Second

How do you explain your art to people who don’t know what you’re about, who’ve never met you? How do you explain them that you tend to complicate things until they become unrecognizable, utterly distinguishable from all others, complexly your own? How do you make them experience wonders and magic where they see nothing? Getting to know the authentic you would even matter in the process of them appreciating what you create?

This eclectic concoction of a necklace comes from a similar one I’ve made a few years ago, during a visit to Romania. I’ve always wanted to recreate a choker I used to be obsessed with in highschool, that belonged to one of my colleagues, Alexandra and you can rest assured that not only did I recreate it, but took it to a whole different level to the point that, if you’d put them together, they would look as if they told two completely unrelated stories.

I’m sure I’ve mentioned Alex in a previous article (that’s how much of an influence she’s been to me). Her parents had some interesting connections and someone in that family had great taste – all of her outfits were bought from America and come to think about it, she was the third woman to have left a mark on my style.

Mother was first (with all her chic dresses that always carried subtle traces of perfume and an air of playfulness about everything she wore), the second was another girl named Alexandra whom I’ve met on a camp when I was seventeen – she was about fifteen, long, golden hair, round lips, beautiful brown eyes, all rich and colourful in choosing the funky outfits she’d parade in front of all the other kids, adidas t-shirts and glittery sneakers and sporty backpacks and fanny packs, orange and pink and turquoise and other girly colours all over. A different outfit every day, everything matched perfectly. So for the next two years or so I obsessively wore all the colours and combinations one could think of (sometimes all at once) – powder pink and mint blue and fuchsia and neon orange – the brighter, the better – until they eventually became sickening to even look at. But mostly pink. And that’s when my pink phase started.

Then, one day, the jury had decided I was old and ready enough to wear some of mother’s clothes from when she was the same age I was – about twenty – so I was given the key to the chest they were being kept in, at grandma’s – and there, I discovered a small treasure and understood why it had been such a well preserved secret. I chose one of my mom’s old dresses in a colour I hadn’t seen before. It was beautiful and refined and it made my eyes extragreen. And that’s when pink became salmon and stayed that way (now you also know why I’ve chosen this background).

But I digress.

This necklace is actually very special to me, because it’s as personal as they get. I’ve literally inserted pieces and parts of my becoming in there: a plastic key over fifteen years old I don’t remember the purpose of, two of the many piercings I compulsively started to buy after having had my belly button pierced as a gift to myself for the eighteenth birthday, a libra pendant to let people know who they’re dealing with from the get-go, an engagement-like ring so old the silver had turned black, one of my mother’s vintage necklaces I confiscated from her jewellery box one day, one too many unpaired peruvian-like ear rings, a delicate dark blue beaded necklace I wore at a wedding I was invited to once, two pink beaded bracelets, now two constant reminders of my bracelet collecting phase along with other interesting details it would take me a while to remember the history of.

I never attended any art classes, I guess you could say it all must come naturally. But that’s only because you haven’t seen some of my previous attempts at art, how uncomfortable and unwearable some of my first necklaces were and you’ve never seen my broken nails and swollen, stabbed fingers after a handmade session.

It took me a while to get here, but I’ve finally found my style and who cares if it’s in any way relatable? Actually, in this case, the less relatable, the better, because here’s another thing: I don’t think I could ever sell any of the things I design. The moment my hands touch something I’m working on and the creational process commences, I start to fall in love with that piece. Then I mould it and turn it on every side and connect dots and it becomes more and more beautiful, more and more mine.

Long story short, I couldn’t give any of these babies up. Nobody would ever appreciate them more than me.

And if we happen to meet one day, don’t bother asking me where I got it from.

I probably made it myself.

Green Eyed Kisses,