as protective talismans for sweeping away bad luck and keeping out unwanted visitors. By combining these old tales with technical challenges like glue-free construction and non-chemical finishes, I aim to create heirloom-quality tools that honours the Old Ways and the functional beauty of the past.
What is the most fulfilling aspect of crafting everyday tools that are designed to last for years rather than be thrown away?
While sustainability and creating heirlooms that last are wonderful and important, the most fulfilling part of broomcraft is its therapeutic, meditative process. Working on a single length of twine with the sweet, hay-like scent of broomcorn forces me to slow down and stay present. The biggest surprise is the moment when you tie off the broom - hold it out in front of you and realise how satisfying that feeling is - especially with pieces that are experimental (for me).
It has also connected me deeply to nature, the changing seasons, and a talented and vibrant community of makers. Operating out of my studio on a Somerset flower farm is a gift. It reminds me so much of my childhood (although the only thing in common is the colour of the soil in NE Somerset is the same iron-rich red that we had on my family’s cattle ranch in Montana). I feel closer to my grandparents there on the farm. It is grounding.
Walking the woods looking for handles after a storm, travelling the country and exploring as many places as I can (OMG Cornwall!!) developing relationships with passionate and knowledgeable suppliers and trading and teaching in some of the most beautiful and historic buildings on this island - the whole thing is like a dream.
How do the natural textures of timber, twine, and broomcorn guide the form each piece takes?
Natural wood handles, antler sheds, and broomcorn fibers can definitely have a mind of their own, often dictating whether a broom wants to remain round or be stitched flat. I won’t always know until the head is tied on! Its fine unless its a commission and then it must be taken apart and tried again.
Stripping bark, removing side branches, burnishing the grain with a broomcorn polissoir before waxing, and learning how a handle lays on the ground before tying on the brush heads are all crucial steps to achieving proper balance.
The fibre usually cooperates until you start weaving full house sweeps with craftcorn - this is the whole stalk as it is harvested. Soaking the stalk (the nurl) and then weaving it is fairly straightforward on a milled piece of wood - its an even surface. If the handle is a natural branch, figuring out which way it wants to lay its the first important step, but even then a natural branch can surprise you. I trim both ends to be left with the most optimal 100cm or so - I just made a natural handled full length house sweeper the other day and didn’t notice the very slight wonk at the end where I attached the head. Do I take it apart and start again? I don’t want to - I love the weave which was perfect!
Is there an old, passed-down object in your own home that you treasure most, the kind of piece that inspired you to make things that last a lifetime?
While I treasure the small mementos from my grandparents, the thing I value most isn't actually an object - it's our family’s cattle brand, originally registered in the 1910s by my Czech great-grandparents who homesteaded in central Montana.
When our family sold the ranch in the 1990s, I made sure the brand was preserved for our family as a symbol of our ancestors’ bravery, hard work and perseverance. Using a small gift from my grandmother to start Bristol Broomworks felt like the perfect way to honour that legacy of hard work and connection to the land. It's such a shame she died before I could even tell her about my dream of a broom studio.
Studio work demands hard-wearing clothing. What does your everyday studio wardrobe look like, and how do you blend utility with style?
My studio style is honestly just whatever can survive a day of broom-tying. It’s definitely more about utility than fashion and almost always black: heavy-duty denim, durable coveralls, and layers I can move in, like flannels or button-downs. When it's cold, there's a pair of thermal waterproofs involved, too. I think the 'style' really just comes from the work itself - my fleece is perpetually covered in broomcorn glitter, and my Doc Martens now have a hole, and a melted sole near my toes from working so close to the woodstove (I didn’t realise I was resting the toe of my boots on the glass!). These boots have seen many miles over many years but are still perfect for walking the woods after a wind storm to collect fallen branches for broom handles. It’s not about being glamorous; it’s about wearing things that are tough enough to keep up with the day.
What keeps you company while you work, is your studio filled with podcasts, background silence, audiobooks, or music?
It's a mix depending on my focus level, though I'm currently on a major '90s music kick featuring the Cocteau Twins, Hole, and Radiohead. I also get visits from Badger, a friendly spaniel on the farm, who accompanies me on decompression walks along the Chew River tributary in the ancient wood bordering the studio.
When the workbench is cleared for the weekend, how do you like to spend your downtime around Bristol or Somerset?
I love live music and festivals like Green Man and Glastonbury Festival. The cinema is also a regular feature in our household - we try to go every week! I'm also a history and architecture enthusiast, so weekends often find me exploring old country estates, Neolithic sites and historic cemeteries.
As someone who creates functional art, what's one piece, whether it's a handmade broom, a piece of local pottery, or vintage lighting, you recommend everyone invest in to give their home character?
I recommend acquiring something vintage or antique that carries personal meaning - or making something yourself. Creating using natural materials connects us to our space far better than pure consumption.
For example, one of my favourite pieces is a £5 charity shop find - a beautiful framed 1970s reprint of an Elizabethan era map of Wales, where my husband is from and where we first lived together in the UK. He didn’t know he was born in Glamorganshire!
What book is currently on your bedside table, are you drawn to historical fiction, nature writing, folklore, or something totally unexpected?
I have a bedside stack ranging from craft and nature writing, like James Fox's Craft Land, and history such as Legenda by Janina Ramirez to my favorite guilty pleasure: rock star biographies. Debbie Harry and Chrissie Hynde have both written phenomenal memoirs that I highly recommend.
Hand-tying rough natural fiber and handling raw timber all day must be brutal on the hands. What creams, salves, or self-care rituals are saving your skin right now?
Neal's Yard Arnica Salve and the tried and true Tiger Balm are lifesavers for sore hands and healing wounds, while hot baths loaded with magnesium salts help relieve joint inflammation after long tying sessions. Staying hydrated and well-rested is also key for keeping my hands healthy.
What is a simple personal ritual outside of the studio that brings you clarity or creative renewal?
Walking in the woods - especially near running water where I can dip my toes in - bonus points if this is in the mountains - it brings instant clarity. Laying quietly on the forest floor to watch for wildlife and listen to birds resets my creative energy; this summer I even accidentally captured footage of a huge red fox slipping past some foxgloves in the woods near my studio!
Jamie Dun’s journey with Bristol Broomworks is a compelling reminder of what happens when we slow down and re-engage with the physical world. By weaving together the rugged spirit of Montana with the rich history of the British countryside, Dun crafts tools that are as much functional art as they are connections to the past. Whether it’s finding beauty in a storm-fallen handle, honoring family legacy through ancient traditions, or finding quiet reflection on a forest floor, Dun demonstrates that the most meaningful objects aren't just bought, they are felt, lived with, and made to endure.
Image credit: Bristol Broomworks
