I used to think wall baskets were just those generic wicker things your aunt bought at Pier 1 in 1997, dusty and forgettable.
Turns out—and I say this after spending way too many hours scrolling through artisan basket accounts on Instagram at 2 AM—woven wall baskets can actually do something interesting to a room. They add what interior designers call “textural depth,” which sounds pretentious until you realize it just means your walls look less like sad blank expanses and more like someone with actual taste lives there. The thing is, you don’t need to drop $200 on a single hand-woven Rwandan basket (though they’re gorgeous, no question). You can make your own display that feels personal and layered, using materials you probably already have or can grab for maybe $30 total. I’ve seen people use everything from old rattan placemats to willow branches they foraged during a particularly ambitious weekend hike. The imperfections—the slightly wonky edges, the color variations—are what make it work, honestly.
Wait—maybe I should back up and explain what I mean by “woven wall basket display.” I’m talking about clustering multiple baskets of different sizes and weaving patterns on one wall, usually in an asymmetrical arrangement that looks deliberate but not overly precious. Some people do tight grids, which can feel a bit catalog-perfect for my taste. Others scatter them more organically, mixing flat winnowing baskets with deeper gathering baskets, throwing in some with handles, some without.
The key is variation, but not chaos.
Finding Your Materials Without Losing Your Mind at the Craft Store
Here’s the thing: you don’t need to become an expert basket weaver overnight, which is good because traditional basket weaving takes years to master and involves a lot of soaking reeds and swearing at your fingers. For a wall display, you’re looking at simpler techniques—coiling, basic over-under weaving, maybe some twining if you’re feeling ambitious. I started with raffia and cotton rope from the craft store, which cost about $8 total and felt manageable. Raffia is surprisingly forgiving; it doesn’t hold grudges when you mess up a stitch. Cotton rope gives you that chunky, modern look that reads as “I know what I’m doing” even when you definately don’t.
You can also raid thrift stores for existing baskets to mix in, which I highly reccommend because it saves time and adds authentic texture. Look for ones with interesting weave patterns—herringbone, hexagonal weaving, simple coiling with visible stitching. Natural materials like seagrass, rattan, and jute age beautifully and develop this warm patina over time, roughly five to ten years depending on light exposure and humidity, give or take. Avoid anything too shiny or plasticky unless you’re going for an ironic commentary on consumer culture, which, I guess, could work but feels exhausting to explain to guests.
I’ve found that wire baskets can add an industrial edge if your space skews modern, though they lack the organic warmth of natural fibers.
The Actual Assembly Part Where Things Get Messy and That’s Fine
So you’ve got your materials—let’s say three or four baskets in varying sizes, maybe one you made yourself using a coiling technique with cotton rope and raffia, a couple from the thrift store, and one flat tray-style basket for contrast. Now comes the part where you stare at your wall for an unreasonable amount of time trying to figure out the arrangement. I usually start by laying everything out on the floor in different configurations, which feels ridiculous but actually helps. You want to create visual weight without symmetry—think odd numbers, varying heights, maybe one large anchor piece with smaller satellites around it. The professionals call this “creating a focal point,” but really you’re just trying to make it so your eye has somewhere interesting to land before wandering around the composition.
For hanging, Command strips work surprisingly well for lighter baskets under two pounds or so, though I’ve had mixed results with heavier pieces—one spectacular failure involved a falling basket at 3 AM that scared my cat into a week-long grudge. For anything substantial, use proper picture hanging hardware, those little sawtooth hangers or wire, and find the studs in your wall if possible. Drywall anchors work too, but make sure they’re rated for the weight. Some baskets come with built-in loops or handles that make hanging easy; others require you to rig something with fishing line or wire threaded through the weave, which feels precarious but holds better than you’d think.
The spacing matters more than I initially realized—too close and they compete for attention, too far and the display loses cohesion. I usually aim for three to six inches between pieces, adjusting based on gut feeling rather than any actual measurement system.
Anyway, once everything’s up, step back and see how the light hits different textures throughout the day. Morning light makes natural fibers glow in this unexpected way, casting subtle shadows that shift as the sun moves. That’s when the whole project stops feeling like a Pinterest knockoff and starts feeling like something you actually made, imperfections and all. The wonky coil in the basket you wove yourself, the faded section on the vintage piece, the way one basket sits slightly crooked no matter how many times you adjust it—that’s the texture everyone’s actually responding to when they say your wall looks good.
