In the beginning, joy . . .
In essence, I am not self-taught.
Everything I know about design, hard work, attention to detail, and perseverance, I have learned from my mother. I was raised from an early age to work with my hands, find SOMETHING TO DO, and to fully appreciate artistry and traditional women's work. And while I naturally, of course, didn't appreciate her quite as I should until I was 30 . . . I will say here and now that she has been the greatest influence in my life.
I've always loved jewelry. Partially because it is small and fussy and requires a meticulous hand to make -- but also because jewelry is such a simple way to radically transform how you express yourself in any given moment. It's kind of magical, like theater for regular people.
There's something about the materials, too. I've sewn quilts, thrown pottery, woven baskets, cut glass, knit socks and sweaters and odd things to put on kitchen appliances . . . but in the end, my hands are happiest with some wire and a pile of shiny stones.
I started selling jewelry in . . . second grade. During lunch. A friend and I made these really hideous chandelier earrings with electric blue and purple sequins, and we called them "The Peacocks." They were spiky and uncomfortable, way too large for children, but they matched perfectly with the neon, tie-dyed scrunchie everyone was wearing that year. We actually made a killing the first week, with record sales of about $3 (they were, like, 10 cents apiece . . . I'm sure the supplies cost our parents more than that). Eventually, we were shut down by the lunch lady.
About that time I was introduced to the loom and thus began what I call my "Lizard Period," where I made dozens and dozens of seed bead bracelets and anklets (it was the 80's, in case you couldn't tell by the scrunchie reference) with geckos in radical colors. They were . . . bodacious. I actually sold a few pieces to a little shop in Portland that I later learned was called a "head shop." My mother scored me my first big gig -- I had made her a heart-shaped peyote brooch with long, streaming seed bead tassels for her birthday that year. She was noticed by a shop owner in Seattle who inquired where she had gotten it. My mother replied, "I happen to know the artist personally." The shop owner purchased a few, and was pretty surprised that "the artist" was a 10-year-old with a 90210 T-shirt.
From there, jewelry making took a back seat to life: College (where I spent 6 months in Rome and majored in Classical Studies), trying to find an actual job after college when you've majored in such a thing, meeting my husband, going back to school for massage, starting a rather successful Thai massage practice, moving from the city to the desert, the birth of my son, and all the attendant chaos that follows.
This incarnation of my artistic career was actually facilitated by a broken arm. I am an avid tennis player -- if I am not in my studio, I am on the courts -- and I play daily, competitively and with GUSTO! Too much gusto, sometimes . . . hence, the broken arm. I found myself sitting at home with no prayer of getting back on the courts for 8 weeks, and was in the midst of a massive Pity Party when I discovered my dusty old bead box. Of course, I had only one arm at the time, so my capabilities were greatly hindered, and pretty much everything I made was scrapped. But the love was rekindled.
And here I am. My jewelry has grown up quite a lot -- it's amazing what materials have become available on the internet, and, naturally, as an adult, I have a larger budget than my $5 weekly allowance, so I get to work with some really fine stuff! But I'm still me. I still favor bright colors and I still work in concepts. I still look for new techniques and constantly am changing my designs. I'm still playful. My life is translated into my work: There's a lot of ancient world influences, some yoga and Buddhist inspired aspects, balanced asymmetry (a theme for any mother of a small child). In the end, though, I most hope that the joy I've always felt when working with my hands is fully tangible in each piece. And I hope to pass that joy onto you . . .
