Sometimes people wonder what I mean when I say that I make magic. I mean, how can jewelry be magical?
It’s not magic because I waved a wand over it (although I probably did)
It’s magic because it was made with intention, energy, and story.
Because the stone was chosen for more than just its colour — it was chosen for the way it felt, the shape it carried, the pattern that caught my eye and whispered, “I’m meant for something.”
Because the wire didn’t just wrap around it — it revealed something. A tree, a spiral, a quiet geometry. I don’t always know what a piece will become when I start. Some jewelry designers say that the maker is in charge of the wire. I don't work that way. I might have an idea of what I want a piece to look like, but the wire is my guide, not the other way around. I don't force the wire and the stone to become what I want, I work with the flow that they show me. Sometimes, as I’m twisting and shaping, a story begins to rise — quiet at first, then clear.
Sometimes the story comes later.
Sometimes you are the one who completes it.
But there's always a story.
A Story in Copper and Stone
Let me show you what I mean.
This pendant — a crazy lace agate wrapped in copper — carries a storm dancer's soul. It didn’t begin with a sketch or a plan. It began with a memory.
Years ago, I bought a necklace on a trip to Mexico. I couldn't identify the stone in that piece — it was a bold blue, probably dyed — the wirework was big, bold, and swirling. The wire was dark — I'm not even sure what kind of wire it was. I was so drawn to it at the time. But I never wore it. Not once.
I wasn't sure why I never wore it. I tried it on a few times, but somehow, it never felt quite right on me. Looking back, I think I admired its energy — but I wasn’t ready to claim it for myself.
Then, years later, I picked up this piece of crazy lace agate. I wasn’t thinking about that old necklace at first. But the moment I started working with it, I felt that same wildness stirring — the same bold curves, the same don’t-you-dare-contain-me energy.
The wire moved like it had its own momentum. Spirals and swoops emerged like wind patterns or river currents. It didn’t want to be symmetrical. It wanted to move. To take up space. To dance a little wildly.
And somewhere along the way, it stopped just being something I was making — and started becoming something with a life of its own.
The stone holds patterns that look like roots and rivers and lightning, all tangled together — like it remembers something older than words and wilder than maps. It’s a talisman of flow and fire — for the one who walks through chaos and still finds the center. For the one who isn’t afraid to swirl, spiral, shift shape.
It was born from memory, shaped by intuition, and meant for someone who’s not just ready to admire the energy — but to wear it.
This pendant is for someone who feels too much, loves too hard, and is learning that none of that is wrong. It’s a talisman of flow and fire — for the one who walks through chaos and still finds the centre. For the one who isn’t afraid to swirl, spiral, shift shape.
It doesn’t need to be tamed.
Neither do you.
What makes a talisman different from a necklace?
Belief.
Intention.
That feeling you get when you put it on and remember who you are.
Magic isn’t about superstition. It’s not about wishful thinking or superstardust (though glitter is always welcome). It’s about finding the sacred in the everyday. It’s about wearing something that holds meaning — for you.
When I make a piece, I’m not just decorating a stone. I’m weaving a possibility.
But it doesn’t become a talisman until you make it yours.
What will it do?
That depends. Some pieces feel grounding. Some feel protective. Some hum with memory or fire or deep quiet knowing.
I don’t believe jewelry changes your fate.
I believe it can help you remember your power as you meet whatever comes.
I want you to feel connected to your own magic — to your rhythm, your story, your place in the wild pattern of things.
If one of my pieces can be part of that remembering, then yes: it’s magic.
And so are you.