It's usually right here...
It could be just staring at my mandrel visualizing what's in my head or sitting in my living room with a cup of coffee and a sketchpad.
I’ve started a new Studio Story series about how this design grows from sketch to wax to final piece. You can read the first chapter here.
When I start a new piece, it never feels like I’m making something.
It feels like something is growing in my hands.
I work in soft jeweler’s wax — that deep blue-purple wax that gives just enough resistance to feel alive. When my tools touch it, the curves don’t feel carved… they feel grown. Roots begin to twist. A branch finds its direction. A leaf decides where it wants to live.
And if I’m holding a stone, the wax grows differently.
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I don’t usually design a setting.
I let the twigs and leaves grow toward the stone, around it, sometimes lifting it.
As if the stone is a gift the piece is offering — a tiny present for whoever will wear it.
That moment — when the wax stops being wax and starts being alive — that’s the part I love the most. It’s where everything begins.
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This blog isn’t going to be a tutorial.
It’s simply a look inside my studio: the sketches, the wax shavings, the experiments, the little frustrations, the surprises, the tools I return to again and again.
I’m dyslexic, so I speak best through my hands, my sketches, and my photos.
Think of this space as my visual journal — a trail of moments from the bench.
Welcome to my studio.
Let’s grow something together.
