about the work

Silversmithing is the art of physical negotiation. It’s the art of cajoling—with blows, pressure, and flame—a resolute ingot into the appearance of suppleness, into wearable art. You cannot impose form outright on silver. The bending, twisting, annealing happens gradually. The metal succumbs to your intentions for a time, but in the end, as it turns brittle and fatigued, the metal says, “Enough.” The silver tells you what it is willing to be.

The process of turning solid silver into something beautiful and fluid never goes the same way twice. With my collections of hand-fabricated jewelry, no two pieces are alike. When negotiations with a piece of work break down and the silver is exhausted, I send the metal to the 30-year old refining company I buy my materials from. I like the notion that I make my art from other artists’ failures, and that craftspeople I may never meet make their work from mine. I find comfort in the notion that the these precious metals, mined from our earth, make this journey, between any number of artists, at last to find its place in the world with the person who puts it on.