What do you do with the remains of a relationship that no longer exists? What happens to the most symbolic emblem of a relationship, the ring, that now has no purpose?
Both of my parents had, at separate times, given me their wedding bands after they divorced. Tucked in my safe, they were a symbol of a relationship that didn't work; but out of that union came my sister and me, proof that the relationship was once tangible.
Three bands of gold, one diamond. Two people became four. Human alchemy. How to celebrate and honor this?
Three weeks ago I started a class on gold alloys at the Baltimore Jewelry Center, learning how to calculate the intricate math of pure gold, alloyed along with smaller amounts copper, fine silver, and paladium that, once mixed in the proper proportions, would yield yellow, pink, red, white or green gold. How to take 10k gold and alloy it with the proper proportion of 24k gold to create 18k or 14k gold.
Where do I get my inspiration? Sometimes it is a memory of place or natural element, usually nudged forward by a beautiful stone in my collection, or a glimpse of a piece of history such as a fragment of 100 year old wallpaper or a detail on antique furnishings.
This poem rattled around in my head until I had to put it on paper. It evolved as my design for the “Unfurl” series began to take shape, the first piece shown here.
In the winter, when my lush gardens are sleeping beneath hard ground, inspiration takes more work and imagination for me. As I held this beautiful piece of rutilated prehnite with its translucent green crossed with black lines of tourmaline, I imagined the tiny fiddleheads, tightly furled and waiting for spring to break.
The poem is about growth, years past feeding the future, and cycles of life. Not all collections have a poem, but this one did.
Unfurling Fiddleheads, 2015. Private Collection
In this mossy bower
Winter’s dark, dank leaves lie thick