HOLD
When I was in my mid 20’s, I did something so spontaneous that my early 40’s self kind of can’t believe I had the cajones to do it.
I quit my respectable job social worker (I was a Childrens Crisis Clinician- a job that I was so ill suited for that I lost 15 pounds from the stress, experienced vicarious trauma and literally brought work home with me, having to be on-call one night a week. Mondays. The worst night and my pager typically went most 3 of the 4 nights I was on call)
And with absolutely ZERO business knowledge or acumen, I bought a bead store out of state and moved 5.5 hours away from my boyfriend, my friends, and the whole life that I’d been building as a young adult.
And I did it all in a 2 week time frame.
Now, I look back and wonder, who WAS that girl? How was she so brave? Wasn’t she worried her it would end her relationship? (It didn’t- we’re married now). Did she not worry that the business venture would fail? (By all conventional standards, it did!) Wasn’t she concerned that she’d made the wrong decision?
Hmmm.
The wrong decision. How do you measure the wrongness of a decision? Sure, I could look at this as wrong. It took me out of the career path I’d gone to school for. It took me away from friends, from familiarity, from the known. It was a scary leap of faith. But was it wrong? No, and I don’t regret it, because it was another part of the path that led me to where I am today.
In the midst of all the upheaval and turbulence of this move out of state and new business ownership, I bought a house and lost a dog.
The dog, Gonzo, was one of the first pets I had as an adult, along with his “brother” dog Colby who stayed in Vermont with my boyfriend when I made the move.
I’d had dogs growing up, but Gonzo was MY dog. He was my little buddy and companion. I was looking forward to having his company in the store and at the new house. His death was sudden and completely unexpected. And I was devastated.
The pain of his absence was so acute, I needed something tangible to help me through the emotions. I wanted nothing more than to be able to touch him again. So, crawling on my hands and knees over all the carpeted areas he’d once traversed, I picked up his precious little hairs. I plucked a tuft of fuzz off his favorite tennis ball. I collected a small amount of soil from where he was buried. And I took these precious relics and made a piece of jewelry to enshrine them.
The reliquary was textured with the imprint of his collar, and I drew a sketch of his face and stamped that into the front. When I finished it and hung it around my neck for the first time, I had such a visceral, physical reaction. The weight of the piece, the feel of it, the way it warmed against my skin. It made me feel connected to him again.
Shortly after I made it, I had a piece written about it in the local paper, and was contacted by someone who wanted me to make one for his wife in honor of their recently departed pet. He later told me that after he’d presented it to her, she told him it was “the most thoughtful gift he’d given her in 20 plus years of marriage”
I realized two things.
The first, was that I’d found my calling.
And secondly, I learned this: Jewelry is powerful.
Think of the meaning behind an engagement ring, or the significance of a young girl getting her ears pierced. Or the reaction to seeing a locket (aren’t you SO curious to know what is inside?)
Not only is there power in jewelry, there is catharsis in creating. I truly believe both those things. Making that piece to honor my pup filled me with a small sense of peace. It gave me something to anchor to as I got used to life without him. I thought of him while I made it, and because of that, the piece itself was made of metal and memories (and more than a few tears)
This is a long winded story so let me wrap it up by saying this: I’d love to do this with you.
It doesn't have to be about a dog- maybe you're not even a dog person. It doesn't even have to be about a death. You might be going through a major life transition like divorce, perimenopause (um HELLO!) children going off to school and you're searching for something to ground you.
If you think “but I don’t know how to make jewelry”, don’t worry. I can make the whole piece while you sit next to me and tell me stories of your loved one, or the experience you just went through, or the life you’re leaving behind.
If you just need a day of talking about your loved one and watching me make your piece, it can be that.
If you’re thinking “I kinda want to try this, but I’m afraid it won’t look good”
Once again, no need to be concerned. I’ll take over the making of the piece at any time. I will hold your hand as you hold the torch, I’ll replace your saw blades, I’ll be your eyes on the tiny little details.
I will hold space for you to process your emotions, and together we will create something more than jewelry.
To get started, book a free 30 minute call to get all your questions answered.
HOLD is about connection: Connection to and with your personal story and creating a piece to tell it.
It's about going deep, feeling your feelings and expressing them through creation.
This is an in person custom reliquary. You'll join me in my studio in Vermont, where together we will create a piece of jewelry touched by your hands and heart.
I've been making jewelry for over 15 years, and specialize in memorial jewelry- lockets, reliquaries and sentimental pieces filled with meaning and memory.
This experience is all about YOU and what you need and it starts with a video call where you can tell me your story and the piece of jewelry you'd like to tell it
This is not limited to just create a piece to memorialize a pet. The reliquary can be in honor of a person, a place, or even a special time.
We've made reliquaries with a beloved grandfathers beloved plaid shirts enshrined behind the glass. Vessels with sand from the beach she went to as a kid. A coffee bean to represent the hours of connecting with a dear friend over a hot drink.
Hair, soil, crystals, sand, fur, ashes, beans. It all becomes as precious as a gem through loss.