The Stone That Started It All

Opals have always been at the heart of my work — and how could they not be? No other stone carries a universe within it. Tilt one in the light, and it shifts: flashes of blue and green, a sparkle of yellow, a sudden violet that vanishes before you can name it. They remind me of the sea — of light caught in shallow water, of the iridescent shimmer along a fish’s flank, of the way a wave breaks and disappears before you can fully take it in. Opals do not hold color. They perform it.

It is that performance that drives my work. The ocean and the opal speak the same language — one of constant movement, hidden depth, and beauty that refuses to be pinned down. A coral reef alive with color, a creature glowing in absolute darkness, a tide that returns each morning carrying something new: these are not just subjects. They are the feelings I am always chasing. The opal gives me a way in. Its fire suggests the bioluminescent pulse of deep water; its shifting layers echo the way light bends and scatters beneath the surface. Every stone I work with tells me something different about the sea, and every piece of sea life I interpret sends me back to the stone with new eyes.

The opal does not ask to be understood all at once. Like the ocean, it holds more than it reveals — and that mystery is not an obstacle. It is the source.

Where Metal Meets Stone

I began working with precious metals in high school and was drawn to jewelry for its intimacy — the way a single piece can live close to the body, spark a conversation, and bring people together across time and distance.

Every piece I make is hand-fabricated. I work in both metalsmithing and the lapidary arts, which means I am present at every stage: from cutting and polishing the raw stone to forming the metal that will hold it. There is something profound about working an opal from its rough exterior — coaxing out the fire that was always there, waiting beneath the surface. The stone does not change; it is simply revealed. That process never gets old.

Hand-forming silver, gold, and copper is slow, deliberate work, and that is exactly the point. Each curve of metal is shaped by hand, each setting built to honor the unique character of the stone it holds. No two pieces are identical, because no two stones are. When metal and gemstone come together, something new is created — something that carries the mark of the maker and the mystery of the earth itself. That is what I am passing on to each person who wears my work: not just an object, but a living thing, built to endure for generations.