Can Collaborative Community Art Help People Feel More Connected?

From the start of our soap business, our soaps have been telling stories. Over the past few years we've been finding our place and our identity, a journey that eventually led to a business rebrand. Through all of those changes, one thing has remained the same. I'm still trying to figure out how this little soap business can create opportunities for people to experience a deeper sense of belonging.

One way we have always done that is through conversation. Whether at a live event or on social media, I enjoy connecting with others by asking questions, listening to the stories people choose to share, and sharing a few of my own. (If you don't believe me, ask my best salesman, my son. He'll happily tell you that I can spend an entire day chatting at a market.)

Over time, I found myself wondering if conversation alone was enough. I wanted to create something tangible that grew from those shared moments. First I asked questions. Then I invited people to write down their answers. Eventually I found myself asking a new question.

What would happen if, instead of simply talking together, we created something together?

As I continued exploring that question, I discovered that I wasn't the only one asking it. Researchers have increasingly begun studying how creating art together may strengthen social connection, belonging, and wellbeing. I don't pretend to know the answers, but I was curious enough to try a small experiment of my own.

That question became the inspiration for Oregon Coast Soaps' very first collaborative community art project, Woven Together.

The piece began with a single conversation represented by a single strand of yarn.

That first strand was tied onto the loom at the beginning of the 2026 Astoria Scandinavian Midsummer Festival. It was woven into the loom, then left unfinished. The next participant selected another strand, tied it to the previous one, and continued weaving as we talked. Each new person simply continued where the last person had left off.

By the end of the festival, 109 people had contributed to the artwork.

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  Festival visitors weaving colorful yarn into a collaborative community art project at the Astoria Sc

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  Yarn and beads added by community members to the collaborative artwork Wo

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  Yarn and beads added by community members to the collaborative artwork Wo

Those 109 woven strands tell only part of the story. Hundreds of conversations surrounded this loom that cannot be seen through yarn or beads.

People showed me photographs of looms that had been passed down through generations. Others shared clothing woven by family members. Visitors offered advice about loom accessibility and even taught me proper weaving terminology. Children carefully selected colors and beads while grandparents recalled memories of similar experiences from their own childhoods.

We talked.

We shared.

We slowed down.

We exchanged stories.

We created something together.

This loom does not contain a thread from every person who attended the festival.

Instead, it holds our community.

It reflects the wisdom of those eager to pass traditions to the next generation. It reflects parents working to preserve family traditions while balancing busy lives. It reflects children who simply saw beautiful colors and an opportunity to leave something behind that would become part of a larger whole.

Some of my favorite moments came from the children.

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"Mom! Mom! Can I do that?"

"Grandma, what is that? Can I try?"

"Can I use one bead or as many as I want?"

"Can you help me remember which one is mine when we come back next year?"

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Those questions have stayed with me, and they led to another observation I hadn't expected.

The children rarely needed an invitation. They walked up with curiosity and simply assumed they were welcome to participate.

Many adults were different.

Some waited to be invited. Others smiled and insisted the activity was "for the kids." A few seemed genuinely surprised when I told them the project was for everyone. Some joined in with excitement, while others happily stepped aside so the younger generation could have the experience.

I left the festival wondering when that shift happens. At what point do we begin believing that curiosity, creativity, and play are meant for someone younger than ourselves?

This project didn't answer my original question. Instead, it gave me many more.

Can creating something together help people feel more connected?

Does leaving something behind create a greater sense of belonging?

Do shared experiences become lasting memories?

Can something as simple as yarn, conversation, and a little time together remind us that we are part of something larger than ourselves?

I don't know the answers yet. But I do know this.

For one weekend, strangers who had never met shared stories, offered encouragement, laughed with children, remembered their grandparents, and left a small piece of themselves behind.

The finished loom is made of yarn, beads, and wood. But what I see when I look at it are conversations. Perhaps belonging begins in moments like these, when we pause long enough to create something together.

The piece is called Woven Together - I chose that name because, though we often feel alone, I believe our lives are woven together in ways we rarely notice.

Woven Together

Astoria Scandinavian Midsummer Festival

2026