Vitrine: Opal Blues

Opal Blues

Part of my grandfather's job involved traveling the world in search of new fruits that might be profitably imported into the US. As a kid I thought that was the height of glamour, and even now it's a job opportunity I'd jump at.

As his only granddaughter, I enjoyed those trips vicariously by way of the thoughtful souvenirs he brought back. In Australia he visited the central desert and--if I have the story right--stayed in a home or hotel tucked into a man made cavern that was once an opal mine. He sent me a pair of simple gold studs set with tiny blue-green opals that roiled with flashes of pink, green, and orange. They were incredibly beautiful--minute but mesmerizing (qualities, come to think of it, that I now strive for in my own work).

Unfortunately, the stones were triplets, a kind of sandwich made from a wafer of colorful opal stacked between a solid stone backing and a protective rock crystal lens. I wore them almost incessantly and because I didn't know not to wear them in the bath, I eventually wore them out. Over time the glue holding a triplet together begins to fail, especially if you keep getting it wet; first it fogs over like a cataract, then the sandwich falls apart.

But thanks to those earrings, I've always been a sucker for opals in the same color family. Over the years I've bought more than a few cheap but cheerful triplets and doublets such as this one, which I finally "set" in a vitrine. To keep the stone from rattling around I filled in the gaps with tiny blue glass balls. I'll always wish I still had my grandfather's earrings, but having a pendant that reminds me of his adventurousness and generosity is the next best thing.

Vitrine: How-to Video

This video demonstrates how to open, fill, and close one of my vitrine pendants. Note that the music is loud, catchy, and potentially giggle-inducing.

Vitrine: Beach Glass

Last year while visiting the historic waterfront town of Port Townsend, WA, I heard rumors of a stretch of shore so famed for excellent beachcombing that it had come to be known as "Glass Beach". I set out from downtown in search of a spot to match my optimistic mental vision: pale sands strewn with Japanese glass fishing floats, studded with cobalt chunks of patent medicine bottles.

Hours later I had found anemones, kelp, detached crab claws, and even a gumshoe chiton, but no glass. Tired and discouraged, I flopped down on a stretch of sand and looked out at the grey waters of the Strait of San Juan de Fuca.

When I finally turned my attention back to the beach, I saw that I was surrounded by tiny pieces of glass. In 15 minutes of pecking and hunting I garnered a small pile of pebbles--amber, green, clear, and, rarest of all, cobalt (perhaps Port Townsend was never big on patent medicines?). Other than their color, these tiny bits barely hint at their former forms, being so much closer to sand itself than to anything that ever held liquids or sliced unsuspecting feet.

Vitrine: Magnolia Bridge

Many years ago I fought and won an epic eBay battle for a 1920's souvenir pendant from Rio. Two glass discs were reverse-painted with the silhouette of the city's skyline and sandwiched together around slices of iridescent blue butterfly wing, which fill in for both sky and water. The whole thing was then fitted into a thin silver bezel, protecting the fragile contents.

I've always been mesmerized by souvenir jewelry--exotic materials and exotic forms combining into a portable talisman of some faraway place--but this pendant really got to me. I love both its particulars (the craggy shapes, the hot, shimmering blue) and its general mechanical principle, the fact that a couple of pieces of glass and a little silver could enable their ephemeral contents to survive a century and travel the continents.

So now I make my own vitrine pendants and my own, personal souvenirs. Over the last couple of years I've traveled much less than I used to, so the curiosity I once expended elsewhere now drives me to explore Seattle and to preserve my experiences by making stay-cation souvenirs.

This piece shows Elliott Bay and the Magnolia Bridge, as seen from my apartment window. In keeping with my Making Do challenge, it uses gold leaf given to me in England 15 years ago, and the wing of a blue Morpho butterfly that I've been carrying around since high school.