From the Woods of Maine

Some designs start with a sketch.
This one started with the ground beneath my feet.

I was in the woods of Maine, hiking with friends, eyes scanning the vegetation—when I noticed a soft floral bed tucked low among the moss and leaves. Tiny blooms layered over one another, growing slowly and quietly. Nothing trying to be the star. Everything connected.

That image stayed with me.

Back in the studio, it showed up again—at first simple, floral, contained. But as I worked, it began to stretch. The flowers wanted to fall downward, to move. What emerged was a long, cascading form—a bouquet that followed the curve of the neck and ended in air.

The Long Bouquet Earrings became about movement and patience. About letting a design take the space it asks for.

The material came from discarded bicycle inner tubes—cleaned, and transformed by technology. Along the way, there were pauses. Doubts. Small surprises in the rubber that asked for adjustment instead of control. I’ve learned to trust those moments—the “happy accidents”—and let the drawing lead rather than forcing it into place.

When I finally held the finished piece up to the light and saw the shadows it cast—delicate, layered, alive—I knew it was done.

It’s a quiet reminder that beauty doesn’t need to announce itself.
Sometimes it just needs time—and room—to unfold.