I started out as an illustrator, and even now, years into making jewellery, drawing is still 
where my creations start becoming alive.

It is rare that people come to me knowing what they want their piece to look like. 
They often come with a personal story, a family history, an obsession, a place they keep returning to in their mind, and somewhere in the story, there's a jewel waiting to be found.

Now, the process of finding it, will take as long as it might. I sketch, throw the sketch away, sketch again, and while some designs click in one afternoon, others need forty drawings and three months before the right line finally shows itself. I've learned not to force it, because when the line is right, I know it immediately, and until then, nothing moves forward. 
If you wanted to find one, this would be my trademark.

Sometimes, the whole thing works in reverse and the stone finds me first. I spend more 
time looking at gems than is strictly reasonable, and every so often one turns up that 
decides everything on its own - an odd old cut, a colour that shouldn't exist, a stone that 
has clearly lived a life before reaching me. When that happens I design around it, letting 
its shape and character set the terms. The stone leads, the story follows, the final piece crowns the entire process.

Over the years I've gathered a small circle of artisans across Europe, each one extraordinary at their craft, from a cutter who still works ancient cuts nobody teaches anymore, to wax carvers and goldsmiths, to an engraver whose work has gone to the Vatican and beyond. Whichever hands are right for a piece, that's where it goes. That's another trademark.

My pieces might not look like they come from the same maker. Lay ten of my commissions on a table and you could easily read them as ten different jewellers. What does tie them together is that none of them could have been made for anyone else.

I create a small number of my own pieces each year, works that come purely from something I wanted to see exist. These usually start with whatever has been inspiring me, holding my attention - the spiral of a seed head, the way a flock of starlings moves like one body, some corner of the night sky I've been fascinated with in my travels. Every so often, some of these inspirations insist on becoming a piece of jewellery.

The rest of my time belongs to commissions, mostly for people I've worked with before. Milestones. Different shapes and sizes. A quiet victory. Starting a legacy. 
Piece by piece, the jewellery, the jeweller and the client become part of one story.

I started out as an illustrator, and even now, years into making jewellery, drawing is still where my creations start becoming alive. 

It is rare that people come to me knowing what they want their piece to look like. They often come with a personal story, a family history, an obsession, a place they keep returning to in their mind, and somewhere in the story, there's a jewel waiting to be found. 

Now, the process of finding it, will take as long 
as it might. I sketch, throw the sketch away, sketch again, and while some designs click in one afternoon, others need forty drawings and three months before the right line finally shows itself. I've learned 
not to force it, because when the line is right, 
I know it immediately, and until then, nothing 
moves forward. If you wanted to find one, this would be my trademark.

Sometimes, the whole thing works in reverse and the stone finds me first. I spend more time looking at gems than is strictly reasonable, and every so often one turns up that decides everything on its own - an odd old cut, colour that shouldn't exist, a stone that has clearly lived a life before reaching me. When that happens I design around it, letting 
its shape and character set the terms. The stone leads, the story follows, the final piece crowns the entire process.

Over the years I've gathered a small circle of artisans across Europe, each one extraordinary at their craft, from a cutter who still works ancient cuts nobody teaches anymore, to wax carvers and goldsmiths, to an engraver whose work has gone to the Vatican and beyond. Whichever hands are right for a piece, that's where it goes. That's another trademark.

My pieces might not look like they come from the same maker. Lay ten of my commissions on a table and you could easily read them as ten different jewellers. What does tie them together is that none of them could have been made for anyone else. I create a small number of my own pieces each year, works that come purely from something I wanted to see exist. These usually start with whatever has been inspiring me, holding my attention - the spiral of a seed head, the way a flock of starlings moves like one body, some corner of the night sky I've been fascinated with in my travels. Every so often, some of these inspirations insist on becoming a piece of jewellery. 

The rest of my time belongs to commissions, mostly for people I've worked with before. Milestones. Different shapes and sizes. A quiet victory. Starting a legacy. Piece by piece, the jewellery, the jeweller and the client become part of one story.

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