About

About

Made by hand. Made to last. Made on an island.

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I love jewelry. I love making it, I love wearing it, and I love seeing it on other people. Fine jewelry, antique, crafted from unexpected materials, bold, delicate — I am genuinely fascinated by how and what people choose to wear as adornment, and what that choice says about them.

I think of jewelry as a kind of public art. It is site-specific — the site being a person. It is curated carefully. And when worn, it is available for anyone who looks closely enough to see. Unlike a painting you hang on a wall, jewelry comes to life when worn. The viewer is everyone around you. And the wearer feels it — the weight of a ring against a table, the movement of earrings against the side of your neck, the quiet pleasure of having a pendant to reach for during a long meeting.

What I'm always designing toward is a specific moment: a slight intake of breath. A small widening of the eyes. That quiet oh when you notice something unexpected — a detail, a color, a shift of light — that you almost missed. I experience that in nature, in museums, in good public art. I believe jewelry can do the same thing. It just travels with you.

THE WORK — technique and philosophy

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Every piece begins in wax — carved by hand, shaped, refined. From there it's cast into solid silver using the lost wax method, a process unchanged for thousands of years. For pieces with enamel inlay, finely ground glass is packed into the recesses of the silver by hand, then fired — either with a jeweler's torch or in a kiln, depending on the piece — until it melts and fuses, glowing briefly before cooling into something permanent.

No two pieces come out of that process exactly the same. The glass shifts, the color deepens, the light catches differently depending on how you hold it. That variability isn't a flaw. It's the whole point.

Most people don't fully understand what it takes to make something from scratch this way — the steps, the tools, the years of experience required before the thing in your head becomes the thing in your hand. When it does come out as imagined, it feels like a small kind of magic. That feeling is what keeps me at the bench.

The result is jewelry that sits at the intersection of modern minimalism and traditional craft — organic in form, architectural in feel. Botanical without being floral. Feminine without being soft.

THE STUDIO — place and process

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I work from my home studio on Vashon Island — a small, ferry-accessed island just outside of Seattle, surrounded by forest and Puget Sound.

I took my first metalsmithing class in 2005. Since then I've learned through workshops, craft schools, and mentors — but mostly through years of making things, understanding why they work or don't, and starting again. I have a background in art history and museum studies, which means I've spent a lot of time thinking about why objects matter and what makes something worth keeping. That thinking is underneath everything I make.

Collections are released in small batches — limited numbers, named drops, available for a window of time. When a piece is gone, it's gone. I'd rather make fewer things carefully than more things quickly.

THE PHILOSOPHY — values and aesthetic

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I make jewelry for people who seek out the non-mundane. Not necessarily in a grand way — but in the way you stop when a view opens up unexpectedly, or when you notice something slightly out of place that gives a moment its meaning. Joy-seekers, I think of them. People who pay attention.

I design around what I think of as the aesthetics of that moment — curved lines, color, organic movement, the visual language of things growing and changing. Not decoration for its own sake, but a considered point of view about what it means to move through the world with intention.

I believe in quality over quantity, in supporting independent makers, and in owning fewer things that mean more. If that sounds like the way you already shop — for clothing, for objects, for art — then I think you'll find something here that fits.

The jewelry I make is not for everyone. It's for the person who wears it for herself first. Who wants something with a story, a place, and a process behind it. Who understands that handmade means imperfect in all the right ways — and that those imperfections are where the light gets in.

Can jewelry change the world? Probably not. But can it make your experience of moving through it just a little richer, a little more surprising, a little more your own? I think so. I hope you think so too.

If that's you — welcome.

NOTE ON THE OTHER CREATIVE WORK

Beyond jewelry, my creative practice includes painted metal works on copper and the Tacoma Playing Cards — a collaborative illustrated deck featuring original artwork by Tacoma artists. Information and images about these other projects can be found here.