When I was a little girl, my best friend’s mother was a jeweler. I remember her desk dripping with beaded jewelry, strung from the most delicate French beads. They were mysterious, evocative, and completely off limits! I innately understood that I should not touch them, in the childhood fear that they may shatter into a million pieces, smattering the floor in every direction with a sound of beaded rain. But on this one very special day, I broke the rule.

 

I remember the bracelet like it was yesterday. It was made of golden, lace-like beads and these little spheres the color of cherries. I later discovered that those little yellow beads were gold filigree and the cherries were rubies, but none of that had registered in my 11-year-old mind. All I knew was that it called me across the room, hand outstretched like Sleeping Beauty hypnotized by the spindle. As I pulled the bracelet over my wrist, I can still feel the endorphin rush that hit me. I felt like a queen. Not a princess … Oh no. Something inside of me had awoken, and there was no need for a prince’s kiss. I was fierce. With that bracelet on my wrist, I could take on the world.

 

Years later, it is that feeling that fuels my need to make jewelry. When I see someone try on a necklace or a pair of earrings that I have made for the first time, I hold my breath for their reaction. If they love it, there is instant recognition. A posturing that says, “beauty”, “ferocity”, or “grace.” They think they are looking at the jewelry, but they are actually looking at themselves. It is humbling, and it inspires me to know that my creative juju is the reflective conduit reminding them of their inner awesome. This is why I make jewelry. This is why I make wearable art.