I’ve had a magpie gene since I was a twinkle in my daddy’s eye (errrgh). One of my oldest memories is spreading 
the contents of my Nanny’s button bag across the carpet like a treasure trove. And my estate to date comprises: a tatty silver tinsel Christmas tree; a pair of clip on crystal cluster earrings donated by Les Dawson look-a-like Grandma Last; a tiny rose pendant dad bought me from Miss Selfridge because I told him I liked it but my then 
boyfriend didn’t; and a few avian-themed pieces, partly a nod to Hitchcock’s The Birds, partly a symbol of freedom, partly cos I just like ’em.
Memories are made of many things, but jewellery acts as a kind of tangible portal, a shimmering path, to nostalgia-ville. Making jewellery, or having it made for you – as in the case of my now defunct engagement ring – also imbues a piece with memories and meaning. A few weeks ago I went to Treasure, part of Coutts jewellery week, and met a cluster (?) of jewellers using vintage pieces in their work. One in particular, Rosie Weisencrantz, focussed on this idea, 
creating what the company terms ‘memorial’ jewellery, made from pieces left by deceased loved ones, “As each precious life is personal to the one who lived it, every necklace tells it’s own unique story.”.
So having found myself washed up on the sandy shores of Southend-on-sea-the-place-to-be once more, seemingly destined to re-live this chapter of my life repeatedly, until I discover that certain something… I’ve finally come to understand you just have to go-with-the-flow. So I am learning to lurve my home by indulging in another 
fave pastime, beach combing. When I was a wee nipper smacks of jellyfish used to silently terrorise beach combers with their alluring crystalline cabochon bodies; and way before that Amy-Johnson-queen-of-the-air lost her way, or ran out of fuel or something, somewhere round here, disappearing plane ‘n’ all beneath the waves, waiting to be discovered by one of those men with a clickity-click-metal-detector. I’ve been less adventurous collecting sea glass – bits of broken bottles smoothed, shaped and frosted by the sea – which I aim to turn into re-used, wearable, treasure-able jewels.
Scanning the stony, sandy shore for shards of glass glinting in the sun is a peaceful preoccupation. Tortoiseshell 
butterflies camouflaged amongst the stones take flight, disturbed by my inquisitive fingers. Birds strut, squawk and glide silently against the slightly eerie watery-Whistler-esque-scapes flecked with diamond light. But this is just the beginning of the process – how to join the sea glass pieces once I’ve drilled them? It’s a work in progress.
Last weekend I attended a course at Cockpit Arts in Holborn, “a social enterprise and the UK’s only creative-business incubator for designer-makers”, on making silver jewellery. It was the tutor’s first time tutoring, just as it was my time silversmithing, which was …interesting.
We sawed sheet silver with blades, hardly wider than a string on a bow, which snapped with the slightest sign of inappropriate pressure – “This is really a magical… mystical process,” the tutor said to me when I told him I had gotten through 6 of my 12 blades in a morning. “You have to be calm. Meditate. The metal knows if you are angry and it fights against you.”
Madeleines, memories & moustaches
But patience has to be partnered with brute strength I reckon. I sustained a groin injury from trying to push metal through a press and nearly seared my eyebrows off with the blow torch. But I soldered on (sorry – couldn’t resist)… quietly focussed on creating ‘something’ – despite the fact my outer-circle-frame-thingy pinged off and set me back a tad, meaning I ended up with a pendant instead of the planned ring.
However, going with the flow worked like a charm. As luck would have it I’d wanted to make a pendant in the first place, seeing as I’m collating a hummingbird (?) of charms in order to create a necklace for my sister, in celebration of the birth of her first child. Did you know a group of bedazzling hummingbirds is a ‘charm’? I wonder what the collective noun for memories is…a Madeleine, perhaps?
Make Your Own Memories:
Designer Courses – Expert tinkering tips
Flux Studios – Vicky Forrester’s courses aim to be affordable
Jewelry Lessons – DIY demos
Adventuress Undressed 