Borosilicate glass jewelry was never a stepping stone or a workaround; it became the place where I learned how to think through glass. I began with jewelry because it is intimate — close to the skin. Working at the scale of the body allowed me to experiment, repeat, refine, and slowly build the skills that still guide how I shape my larger glass sculptures today. On the torch, glass is immediate. You think with your hands. A line of molten material becomes a curve, then a loop, then something entirely unexpected.
Glass jewelry became my laboratory. A space to fail, to try again, to discover form through repetition. I’m drawn to patterns that feel almost machine-made yet remain unmistakably human. In my handmade glass jewelry practice, I combine familiar sequences with new variations — loops, links, chains, cuffs, beads — searching for a language that shifts with every piece. Working with glass at the scale of jewelry places the material into an unexpected context. Glass is everywhere — in screens, windows, architecture, vessels — yet we rarely pay attention to it. We look through it, not at it. The durability of glass jewelry is often surprising to people; I’m fascinated by how strong borosilicate glass truly is, and how easily we overlook this strength despite using the material every single day. By turning glass into something wearable, I ask people to notice it differently.
What keeps me committed to glass is its duality. It is both physical and intangible, fragile and durable, precise and unpredictable. Glass distorts, refracts, reveals, hides. It behaves almost digitally, like a rendered surface or visual effect, yet it demands the most physical kind of making. This tension between the digital and the handmade, between the organic and the synthetic, is central to my glass practice. Glass sits exactly in that in-between space.
