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Title: The Weight of All My Blues
There are many blues in my life. My father’s eyes, wide and endless, like the open sky before storm; the blue above beach where I grew up, sharp and infinite; the Adriatic itself, restless and unforgiving; my daughters’ eyes, holding their own quiet secrets. Each blue carries its weight, its own strange pattern, and leaves behind a trail, like skipping stones on mirror surface of the sea.
I remember Makarska. I was teen girl then, long messy honey-colored hair tangled with salt, a little wild, and always too much or not enough — never fitting in. On the white pebbled beach, I spent hours throwing small stones into oily-smooth water, watching ripples collapse into one another, imagining how far they travel before they dissolve into silence. I think of that sometimes when I make these pieces — how a single gesture with wire, one small decision, can ripple through everything that follows.
This pendant was born of that memory. The blue agate reminds me of those layers of sea, of depth hiding beneath clarity, of patterns that are not planned but discovered. The copper wraps around it like language searching for meaning, hesitant, tangled, imperfect, and yet somehow it holds. I never fight stone, I listen; it tells me where it wishes to rest, where it cannot be bound.
Perhaps, when someone wears this, they carry little fragments of my past: the heat of the Adriatic sun, salt drying on bare shoulders, and the silent conversation between hands and material. This is not perfection, no. It is something else. Maybe it is memory given form.
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Title: The Weight of All My Blues
There are many blues in my life. My father’s eyes, wide and endless, like the open sky before storm; the blue above beach where I grew up, sharp and infinite; the Adriatic itself, restless and unforgiving; my daughters’ eyes, holding their own quiet secrets. Each blue carries its weight, its own strange pattern, and leaves behind a trail, like skipping stones on mirror surface of the sea.
I remember Makarska. I was teen girl then, long messy honey-colored hair tangled with salt, a little wild, and always too much or not enough — never fitting in. On the white pebbled beach, I spent hours throwing small stones into oily-smooth water, watching ripples collapse into one another, imagining how far they travel before they dissolve into silence. I think of that sometimes when I make these pieces — how a single gesture with wire, one small decision, can ripple through everything that follows.
This pendant was born of that memory. The blue agate reminds me of those layers of sea, of depth hiding beneath clarity, of patterns that are not planned but discovered. The copper wraps around it like language searching for meaning, hesitant, tangled, imperfect, and yet somehow it holds. I never fight stone, I listen; it tells me where it wishes to rest, where it cannot be bound.
Perhaps, when someone wears this, they carry little fragments of my past: the heat of the Adriatic sun, salt drying on bare shoulders, and the silent conversation between hands and material. This is not perfection, no. It is something else. Maybe it is memory given form.
#rubiace #ballarat #ballaratartist #artisan #ballaratfarmersmarket #ballaratmade #BallaratMaker #australianmade #wirewrappedjewelry #copperjewelry #agatependant #handmadewithlove #makersgonnamake #slowcraft #wearableart