I so rarely buy myself jewellery. Or stuff in general for that matter.

I do love looking at how different artists and craftisams approach materials and design, how people find new solutions for things like ear hooks, brooch backings, lock mechanisms or just ways to work the metal, wood or paints. But after having spent so many years in the art and crafts field while at the same time maintaining my critical approach to consumerism and use of materials, I am rarely really impressed or moved by contemporary art and crafts.
But. Yesterday I stumbled into this little gallery, and it felt like coming home to a friend.

Hanging on the walls and on display were the works by the artist, mostly revolving around pebbles, silver and symbols. Tiny metaphors, slow stories made onto rocks and pebbles gathered over a long time, each one slightly different, a little wonky, unlike the others yet part of the same family. From butterflies to musical clouds, ladders leading up and small, small mustard seeds, pine cones, prayers and coordinates, pieces of flint and rocks, unnamely silver shapes. These are the stories I enjoy having told to me by materials: the slow ones.

Tim Ingold wrote something really good about pebbles, but I can’t for the life of me remember what, or where. It could be an essay in “Alive”, or somewhere else. Something about life and movement and shapes, matter being matter and life flowing in a way that only he can put it. Anyway.

I felt lifted and I bought one of the pebble earrings to take with me. A tiny, brown one found by the artist. Just like I also enjoy it when I spot an especially good-looking stone and slip it into my pocket while out wandering, to keep for a while.

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(This story told in pictures.)